No, I didn't burn my law degree in a client-induced rage. My office partner didn't drive me to the brink. Yet. Married life is not in turmoil.
Rather, I managed to become pregnant.
We found out the last week of January, when that damn EPT stick wouldn't erase the "+" despite my repeated attempts to shake it like an Etch A Sketch. I have never been pregnant before; we never planned on having kids. In our 23 years together, we successfully dodged the baby bullet while enjoying the child-free life. We are almost 40. So, my initial reaction was to remove the parasite post haste.
There are little--if any--logical reasons to have a child in this post-industrial age. I don't need kids to help with family production. If I assigned a client's case to a 7 year-old, I'm fairly certain I'd lose my law license. Being the logical person that I am, it didn't make real sense to have a kid. The negatives certainly far outweighed the benefits.
But my perspective gradually changed over the next few weeks since this dropped (literally) in my lap. I wasn't prepared for the emotional trojan horse. Nor was Bob. Despite every logical reason against having a baby, we just couldn't bring ourselves to end it. Being faced with a pregnancy is stressful and emotional no matter which decision you make. Ending the pregnancy is stressful, but carries with it a powerful feeling of grim sadness. Keeping the baby is also pretty stressful, but the primary feeling with this option is one of hope. And hope won.
So, we accepted, and then embraced, the reality of becoming new parents just as Bob is turning 40 and I am turning 39. My head exploded at the thought that we would be almost 60 when the kid reached adulthood. We made baby plans. I took the prenatal vitamins and increased my intake of fruits, veggies and tons of yogurt and cheese. The idea of lactating kept me up at night.
I thought about what direction to go in terms of blogging. Do I start a new baby blog? Do I chronicle how I try to stay healthy while pregnant? I couldn't decide.
In the meantime, there were doctor visits. And ultra sounds. And more doctor visits. And more ultra sounds. And that's when the roller coaster really took us for a ride.
At 7 weeks pregnant, the ultrasound showed fetal development at 5 weeks. At 9 weeks, the ultrasound showed growth at only 6 weeks. There was a baby nugget (fetal pole, etc.), but no heartbeat.
This past weekend, I miscarried. It was emotionally wrenching, physically painful and just plain sickening.
Looking back, intuitively, I knew that this pregnancy wasn't going to be viable. I did not "feel" pregnant. No morning sickness. No hormone-induced mood changes. No changes in appetite. In the last week leading up to the miscarriage, I inexplicably lost almost 5 pounds since my last doctor's weigh-in 10 days before. Does that mean it was "meant to be?" No. Just bad chemistry. A series of random acts and events that happened to go down a pretty shitty path.
We're doing much better today, and will be even better tomorrow and the day after. That's the beauty of time and recovery...they work well together. It's sad to lose that potential of life, our shot at throwing our joint good looks, intelligence and cockiness into the collective gene pool. We'll try again--something I never thought we'd do. We may be successful, but if not, there are other ways to channel this new "potential" that has opened our eyes over the last couple of months. Maybe adopt or foster. More likely volunteer. Most likely hoard animals.
Eventually, I will get back to blogging again about health and fitness and all that. I'm thinking next week or the week after. And pray that I don't taint this blog with future details of our baby making. Or knitting puppy booties.