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As of last week, Bobby and I were officially cleared by RE#3 to try again. He wrote a prescription for progesterone suppositories starting 3 days post-ovulation, and instructed me to call the minute I get a positive pregnancy test so that the obsessive ultrasounds can begin.

He said that he’ll be as aggressive as we want him to be — if we want to start various fertility drugs, he’s game. We told him that we wanted to try sans drugs for at least one month, then if it doesn’t work, come back for Phase 2.

Honestly, I just didn’t feel like trying this month. The super-great ovulation monitor worked beautifully this month, giving me a little have-sex-NOW! egg on Day 17. But I didn’t. See, I have this fear. I’m afraid that I’ll get pregnant again, and miscarry again, and these unfortunate events will coincide with my new niece’s arrival. I need all my mental facilities available for the next few weeks (months?)… and in my considerable experience, BabyLosses have a way of making me really emotional and really mentally not ok psychotic.

Crazy, post-BabyLoss Sarah + sister giving birth = big effing disaster.

I suspect that I’m making up excuses on some level, because I’m just afraid. I feel, in a deep-down place that I try not to acknowledge, that I may never have a baby. I’m watching Jennifer during these last few weeks of a healthy pregnancy, and I can’t help thinking that perhaps I need to accept that it’ll never be me. And I need to figure out how to be ok with that.

Jennifer and I have been better in the last couple of weeks than we have in months. When she opened matching jewelry boxes for Sadie & Maggie, she cried… the twirling ballerina & strains of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” evoked memories of Mama’s jewelry box that we played with as little girls. And her heartfelt emotion & immediate understanding of why I chose that particular gift healed much of the hurt that has been just under the surface for both of us. I threw myself into every detail of the brunch… I wanted to show her that I love her, that I love her new little one, that I’m still Sarah down underneath the sadness of being a Lost Baby Mama.

So next month, Bobby & I will try again. And maybe it’ll work. And maybe I’ll be pregnant by my 32nd birthday. And maybe our baby make it. And maybe I’ll be a mother by my 33rd birthday. Maybe?