August 2011 was our eight month of TTC. At the end of the month, we went on a weekend getaway to Portland (only 3 hours from Seattle). The Friday we left, I was convinced we’d had another month of failure, but I was determined not to let that ruin our trip. On the drive home, we discussed how unhappy we were with the weight we’d both put on the past 2+ years, and how we’d have enjoyed the trip to Portland much more if we were both 20 or so pounds lighter. We resolved to start a diet the next day. Specifically, Atkins, since Andrew had been successful with it in the past.
By the time we got home on Sunday night, I suspected that maybe I’d been too quick to judge. I took a pregnancy test, and was surprised to see a Big Fat Positive! (BFP) So surprised that I used another one, which had the same two pink lines! So I used a digital test, and that magical word appeared, “Pregnant!”
I come downstairs, in shock, and tell Andrew “So, I don’t think we’re starting Atkins tomorrow. I’m pregnant!” Needless to say, we didn’t get much sleep that night.
Sadly, that excitement only lasted a few weeks. At our first appointment with my new OBGYN, I had an ultrasound done. After what felt like an eternity of silence from the ultrasound tech, I grew concerned, and finally asked, “is everything ok?” I was supposed to be just over 8 weeks pregnant, and the ultrasound showed the baby measuring around 5 1/2 weeks.
Despite my meticulous tracking, which meant I knew exactly when I ovulated, and where I should be in my pregnancy, my blood test results were so high that my OB said she was “cautiously optimistic” that everything would turn out ok. This was a Wednesday. And we spent a few days in denial, and a sort of hellish limbo, not knowing how things would turn out.
Until that Sunday, when I started bleeding heavily, then we knew it was over for sure. September 25th, 2011, was arguably one of the worst days of my life.