Anyone who has ever been married knows exactly what I’m talking about when I say, as soon as you say your “I do’s”; it starts. Everybody wants to know when the baby is coming. My husband and I have been trying (not long – but it doesn’t make it any less irritating), and even people we barely know ask if we have been trying. 1. Yes 2. Is that any of your damn business?! I don’t understand where people get the nerve.
Anyway, it turns out we were successful! Happy day, right? We were hiding it from all our friends and family until it was confirmed. We got the blood work done, and made an appointment for an ultra sound. We couldn’t have been more excited, until we got there.
First, they make you wait in the obgyn office for at least 30 minutes after your appointment is supposed to start. So by now not only are you about to pee yourself, but your nerves are going crazy. You finally get called back there, and you’re so excited because it is finally your turn and then your tech sighs. It’s a dreadful sigh. She can’t tell you you’re having a miscarriage because she isn’t allowed to. They tell you to come back in a week – maybe you’re just not far enough along yet. It’s the longest week of your life. It is a week of eternity. You think about it every day. You’re stressed to the max, and nothing can make you feel better.
The day finally comes. You get to go back to the obgyn office. This time you show up extra early in hopes of getting in on time, but instead you just have to wait twice as long. This time you get a nurse, somebody who can tell you what is really going on. She does her ultra sound and breaks the bad news. This is obviously devastating.
Unfortunately, that’s not the end of it. Then you go into another room and wait for a nurse, and then for a doctor. All three people discuss your options with you over AN HOUR AND A HALF. You’re so upset (obviously) but now you’re frustrated to the point of tears. Why do they give you the worst news, and then make you sit around a bunch of other happy people? It’s a sick joke.
Anyway, we chose to take the pill. I was confident that I was measuring too small the first time, and this time confirmed it for me. We knew it had happened, and quite frankly didn’t have to time for cramps and profuse bleeding in the upcoming weeks. I took the pills on a Friday, and it went pretty well. Or so I thought.
It is now Tuesday. I’m still bleeding, wearing a giant maxi pad around aka a diaper, I feel disgusting because of this damn diaper, I’m fat because my body still thinks I’m pregnant and have this baby bloat, my face is covered in acne, and my whole body aches. I’m so stressed every muscle in my body is tight. I can’t talk to anyone about it, because we didn’t tell anybody about it. So not only do I feel and look like hell, but everyone else just thinks I’m hungover. Perfect!
On top of that, you’re so emotionally drained. Your whole body is tense, and you can’t relax. You randomly cry, and still have cravings because the hormone is still in your body. You can’t sleep when you’re supposed to, your thoughts are a jumbled mess and the only time you can find time to sort them out is when you’re supposed to be sleeping. And just when you think you’re getting better somebody else asks your that dreaded question “When are you guys going to pop those babies out?”
I can’t stress this enough: THAT IS NOT APPROPRIATE TO ASK. You never know who is dealing with infertility, miscarriage, trying to conceive but can’t, or any other issues. When people are ready to share with you their good, or bad, news, they will. Leave it be.