It was as if, in word, it was easier to commit to hopelessness – to plan on more blood. Between the detriment of our pregnancy, the lack of sleep, the loss of blood and the navigation of interactions, I hope this was one of the hardest weeks I ever have to live.
I dreaded going to bed each night, because going to bed meant lying still for 6-8 hours, purely waiting for my body to fail me.
I patiently waited for my body to fail me again. And it did. Blood. Again. We had answers as to what was wrong, but we still had so many questions as to what this would mean. And for those answers, only time could tell.
I’d been awake for less than 30 seconds, yet my nightmare was just beginning. Blood. So much blood that there was no question – things were not ok.
There in my journal, on January 4, 2017 sits the goal that would become the excruciating theme that would encapsulate so much of 2017. Slow down.
One more sleep, one more day of work, and then an evening of visiting/calling all our immediate family to finally, finally, spill our happy news.
I was pregnant. I was bleeding. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make me turn to the stats. To me, blood meant miscarriage – what else could it mean?
Being nine weeks pregnant on a friends’ weekend away to northern Michigan is rough. We went up north to Glen Arbor to ski and go wine tasting, two things I could not do, being pregnant.
Turns out, when your dentist asks if there have been any recent changes in your health, becoming pregnant qualifies.
Here are four ways to avoid being questioned about not drinking when pregnant.