I find myself these days tipping back and forth between two sides of the scale...
Guilt and Worry vs Happiness and Excitement.
On the one hand, I'm so unbelievably excited to finally be pregnant again. I have to pinch myself to make sure that I'm not dreaming. I want to shout it from the rooftops. I want to spin in circles and laugh out loud. I want to go skipping down the halls at school. It's happened!! My broken battered body finally pulled it together! Our chance at children is within reach.
Of course, then we go sliding over to the other side of the scale. The one chock full of worry. What if it's the same this time? What if I tell people only to find out that I'm losing my babies again. What if I lose them again?? What if my body freaks out in the 2nd trimester again? I know more this time around, and I feel more prepared, but it could still happen. Worry, worry, worry.
But worst of all is the Guilt. (That's how I think of it, with a captial G.) My head knows that I made good choices with the information I had last time. I was given permission from my OB to fly. I know that no one had any inkling of the disaster my trip would turn into. I know all this, but sometimes, my heart still cries out that it was my job as their mother to protect them and nuture them... I wasn't able to do that.
But here's the thing that is keeping me up nights... I had all the resolve in the world at the start of cycling again, to only transfer one embryo at a time. But I got worn down. Negatives and cancellations and 5 cycles in 8 months. I was so tired. I needed it to be over. So I transferred two. Now, if I lose these babies again in my 2nd trimester, there will be no avoiding the guilt. I made a choice. I chose my sanity over their health. What kind of mother does that make me?
#MicroblogMondays 143: Boots
21 hours ago