It's a comfort to know that so many other women who have experienced miscarriages also experience this sky-high level of anxiety surrounding a subsequent pregnancy.
I found this article about this peculiar anxiety, and it made me feel somewhat better.
So I'm not the only woman who interprets every tiny twinge of her body as a potential miscarriage. I'm not the only one who runs to the bathroom with such regularity, certain of seeing the telltale "red streak."
I bet I get double anxiety points because I had two distinct miscarriages following the birth of Chebbles. The first was my "chemical pregnancy," at 5w3d, the second was my mysterious "normal girl" who died at 8w3d, and was discovered as such at a nighmarish 10w3d.
So when can I relax?
Probably never. OK.
So instead, I secretly cherish the joy of this pregnancy. I haven't told a soul, other than our doctor, my grief counselor, and Hub-D. And I spend a lot of time pretending I'm not pregnant. I'm happiest that way -- where I have the vague sense that I'm happy about something, but I don't really FOCUS on it.
It's like in middle school, when the boy I had a crush on would enter the room -- I could feel his presence, and I followed him in my peripheral vision, all the while pretending that I didn't care. That's precisely what I'm doing now. I'm thrilled that my new baby is "in the room," but I'm not giving this pregnancy the focus I have with the others.
If it wants to continue, and turn into a big, whole baby, I will love him or her for the rest of my life with every cell in my being. And if it wants to quit this whole business early, clocking out at 5w3d, 8w3d, or whenever -- I'll still love it for the rest of my life.
I just want to protect myself from the massive heartbreak I experienced.
I had dedicated my whole life to caring for that last pregnancy, ignoring my extant child, letting everything in my life go absolutely to hell while I obsessed over every aspect of that particular pregnancy after miscarriage. And it didn't help. The baby still died.
So for now, we're just going to mind our own business as much as possible, this new baby and I. He or she will continue to divide its darling little cells, and I'll continue to goof off with Chebbles and grocery shop and kind of let the new baby do whatever it wants.
So, the truth be told, in middle school, when I was ignoring that boy I liked so much, I wanted nothing more than for him to come up to me, hug me tight and kiss me full on the lips, then probably drop to one knee and ask me to marry him. Then maybe he would lift me up and carry me out of the room like Richard Gere in "An Officer And A Gentleman."
The same goes for this new baby. I want this child to grow massive like his/her sister did, then soldier through birth along with me, slipping straight out of me in one great push. Then the child will grow tall and funny like his/her parents. And one day, in middle school, they will approach the person on whom they have a crush, and ask that person to dance.
