Generally I try not to cry over spilled milk. I said "generally", which means that I'm afraid I won't be doing a very good job of it over the next few days. You see, I keep remembering back to a year ago. Exactly a year ago I was blissfully (well, mostly, except for a little anxiety) pregnant. We knew our little embryo had a strong heartbeat and was measuring exactly right. Everything looked normal and I felt that for the first time in a long time everything was going right for us.
It was during a routine ( 9 1/2 week) OB appointment on May 4th that I learned of the demise of my pregnancy. My world came crashing down and I became yet another statistic.
For those who live a little beyond the moment, you will notice that May 4th is Sunday. Just a few short days away. And I am dreading being in that moment. I feel like last year's May 4th will come rushing back at me. Frankly, I could do without that happening because it really sucked the first time around. Even though it has almost been a year it still hasn't been enough time to escape the pain. Now I'm part of an even smaller, worse statistic . . . the one that didn't get pregnant again within months of a miscarriage.