So here we are once again. Trying to get, and remain, pregnant. So it goes. Excited and glad to be on this road again, but if there was ever a use for the phrase “feel like I’m running on a treadmill”, this would be it. Why a treadmill? Because I associate a treadmill with exercise that can easily become formulaic; because on a treadmill the scenery repeats itself; and because you keep getting on it, but going nowhere. It has been a real struggle to not let this situation infiltrate and impact my entire life, including my relationship. I’ve been fairly successful I think, overall, at doing this.
But that’s not to say that this is a sad story, folks. I have a LOT of hope.
There is no reason they have really found for why we have had three miscarriages, and we DON’T have trouble getting pregnant, so that’s good, right? Yes, it is. I know just how lucky I am that this, at least, is not a problem.
Here’s the issue, though. It’s kinda sad, really, that the joy one is supposed to feel when they become pregnant is never going to be what I feel again. For my own sanity, I HAVE to temper my excitement and proceed cautiously. Even if we DO manage to make it through the first trimestre…I dunno, but I imagine I won’t be able to help but feel anxious, you know?
But looking at it from a positive angle, it is what it is, and if what that is, is a healthy baby in the end? I can reserve my full joy for the outcome and for many, many years to come.
And THAT is worth getting excited about.