On Monday I was all geared up to sit down and write a post about how I had fallen off the Weight Watchers wagon and have been eating my weight in whatever is lying around that is made of chocolate and/or fried in oil and/or is a carbohydrate and also how it has been so cold and windy (don’t you think windy is just the worst kind of weather?) that I haven’t exercised as much as I usually do and then I thought, well, I suppose I should go ahead and climb onto the scale and see what the actual damage is so I can be PRECISE and EXACTING when I tell the Internet about my gigantic, candy-flavored failure.
Except the scale said I hadn’t gained any weight.
So I (rather lazily) posted a bunch of cute pictures of Asher and then I danced around the house for the duration of his naptime because SOMEHOW I AM CHEATING THE SYSTEM AND STILL COMING OUT ON TOP. I am suddenly in possession of The Miracle Body, and now I am headed out to buy some lottery tickets and a one-way flight to Vegas because I MUST BE THE LUCKIEST PERSON ALIVE.
For the record, this week I have eased off the binging and have only ingested seven (7) oatmeal chocolate chip cookies since Monday. Trust me, the caloric content of these (relatively small) seven cookies PALES IN COMPARISON to what I ate last week, so I’m on the mend. Hands down the hardest thing about Weight Watchers (or any healthy eating plan/lifestyle change, for that matter) continues to be allowing myself to indulge a little without making it a habit. I always have a hard time reeling myself back in, but I am determined to do it. Because I already gave away all my fat clothes.
Honestly, that’s the most exciting thing I’ve got going on. Right now I feel like our lives are in a holding pattern until further notice. Winter is dragging on (AND ON AND ON); the kitchen remodel is a couple of months away; there’s been an Official Decision made about Baby Number Two but nothing to show for it yet. Speaking of which…
After the miscarriage back in November, Dave asked me whether I would share the news of a pregnancy on my website as early as I did the last time. I said then that I thought I would. He said, however, that if it were up to him, he would rather I wait until we made sure everything was going to be fine before saying anything.
I respect Dave’s opinion more than anyone else’s in the entire world, obviously. But his reasoning for not wanting to say anything until we were given the Pregnancy Green Light is that having to tell people that the pregnancy had ended made it very awkward for both him and the people he had to tell it to. And I get that, because it IS a (to quote Tessie) Nervous Tummy situation, but Dave is so private that the only people he had to tell about the miscarriage the last time were his mom and his two best friends.
My own personal thought was that no matter how far along you are in a pregnancy, SOMETHING BAD COULD ALWAYS HAPPEN. It’s just the way things are. You can lose a baby at 8 weeks and you can lose a baby full-term. It’s obviously not as likely, but it can happen. You’re never totally safe. I mean, granted, that’s not exactly the attitude to adopt for Everyday Living or anything, but it is one of the reasons I feel okay about sharing about another pregnancy just as early as I did last time, and the time before that. If I found out I had cancer, I wouldn’t wait until I found out if I was going to survive before writing about it. To me, just because you can’t predict the outcome yet doesn’t mean you should pretend it’s not happening.
Also, I look at this blog as a record of my life, and I love that I can look back at my archives and see what was really happening to me at that moment in time. In 30 years from now, will I look back at my writing and feel awkward or uncomfortable that I had to tell a lot of people that I had a failed pregnancy or will I feel thankful that I took the time to write about it and to work through it and to receive well-meaning, wonderful, supportive comments from friends and complete strangers?
And I realize that last paragraph makes it sound like a failed pregnancy is something to be embarrassed or ashamed of, and that’s another reason why I want to write honestly about it—because I want people to know that it happens, and that no one should feel alone when it happens to them. I don’t think miscarriage should have to be a dirty little secret. I certainly think you have every right to make it a private experience if you want to, but I also think that if you have the strength to get your story out there, it can only do good as far as helping others understand it better.
We want another baby. We feel ready for another baby. And I am sure I want to be honest about the journey we have to take to get there.