In 22 days it would have been our due date. In 22 days had things gone differently I would be holding my baby. In 22 days it would have been one of the happiest days of our lives. Part of me feels like this day came way sooner than I wanted it to, the other part of me felt like the day would never get here.
Some days I think that I am doing really well coping with what we have been through, and others I feel like I haven’t made as much progress as I think I have. Lately I find that I struggle more with the thought of not being able to get pregnant again than I do with the thought of the miscarriage.
We are currently on month 2 of taking daily ovulation tests, and month 5 of trying to get pregnant again. Each month that it doesn’t happen I feel like I lose more and more hope. I find myself dreading taking another ovulation test, dreading the waiting to see if we got pregnant or not, dreading trying again.
I find that I am wanting to isolate myself from people more and more, and yet plans with friends and family keep popping up more and more. In the moment of being with friends and family I enjoy the time I am there, but afterwards it feels like all of the emotions that I suppressed while I was there hit me like a freight train.
During the work day I am happy and enjoy my job, but the second I get home everything that I would have been feeling if I was home all day overwhelms me the second I walk through the door.
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