I admit it — I’ve been cheating a little bit. When folks ask me how pregnant I am, I pad the number just a teeny weeny bit. I’m not lying. Just bending the rules a little.
Seven weeks and five days. One hundred sixty four beats per minute. Two arm buds. Two leg buds. And one graduation.
Good news, followed by bad news. All clear followed by red flags. For someone who’s not allowed to ride rollercoasters, I sure am taking a ride on a doozy.
A great deal of blood, clumps of tissue, cramping… sounds like a textbook miscarriage. Not in every case. And not in my case either, it seems.
After yesterday’s spotting stopped overnight, I started to breathe a little easier. And then the universe threw me for a very big loop.
Five weeks and one day into this and I’m reminded that the best betas in the world do not guarantee a goddamn thing.