If I could sleep through all Wednesdays for the next year or so, I’d probably do it. In my mind, Wednesdays are the day I moved up a week in pregnancy, the day of my due date, and the day that Jillian died. What used to be my favorite day of the week (because it meant moving up a week) is now my least favorite.
I woke up very early this morning and couldn’t get back to sleep. The first thought that went through my head was that I would have been full term today. Instead, I was supposed to go have an ultrasound to figure out if some abnormality in my uterus was one of the reasons I couldn’t carry my pregnancy to term.
Then my period started, which meant I had to reschedule the ultrasound. I thought I would be able to reschedule it for next week, but I actually have to wait at least three in order for the lining to build up some more. Normally, this wouldn’t be a crushing blow, but it was. It’s only three weeks, but right now, I feel like this ultrasound is what will decide when we can start trying again. We will either get the green light, be told I will have to have some kind of procedure that may set us back, or they’ll find something really wrong. As dramatic as it sounds, my life is on hold while I wait for this ultrasound, so three weeks is torture.
Then the man on the phone suggested a date for rescheduling. His first suggestion was March 24. My due date.
I have given up on today. I will be spending the day on the couch, curled up with my dog, zoning out on stupid TV, and holding my sweet baby girl in my heart.