It’s been pretty quiet around here of late, I was busy writing a response to comments over the past few weeks. Commenters have given me wonderful support, information, and feedback, and a response is in the works. But right now, there is something heavy weighing on my that I haven’t wanted to talk about.
On Wednesday, I started bleeding. Not a lot, but more than looked right, and I rang my midwife who confirmed that it didn’t sound right. Early miscarriages are one of those things that you can’t really do anything about – and a lot of the time you wouldn’t want to. Apparently embryos with a serious problem will just die, and that is as it should be (of course I am not talking about disabilities here, only conditions that are incompatible with life). And as a woman who is over 40 (if only by a few weeks), I am statistically more likely to have eggs that don’t become viable embryos. I knew all this before I got pregnant, and my expectations around this pregnancy have been adjusted accordingly.
That being said, I was still terribly, terribly sad. Now that I have Inigo, this baby inside me isn’t as abstract a concept as she might have been before. Now I live with a vibrant embodiment of the possibilities of pregnancy. And despite his appalling table manners, he is a pretty compelling advertisement for procreation.
So this afternoon I am going to have an ultrasound to see if there is a heartbeat. The next post on the blog will be either a yes or a no.
If it’s a no, send gin.