Ugh.

Yesterday was what should have been my due date. I held up pretty well, I think, but only because I'm forcing myself to be okay. I thought about calling in sick, and changed my mind when all I could think about was walking around the house breaking things and crying like a psychopath.

I spent a lot of days crying leading up to CD1, also, most of CD1, and a good chunk of CD2... So maybe most of it is out of my system for now.

My stepSIL gave birth to a son on Saturday. I knew it was coming--her due date was two days after mine--but that didn't make it hurt less to receive a picture, via text message, from my stepmother. I know she was excited. I know she thought I'd be all happy and excited, and I know that she probably didn't even think about it being painful to me (she knows about the miscarriage, but we're not close and I really do try not to dwell on it to everyone in my life). I did text her back, that he's beautiful (and he is), but that's really all I could muster. I'm thankful to have not seen any more pictures. I'm thankful (and this is horrible and bitter and I know this also) that they live in another state and in all likelihood I will probably never see this child.

I'm happy for them, I am. But it's a constant reminder. I will never be able to think about him and not think about my baby. It might get easier at some point, but for now, every time I think about it, all I can think is that that should have been me. My tiny newborn Winfield baby.


I've spent the last nine months living under this cloud. Living in a parallel universe. Thinking about what I should be doing. What I would look like. Thinking that I shouldn't even be in this room right now, because this is the baby's room. 

I'm slowly coming to terms with it. It's not easy, and I have to actually focus on being okay. Being stable. Thinking, "What the hell am I going to do now?"

I keep remembering the RE telling us, at our first appointment, that he could have me pregnant in three months. Ha.

Now, I'm 'taking a break' from trying, while we wait for surgery. The surgery that determines everything else that happens for the rest of this year (at least). I'm trying to mentally prepare myself for any of the possible outcomes. I could have blocked tubes (although this isn't a major concern of the RE). They may or may not be able to fix that. I could have fibroids. Depending on how many and how big they are, those can be fixed and we can keep on trying. I might have endometriosis. They can manage it, but it'll be there for my whole life, and honestly, I think that trying to get pregnant with two conditions that are related to infertility (actually three, if you count BoyWonder's issues), is probably a waste of time and money.

So I try to prepare myself for living child-free for a while. Try. The thought makes me feel panicky and cold.

Well.

Now that I've rambled and vented a bunch of sad and whiny garbage... Here's a song. I sing it to my phantom baby sometimes... Except I never realized, until the miscarriage, how freaking sad and ironic it is that that is the song I've been singing. To an imaginary baby. But, I guess it kind of fits here, doesn't it?