The Dr. himself called me yesterday to explain the chromosome analysis - it was abnormal, very much so, and it was a girl.
I don't think I'm dealing with this in a "normal" way - whatever normal means, anyway. I was not attached to this baby, a self protective measure I'm sure. I spent so much time analyzing pregnancy symptoms and obsessing over every twinge I left no time to feel. I'm sure this was no accident. I don't WANT to miss something that was never going to be.
What I'm most upset about is my lost sense of optomism and innocence. If I ever get pregnant again, I do not think I will be able to enjoy it, to feel an instant kinship with my little life at the first hint of a second line. I will count every day as one day closer to when he or she arrives, missing the sweet details of each day of a pregnancy. I will count every kick, hiccup, and feel tense before every ultrasound instead of heady anticipation.
And when the big day finally arrives, I will not relax and know everything will be fine, because everything has not been fine, and I am the exception rather than the rule.
When will it end? Will I stay awake staring, making sure he or she is breathing rhythmically when they're a tiny baby? Will I let them play outside, even when I can't see them every minute, assuming the worst when I can't find them after 45 seconds of hysterical name calling?
I just want to relax, and let it happen, and enjoy the greatest gift we can get. But I can't.
To me, this is the biggest injustice of infertility.