Will had a great day at his new preschool. This was also his first bus ride! I missed him, but I’m glad he likes it there.

Once you’ve heard the phrase recurrent miscarriage, your palms begin to sweat at the mere thought of an ultrasound. When recurrent means that you’ve lost nine out of twelve pregnancies, you want to shove the technician out of the way and get answers yourself. You measure time in millimeters of growth, and fetal pole becomes the most vital phrase in your vocabulary. You show up at your doctor’s office, refusing to go through another weekend of waiting. The doctor approaches you with sad eyes and says, “You know the drill”. No one has to spell it out anymore.

The subchorionic bleed had literally wrapped itself around the gestational sac. The technician was shocked that I wasn’t bleeding from it. She zoomed, and we waited. A wave of color filled the screen as she looked for blood flow to the sac. There was no sign of life. No heartbeat. The rising quants, the date-appropriate measurements, all of the symptoms; they meant nothing. How could that be? Why did this baby defy every telltale sign of miscarriage that had overwhelmed me all those other times? It was like a cruel joke. We really believed in this one.

It’s hard to convey these feelings to anyone unless they have been through the same thing. I wrote this at one of my emotional peaks this week:

You don’t love or want a baby less just because two, three, or even four babies came before them. The only discernible difference is the loss of innocence; the blissful ignorance of early pregnancy. You don’t think about creative ways to present a positive pregnancy test to your husband when you’ve already informed him of a dozen pregnancies. You become fearfully silent, feeling like fish out of water until that tiny, rhythmic flicker appears on a monochrome screen. You know that most of the time, it doesn’t. You lower your expectations. You don’t admit your feelings of doubt and worry until the worst has been confirmed. And then, it’s an entirely different rush of emotion. The physical pain is diminutive as grief sets in. All you can think of is that baby, objectively human and aware that they’ve lost a chance at life. You desperately want them to know that they were loved.

75 Percent of my pregnancies fail. We will move on, and a tiny stretch of skin will one day be etched in ink: 2-12. That’s almost ten years after the first date. And yet, we push forward to defy the odds. When you suffer from recurrent pregnancy loss, the time never seems right to, literally, give up the ghost.

I can’t seem to stop posting photos of sunsets. I guess it’s an obsession; my winter equivalent of apple blossoms in springtime, hydrangeas in summertime, and foliage in autumn. Well, a winter suburban sunrise is just as lovely.

Everyone has been enjoying the comforts of home today. Lately, that has included a lot of napping (for me, anyway).

Micah and I still manage to free up some time for WoW. We’re currently running around in Northern Stranglethorn.

It’s a welcome distraction from my other obsession: Unnecessary medical Googling. I have no reason to be doing this, but I will probably keep it up until my new Sonoline B is usable. The old German contraband doppler, which I bought on eBay in 2003, had reached the static infused end of its lifespan. I was disappointed to learn this after an impetuous trip to the attic. The B has a digital display (no more counting with a stopwatch). I am giddy to read posts from people who got a reading during the 7th week. I crave reassurance.

Will has an orientation of sorts at his new preschool tomorrow. It should be interesting!

Molly had to stay home from school for 3 days this week due to strep throat. They had to switch her to a more powerful antibiotic yesterday, and she’s finally feeling better with that. She was so happy when Mia brought home cards from her classmates! It was so sweet.

We are having an incredible week, so I made strawberry cupcakes. I’m pretty sure that’s a normal reaction…

William will start attending his new preschool by the end of next week. He will be in the morning program, Monday through Friday. I am happy for him, but I am going to miss the little man. I guess we both need this to prepare for September. Our district has full day kindergarten!

There are lots of exciting things on the horizon, evoking a constant I-can’t-believe-this-is-happening feeling. I will explain later! For now, I’ll leave you with Mia, reading her favorite poem.

“And come, blue deeps! magnificently strewn
With coloured clouds – large, light, and fugitive…” – David Gray

The kids love to play fetch with Barney. We always say, “Go get it!” when we throw a toy. Lily caught on, and showed us that she could do it too!

Everyone had been playing with him all morning, so all he wanted to do was relax!