What a difference a day makes.

I take back my big sigh of relief.

I don't even know what to make of this anymore. I don't know how to cope. I don't know how to handle it. I don't know how to be optimistic anymore.

Above all, I don't know how this can turn out OK.

If it's possible, the spotting is worse and scarier than it's been. And yet it's not actual bleeding. Oh, it's blood, there is no question of that. But it's still just spotting. I'm not sure I'll be able to say that much longer.

After a fantastic day yesterday (no spotting! Heartbeat!!), I woke up to more of the same. More and worse. I have the HG on standby to leave for the ER. I have my doctor on speed dial. I took a shower and shaved my legs (hey, I'm not going to the hospital all nasty! I might be sad, but I'm not gross.) And now I'm lying in bed hoping for the best and preparing for the worst.

It's raining out. A lot. And it really matches my mood. My babies (the Sir and Babygirl--the best kitties ever) are sitting at the foot of my bed. Babygirl is keeping a close eye on me and the sir is occasionally bumping me with his head to let me know he loves me. They're good babies. I'm glad it's raining. If it was sunny, they'd be out on the porch looking for bugs to terrorize. But instead they're here with me. The HG is in his man-cave working. I think that's good. I don't want to talk about it out loud.

I have a friend on the way over to watch movies and order in some dinner. I hope I can find the strength to be happy. I'm just so tired.

It just feels so cruel. I've tried for 2 years to get pregnant. We worked so hard at it. And yes, I got pregnant on a "break" cycle. I know that. We got lucky. But it doesn't feel so lucky anymore. It feels like a cruel, cruel joke. The second I allow myself to get excited or to be optimistic, the spotting starts up again. Just read my post from yesterday. I was so happy. So excited. So optimistic.

I even planned to go buy a Bella Band today (or whatever Motherhood's alternative is). And I kid you not, not 3 minutes after I solidified plans to go to the mall with a friend, the spotting started up again. Worse than ever. (I will spare you all the details. Even in this state of mind, I'm a giver.) So I ask you: What is the point of optimism? What is the point of thinking the best? All it does it make things worse. I can't do it any more. I don't want to think the worst, but I don't know how not to.

All I ever wanted was a happy, healthy pregnancy. I mean, we worked so hard to get here. So hard. And now....this? Really? It's just not fair. And I know, I know. Life isn't fair. Trust me, I get that. I know I'm blessed in many, many, many ways. Does that mean I'm not allowed to be blessed with a child, too? Does that mean I have to suffer so painfully right now? Because I'm blessed in other ways? Somehow that doesn't seem right. I know plenty of other people who are equally, if not more, blessed. I mean, when you count up my blessings, and I'm not complaining about them, but when you really look at them, they're not all that out of the ordinary. I have a good job. I married a good guy with a good job. We saved money and bought a house. I'm not sure I'm special. It all seems kind of normal to me. Not that I take them for granted, I do not. I know it could be very different. I know it could be worse. I know I could lose my job, the HG could lose his....a lot of "bad" things could happen to us. But because they haven't, I should somehow have to suffer through this? Is that how this works? I don't think so. That's not how I always understood the world to work. So why does it feel that way now?

Let me try to explain how I feel.
Some of you may know just how painfully afraid of flying I am. And for those of you who don't, let's just say, the HG likened me to a cat in a bath the first time he and I flew together. I was so terrified that I drew blood on his hand from grasping it so tightly. So flying is not my thing. We fly to Florida to see the Florida family at least once a year. It takes a night of not sleeping (so I'm nice and sleepy) and a triple dose of xanax to get me on the plane. Then I have to take 2 more doses of xanax on the flight. It's a 2 hour flight. I'm not just afraid of flying, I'm terrified of it. And the whole time I'm on the plane, I have the sensation that at any moment the plane will plunge from the sky. I sit on the edge of my seat waiting for that inevitable moment where I feel us rapidly losing altitude. Imagine how it would feel to be on a roller coaster, blindfolded, without a seatbelt. The drop is coming, you just don't know when. That's how I feel on a plane.

And that's how I've felt for the past almost 2.5 months. Only without the xanax.
And I'm not sure how much longer I can keep it up.

Yes, I would take this feeling over the feeling of loss and despair I'd have should I actually lose this little baby. But I really can't take this feeling anymore, either. And I don't know how to stop it. Because I fear this anxiety and fear is just a precursor to the despair I'm about to feel.

How am I supposed to stop feeling this way? I can't stop the spotting. I can't stop the bleeding. I can't do anything but wait and see. Wait and see. Wait and see.

But for how long? Certainly this can't keep up for the next 30 weeks, right? And if it does, will I ever get used to it?

In the meantime, I think I'm going to continue to pay for COBRA. Our infertilty benefits were provided by my previous company's benefits. So we've been paying to keep them for the past year. I can keep them through next June. At this point it seems prudent to keep them. Just in case.

And now I'm going to go try to be happy. I'll let you know how it goes.