I have an anouncement to make---but not the one we were expecting.

I'm nine weeks pregnant today. But when we went for our first doctor visit yesterday, they said it looked like only six weeks. They also said there was an irregular heartbeat and a few other things that mean essentially that I'm not really nine weeks, and I'm not going to be pregnant anymore. I was gonna start blogging in three weeks all about my pregnancy. But instead I guess I'll do this one blog about miscarriage.

It really sucks. If I don't distract myself I just cry and I don't even know why I'm still crying. I'm really disappointed.

The really really sucky thing about it is that I always thought it happened all at once and then the baby was gone and you grieve and you move on. But apparently that's not how it goes. Also, I don't know how long it's gonna take. For this last week I kept running to the bathroom hoping I wasn't bleeding more than the last time I was there, and now I just wish it would happen already. I was hoping it wasn't gonna happen, but now that it's imminent, it just won't. That is lame because there is a foolish foolish bit of hope that lingers. It hasn't happened yet so maybe it won't happen, maybe it's gonna be fine.

Well let me tell you, when it does, I would appreciate a really big glass of wine. There's not really any number of nice things that can be said to make it feel better, because I really just wanted to have a baby and I'm not. Skip the kind words and bring me some wine. I have a friend who had a miscarriage and has been trying and she was talking to me a couple weeks ago. She's been trying again and again and she asked me about my time trying and trying. She asked if I get really upset when my period comes and I said yes...cause I do...cause I'm Cherie and that's how I am. She said she just pours herself a glass of wine, might as well...try again next month. Well I think that is great advice and I plan to follow it to the t. Except I think I'm gonna wait a little longer than a month. I can only handle 6 months of crushing disappointment at a time. Four months of trying, two months of success, and now lets say maybe six months off.