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Bobby and I did absolutely nothing today. Literally no thing. We sat in the same exact spot for about 8-ish hours and watched college football until our eyes glazed over and our butts were numb. Ridiculous.

So now I’ve finally managed to drag myself away from football (Bobby’s still glued). Have been thinking (during commercial breaks, of course) about babies. How I want to be pregnant. How I’ve buried those thoughts so that I (almost) don’t even think about the miscarriages anymore. How I’m terrified of getting pregnant again. Absolutely scared shitless. What if? What if I have a third miscarriage? What if I don’t miscarry until the second trimester, after I think I’m safe? What if I make it until the 20th week and have my chromosomal testing and my baby has a birth defect? What if I miscarry in the third trimester, after the baby is a real, actual viable baby, and I have to birth a child that I know is dead? What if I have to pick out a tiny casket? What if?

I read a blog about a baby who was born with health problems that were “incompatible with life.” I love how the medical field has such a way to titling things… such a neat way of saying “dead baby.” The mother found out during her chromosomal testing that her baby had two birth defects, both of which were lethal. She chose to carry the baby full-term, and was able to spend less than 24 hrs with her daughter before she died. What if? What if that were me? I honestly don’t know if I would carry my baby full-term. Abortion is such an ugly word. But “spontaneous abortion” was what I’ve already experienced. Twice. I’m not sure I wouldn’t choose to make it a third if I knew the baby was doomed. I just don’t know. How does anyone know until they’re actually faced with it?

And there’s the thought I “need to stop reading such depressing stuff.” But my question is this: what guarantee do I have that my baby will be healthy? What promise do I have that my next baby will actually make it? That’s right. None. I have to be realistic. I have to prepare myself for the worst. “Hope for the best, expect the worst.” Isn’t that the favorite saying of realists and pessimists everywhere?

How screwed up is it that I’ve already told Bobby that if we do get pregnant and I have a dead baby, I want him to call “Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep.” Infant Bereavement Photography. Oh my. Yet another neat, detached little title for something that, this time 2 or so years ago, would have been unthinkable to me.

I just worry. And worry. And worry some more. Bobby and I have decided to not try to get pregnant again until after the first of the year. We want to lose some weight, take some time, paint some rooms, save some money. I’m terrified of trying again. Truly I am.