I’ve been awake since 5.30am when I woke up crying from an unpleasant dream.
Today I should be 9 weeks pregnant.
And this happens every Thursday. I am reminded of the progress that my precious pregnancy isn’t making.
I know the suspected due date of it too.
Readjusting to not being pregnant when you have finally accepted that, my god, you are, is what one might call a massive head fuck.
I’m not consciously dwelling on it either. I’m very aware it’s over. I was just, in those blissful weeks of my first ever pregnancy letting myself believe that the dream was coming true. Finally. Letting myself do the countdown, imagining the size of our little bud which on last review of my pregnancy app was an apple pip. Alright, damn well indulging in a bit of Etsy nursery interiors browsing. Looking at maternity dresses for upcoming summer weddings where I would need to dress my poking bump.
The acceptance happened surprisingly quickly. All paralysing worries of never giving birth to my own baby started to distance themselves. It felt right and deserved. As it should be.
Was this all too premature? Was my excitement idiotic? Next time, please please let there be a next time, should I let the excitement flow again or should I completely restrain it? That doesn’t sound like fun.
This week I’ve had lower lows followed by the highest of recent highs as the days have turned. The lows smack you hard. My god. Hormones mixed with guilt, fear, grief, sadness. A heady mix. And then turning it around, finding strength and trying to take control of the gloom by doing some exercising, reading, being out in nature.
My sadness has moved on slightly too. It’s gradually casting a shadow on the loss as it moves into fear. I am so scared, beyond explanation, that this will never happen for me. And those thoughts are a tough act to follow.
It will happen (see, what the hell…from fear to unwavering certainty. I can’t keep up with myself). It has to. And it will.
When I had acupuncture last week and the gorgeous Hannah left the room for me to relax and be with whatever emotion might stir, without trying, I found myself visualising giving birth to a little boy. It was vivid and made me smile.
This week a lovely lady visited me for lunch and kindly let me in on the painful and private story of her fertility struggles and encouragingly her happy ending, against all odds as she was told she would never have her own. That she was a ‘lost cause’.
Never lose belief.
Sometimes we ‘infertiles’ get caught up in feeling utterly stupid for still believing as the rollercoaster we’re on tips and falls into the unknown. Again. It can feel futile, wasted. In vain. But what’s the alternative? To give up without exhausting all of the available options? Not for me thanks.
So yes it’s another fucking Thursday and it hurts. That’s the reality. It conjures up a sentimentality that I don’t know how to un-know. It’s ingrained in me and it was right from when the nurse from the IVF clinic finally said over the phone ‘Vicky, you’re pregnant!’
So I guess I have to live with it. Maybe it will dissolve as we move into the next round late summer. All attention and hope will then be directed at that, leaving very little room for contemplating on what wasn’t to be.
I’m still receiving messages from strangers who have stumbled upon my blog. I feel so grateful to be part of this little community of ‘trying to conceive-ers’. One even told me that messaging me her story was like a weight lifted. We need eachother. We’re all in this together and we needn’t be alone. With our vastly different experiences and issues, we just GET one another. We don’t judge. We support. We all want to make it to the next level, to be promoted to the next community of ‘BFP-ers’. But I’m pretty convinced that as we do, one by one, we won’t forget the club we’re currently in. We’ll be looking back at the ones we are still willing on to keep believing, offering our own stories as inspiration and a reason to keep going.
I’m trying to make this the last…or ok, one of the last Thursdays that I mark in this way.
No promises, we’ll see how that goes.
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