Before I start, if you are one of the two people who actually know me in real life who read this, please do not mention anything about this elsewhere.
So here are the details, not so short nor sweet.
Last Thursday I took a pregnancy test. It was positive. Today we went for the first prenatal appointment. After the physical exam, Doc said, "Well, based on the examination, I cannot confirm that you are pregnant." So he did an internal ultrasound.
***While I'm glad he has a stack of what look like condoms to go over the wand... and I'm even more glad that he "uses protection," did he really have to rubber band the condom to the wand? Does he worry about it getting lost? Did that happen to someone since Mad was born? Because I don't recall the rubber band technique at all.
Based on the ultrasound, I could be pregnant, but certain things were not present... like a sac or a baby, for example. So he did a blood test. Came back positive.
For now, I am technically pregnant. However, I am either much less pregnant than we thought or it's not going to stick. We go back in two weeks.
We are not at the point of telling friends and family, and there is only so much Tom and I can say about it to one another. So I am telling you. Hardly seems fair, right?
It's more than just a little ironic that I was pretty much scared through my entire pregnancy with Madelyn. I attribute it mainly to her not only being a surprise baby, but for coming along shortly after Tom and I agreed there wouldn't be any babies between us. Once I saw how happy Tom was to be having a baby and that everything was good between us, I guess I was still unable to completely accept that everything would be alright.
Just two days ago I told him how confident I feel this time. It's been very similar to being pregnant with Corey. I remember just knowing that Corey was going to be born... alive... and strong. After having several miscarriages before him, it was an amazing feeling to behold.
Instead of feeling confident now, I am sad and deflated. And wondering what the point is in taking the prenatals the doctor gave me today. On the other hand, I figure that getting pregnant at the ancient maternal age of 38 means I'm kind of... I don't know... lucky doesn't seem like the right word, but if there is something wrong happening here, I'd rather it happen sooner than later. One of our friends lost her baby at five months gestation, something I could never wish on another person.
On top of it all, amazingly, things have gone downhill with Corey. Dramatically. In case you're wondering, I seriously doubt that this baby/no baby thing is related to stress. I've had a miscarriage like this before (if that's what this is). It's just that there is this extra stress. Why keep it simple when you can be complicated, right? Ugh.