Yep. I am “that woman”. You know the one. You always hear about her from some obnoxious busy body who heard about your adoption plans after fighting with infertility. The friend’s sister’s cousin that got pregnant after she adopted.
But I can’t do it halfway. I get knocked up THE VERY NEXT DAY.
I kid you not. The universe has one fucked up sense of humor. I feel like I should be apologizing.
What makes this doubly ironic is that last Thursday was Aiden’s due date, the second anniversary. That blows my mind. If life were fair I would have a 2 year old running around instead of a pretty wooden urn. But I also wouldn’t have the wonderful, amazing, and loving teenager I can now call my daughter.
I feel shocked. I feel guilty. I’m worried about money, heartache, disappointment, and hurting M. I’m worried this is a very bad time in our rocky marriage to add a helpless infant. What I am not is happy. I wanted this so badly and now that it’s here, I just don’t know quite what to make of it. I don’t want to undo it, but I’m not so sure now this was a good idea. Mostly I think I am sure I won’t get this last bit of happiness. I hope I am not as prophetic as last time. Then I was sure I didn’t deserve happiness – and look what happened.
I went for my first beta today and start prometrium tonight. I am expecting many things – no heartbeat, an ectopic, or a long drawn-out shop of horrors like last time. I can’t wrap my mind around the possibility it might actually work. At the same time I can’t seem to stop trying to MAKE it work.
Unfortunately I am still having the near continuous spotting I’ve been dealing with for almost 4 years. I hope the prometrium works as well as it did last time, as long as I’m not continuing a pregnancy that never should have made it past fertilization.
This is going to be a really long damn 9 months. I reserve the right to smack my mother in law if she says I told you so.