In case you’re still on the edge of your seat with wonder, this month was NOT the month. I have a lot of emotions about that, but all of them seem to indicate that I am as ready to try again as I’ll ever be, so that’s something, at least.
I’m trying so hard to have a good outlook on all of this, and I go back and forth daily between a nearly zen “whatever happens, happens” feeling and being sad/angry/frustrated that it didn’t just happen straight away, that there’s a new schedule, that I have to try again at all. My first reaction was actually just relief, because the last few days of having to test obsessively (because of the shots) and having occasionally weird symptoms but mostly no symptoms was a totally mindfuck (is there a polite, non-cussing way to say this?) and it was kind of nice to just know, hey, I am definitely NOT pregnant, take some Advil and grab a beer.
This month would have been a great month to get pregnant. It would have been a month earlier than we’d planned on, which would have made it much easier to get to my very good friend’s wedding next summer. It would also have meant my cerclage surgery would be scheduled for mid-October, which would be much more convenient than having it right around Thanksgiving when my family is coming into town and would hopefully have meant that by that time I’d be able to live more or less normally around the holidays. And of course, it would have meant I’d have a baby by, at the latest, the day Amy died next year, which sounded great for my potential anxiety because by the time it was the same time of year we lost her, it’d be time to have a baby. Mostly? I wanted the psychic to be right, crazy as that is even to me.
Next month is has its own benefits, though. We weren’t planning on trying until this next month anyway, so we’ve lost no time at all, for one thing. The biggest benefit is that I had some type of minor cervical infection/irritation at the beginning of this cycle, which I took antibiotics for, so next cycle means more time to get healthy and strong for my cervix – I don’t think this is a small benefit either; in fact it could have been really bad if we’d gotten pregnant this month, who knows? And while it will be a pain not to be able to hang out normally around Thanksgiving when everyone’s here, what better time to be laid up than when we have friends and family in town to help? And this means we probably won’t end up having two children with the same birthday, one of whom will never age, which sounded at turns poetic but also potentially depressing for everyone.
The truth is that it really does not matter when I get pregnant again. There are always going to be pros and cons to any timeline. And the timeline isn’t set in stone. I was supposed to have a baby in the middle of July, and instead I had one in April, and she died. I control nothing, no matter how much I try to plan or think about it. So I’ll do my level best to throw myself into whatever life has in store with gusto – right now I’ve got three extra weeks to lose some weight, organize the house more, and worry not at all about a life inside of me, and that doesn’t suck.
And still I can’t help but kind of wish I were pregnant, anyway. But I guess I’ve more or less wished that all along.