I just realized that it’s been about a year since we started trying to conceive baby #2. I remember pretty clearly because I had to wait until a certain date to ensure that I would be eligible for my company’s maternity leave top-up if I was to get pregnant again.
So after eight months of trying, three months of pregnancy and about seven weeks since my D&C, here we are again. One year later.
Imagine if I had gotten pregnant right away back then. (I naively thought that was a possibility since I had already had a baby and my body “knew what to do.”) I would have a three month old now…
Anyway, D and I were cleaning out a storage closet in our basement the other day. A lot of the stuff was baby gear – our infant car seat, a bouncy chair, our Bumbo. As he was stuffing things back in, D asked “should we put the baby stuff in front of or behind the Christmas tree?”
That’s when it hit me how long it will be before we have even the possibility of welcoming another baby. I told D to shove the baby stuff (which we should be sorting through and dusting off in anticipation of our September due date) back into the closet behind the Christmas ornaments. “Is it not physically possible to need it before Christmas?” asked D.
Nope, not possible. Even if we didn’t have to wait another cycle to start trying, and even if we miraculously managed to pregnant on the very first try, there was no chance that a baby would be here before Christmas.
Even though I’ve been having a lot more good days lately, these are the sort of situations that still really get to me. But now my reaction seems to be different than it would have been a few weeks ago. I still get sad sometimes, but lately I’m noticing I’m more mad. Actually, I’m totally effing pissed. Instead of sobbing, I want to swear a lot and kick something. #$%&!