SF and I keep talking about how we want to put up a blog post, but we can't figure out how to give voice to what we're feeling. He's out skiing with the dog this morning; I've decided to give it a shot.

Despite the reassurances of our doctor, we're both finding it hard to relax and stop worrying. My body seems to be misbehaving just enough to suck the joy out of every day: the spotting stopped for about 4 days before the last appointment, but it started up again, heavier, on Thursday. Then just a spot Friday evening. Nothing so far today, but I expect it's in the mail.

Every good thought I have seems to risk bringing misfortune down upon us. I know that sounds melodramatic. I know it is melodramatic. But I can't deny the feeling is there. It's strong enough that, after going through three miscarriages and 2 1/2 years of ART without the help of a therapist, I'm considering calling the one our RE recommended to see if she can help us relax and find the joy in what we're experiencing.

It felt like a risk to request the information packet from our hospital. It felt like a risk to call the OB/GYN. It felt like a risk to stop the PIO injections.
Our doctor has given us a 3-5% chance of miscarrying at this point. We've "beaten" the odds in so many ways before, though, that SF and I are both fully aware that those numbers above the 95th percentile still represent people. Logically, I know that requesting the hospital packet doesn't cause miscarriages, nor does filling out the OB's paperwork, nor sneaking a peek at cribs online.

Emotionally, though, it's a different story. SF sat me down a couple of days ago and said, "It's all right if we pretend we think things are going okay. If we don't, we won't ever do anything to prepare, because there's never a guarantee that things will continue as you hope."

This post feels clumsy ... but so do I.