Mike has been raving about these banana flavored popsicles. They sound so gross but he keeps insisting I try one. He is obnoxiously persistent. He’s like some kind of popsicle pusher. Number one, I don’t really like popsicles. Number two, I don’t like stuff that’s banana flavored. I love bananas, but when you start trying to make candies and other things taste like bananas, it just ruins it for me.

What’s funny is that we have no idea where these popsicles came from. They just appeared in our freezer out of nowhere. He thought I bought them, which is preposterous because we still have 3000 freeze pops from two summers ago. And again, I don’t like popsicles that much. I think Mike would like to solve this mystery so that he can find out where to buy more, because he’s really mad crazy about those stupid banana popsicles. So if you know the origin of the mystery popsicles in our freezer please let me know!

The stress of waiting to miscarry has been getting to me. Today I felt like I had an especially heavy weight on my shoulders. Actually, more like a annoying gorilla following me around, breathing on my neck and threatening to push me over when I least expect it. My ultrasound isn’t until Monday and I’ve been growing more anxious to see what’s going on with my uterus.

Lately I’ve been feeling both pregnant and premenstrual. A weird combination for sure. I’ve had a hunch that the premenstrual thing is a precursor to the miscarriage. That hunch was confirmed tonight when I discovered I started bleeding. So I think the miscarriage has officially begun. To be honest, I was a little relieved to see it. I mean, it only took like 3 seconds to conceive once we started trying again so I don’t think I was quite ready to be pregnant yet.

If this for sure turns out to be a miscarriage and not just normal pregnancy spotting, I’ll for sure be going out for a drink when it’s all over. Ladies, anyone want to join me in drowning my sorrows in a tall glass of Black & Tan?

Happy Pi Approximation Day, everyone! It’s the 22nd of July, or 22/7, which equals 3.14, which as we ALL know, is Pi. I hope you went out and celebrated the wonderfulness of Pi. I hope all your purchases cost $3.14 (Unless it was for coffee, which is just an outrageous price to pay for coffee. Of course.)

Keep your calendars marked for the next geeky holiday.the only one really worth remembering because it’s my and my hubby’s birthday): 3/3/09 - Square Root Day!

Oh, and for a good laugh, check out the rest of the Geek Holidays at Wikipedia. No Pants Day could be fun. We could all frizz our hair out and walk around like troll dolls. Of course that’s probably only funny if you’ve heard Jimmy Fallon’s Seinfeld impression. “He doesn’t have any pants on! What’s the deal with that? NO pants! You get the doll. You don’t get the pants!”

Ok, never mind.

Romans 4:18-21 (New Living Translation)

18 Even when there was no reason for hope, Abraham kept hoping—believing that he would become the father of many nations. For God had said to him, “That’s how many descendants you will have!”^[a] 19 And Abraham’s faith did not weaken, even though, at about 100 years of age, he figured his body was as good as dead—and so was Sarah’s womb.

20 Abraham never wavered in believing God’s promise. In fact, his faith grew stronger, and in this he brought glory to God. 21 He was fully convinced that God is able to do whatever he promises.

When the doctor told me there was no hope for this pregnancy, I took his word for it. I could have opted for the D&C to end the pregnancy right away, but for some reason felt like I needed to wait. I’ve been in a weird limbo ever since. Feeling pregnant physically, but mentally and emotionally convinced that it’s over. Until yesterday. Yesterday I felt a nudging from God that maybe I shouldn’t give up so easily. Maybe I need to have a tad bit of faith that he really could do a miracle here.

I have issues with hope. I am afraid to get my hopes up for most things, afraid that if I do it would make the let down hurt that much more if what I’m hoping for doesn’t come to be. So I am hesitant to hope for a miracle here. I am terrified to let my mind wander to the place of possibility, the idea that maybe this pregnancy isn’t over. I don’t want to be that naive girl who expects unrealistic things. Fortunately, God understands these fears of mine. I believe it was God (not Google) that brought me to these two websites:

The Misdiagnosed Miscarriage Site - “We believe, based on the numerous stories that have found their way into the Misdiagnosed stories forum, that having a retroverted uterus may alter when you may see your baby via ultrasound.”

When a Blighted Ovum is not a Blighted Ovum - “My name is Kay and I am the mother of a four year old not-so-blighted ovum. I was misdiagnosed back in 2002 and told at my 5 1/2 and 6 week ultrasounds that I most likely had a blighted ovum.  After my 7 and 8 week ultrasounds, my doctor strongly recommended a D&C due to blighted ovum. At nearly 9 weeks, we saw my baby for the first time on ultrasound, beating heart and all!”

Apparently it is not so unrealistic to hope for a miracle after all! I read some of the stories on the Misdiagnosed forums and many of them sound similar to mine. I have a retroverted uterus, which could explain why they could not find the fetal pole with both of my ultrasounds.

I was diagnosed with a blighted ovum. According to the Misdiagnosed Miscarriage Site, “A blighted ovum is a fertilized egg that implants but does not develop. The gestational sac continues to grow but the baby does not grow within the sac. If the case is a true blighted ovum, the yolk and fetal pole will not be present.” In my case, they were able to see the yolk sac. I think this gives me even more reason to hope.

All of this is science and nature and miracles - stuff I won’t even pretend to understand. The bottom line is that it’s not over until God says it’s over. I can wait with confidence that he is in control and he knows what’s best for me. And that’s all I really need to know.

Luke is starting to say actual words, words we can decipher. Most of the time. He is 14 months today and so far he can say:

Dada
Dada (That’s Mama but he just likes to show off his skill with the D sound.)
Done
Dout (Out)
Dizza (Pizza)
Dattt (Cat)
Duck
Socks (it actually sounds just like socks!)

He talks a bunch so the rest of the time we have no idea what he’s talking about. I’m just glad he’s learning words because I’m getting rather tired of the screaming.

We are back from Georgia.

I am back to work.

I have not miscarried. Yet. Still waiting.

After this is all over I think we’ll chuck it all and join the circus. I think Luke would make a great acrobat someday. 

I do not have happy news to share. My hCG on Monday was 41,225. On Wednesday it had only risen to 48,955. My doctor says it should be doubling every two days, and once it reaches 100,000 it would stabilize. I had another super fun ultrasound on Thursday. They could not find the fetal pole. Based on my lmp I should be 8 1/2 weeks and a fetal pole should be visible by now. Last week I was measuring at 6w2d. Thursday, which was 7 days later, I was only measuring at 6w4d. (To save you the math work, that’s a progress of only two days.) They checked for blood flow around where the fetal pole should be developing and there was nothing.

This is not a viable pregnancy.

My doctor says I can have a d&c and be done with it, or I can wait and have another ultrasound later to see where everything is at. I am not comfortable with ending the pregnancy voluntarily, so I am going to wait. I’m going to wait for my body to miscarry naturally. If nothing has happened in three weeks, I will go in for another ultrasound to see what’s going on. Then I may decide to have the d&c. It’s not that I want to go through the physical pain of a miscarriage. I know the d&c would be easier. I don’t have much hope for a miracle at this point, but I also don’t want to be the one who closes the window of opportunity for God. I want to let him be in control of this.

I was an emotional wreck on Thursday, but at this moment I’m feeling okay. It hits me now and then but I deal with it as it comes. I’m with lots of family - my wonderful, loving, supportive, understanding family. We are in Georgia for a cousin’s wedding. What a perfect time to be dealing with bad news such as this - I don’t have to go back to work until Thursday and I’m with an endless supply of support. God is still in control and he is still taking care of me.

Mike is taking it hard too but maybe not as hard as I am. He guarded his heart with this one. He had a premonition all along that this was too good to be true. He has been extremely gentle with me. He gives the best hugs. I’m scared about going through the miscarriage but I’m counting on Mike’s infinite supply of hugs to help get me through it. We’re gonna be okay.

I’m staring at my belly in the mirror and there is no way I’m only 7 1/2 weeks pregnant. There’s just no way. And it can’t just be fat - I actually lost 3 pounds last month. Of course it looks like fat. Not like those cute little pregnant bellies I see around town. I’ve always had a pot belly, but now I have stretch marks, flab, and that beautiful c-section crease. Needless to say, I’m not feeling so sexy right now. This is so not the first pregnancy.

I am not one of those people that saves every empty margarine or yogurt container to reuse again and again. We have plenty of GladWare and Tupperware in our cupboards for our food storage needs. Mike, on the other hand, is one of those people. He sees no need to throw away a perfectly good plastic container. It irks me a bit. He knows this.

Monday night I asked him to package up the leftovers from dinner so I could take it to work with me and eat it for lunch the next day. Now keep in mind that Mike is a stay-at-home-dad now and he is in charge of the kitchen. So I was not surprised to open the fridge Tuesday morning and find my lunch packed lovingly into an old sherbet container. I really didn’t think much of it but I think Mike was chuckling to himself about it all day, because he asked me that night how I liked the container he chose for the leftovers. I think he pictured me sulking as I walked into the office, sheepishly carrying my ghettoware under my arm and hiding it in the back corner of the community refrigerator. At least he didn’t write my name on it with a permanent marker in big bold letters. “MINDY’S LUNCH.” Now, that would be ghetto.

With a healthy dose of nausea comes a bit of irritability as well, which makes it ever so important to have the right kind of music playing at my desk while I’m working away. Today is one of those days where the only kind that’s tolerable is Led Zeppelin. It’s a first for me, but hey - whatever works, right?