The problem about telling everyone that you’re knocked up

is what happens when you’re not knocked up anymore.

Yes, dear reader, I have miscarried. Or rather, I’m still in the process of miscarrying. It seems to be an incredibly drawn out. process for me. I’ve been spotting on and off since Saturday–not much, but enough. My hcg levels are down from 8500 to 100 and something, and my progesterone from 8.2 to 5 based on blood drawn yesterday. This morning, I woke up and just knew–I’ve lost that bloated, pregnant feeling. Actually, I pretty much knew yesterday, but didn’t really want to admit it.

It’s hard. On the one hand, there’s really nothing you can do about it–and if the fetus isn’t viable, it’s not viable. On the other, I was getting excited. It was finally starting to seem real. And perhaps this sounds silly, but what upsets me more than anything right now (in my admittedly still hormonal stage) is that I have the incredible fatigue of the past month and a half ahead of me. Well, that and the fact that in a strange way I feel lonely–not in the sense of lacking support or people around me, but that there was this other life in me and now it’s gone. It’s just me, and after the past two months, just me feels weird.

Still, we’ll go for it again. One out of three pregnancies ends this way according to my doctor–who, by the way, is a complete love and went well out of her way this morning to make sure that I was doing okay emotionally and to reassure me that there’s no reason to think that another pregnancy won’t be completely normal.

So there we are.