I did it again.
I looked at that girls profile, the one that’s only two weeks ahead of what I would’ve been, and I want to cry.
It’s a horrible thing to do, I’m playing games with my own mind and nothing good ever comes from it. Her gender scan is on Monday, which means I’m just two weeks time, just after Christmas, we would’ve found out what we were having.
Time has gone so quickly that even now it astounds me to think that it’s been over 7 weeks since I did it. Almost two months have passed, and even though I should be grateful that I’m moving further and further away from that shitty day, all I can seem to think about is how much more pregnant I would be by now. How big I would be, how close we’d be to buying blue clothes or pink clothes and choosing names and wall colours. How we’d well and truly be in the safe zone by now, and free to tell all of our friends the news. I’d definitely be showing as well, the girl on my instagram has such a neat bump all ready and it’s only her first baby, they say you get much bigger with your second.
I don’t know what it is about today, I don’t know if it’s because I had to speak to the doctor about it this morning, or whether it’s because I’ve suddenly become so broody that it hurts even more to think it all. It was easier before, when I decided that I didn’t want one and I didn’t want to get pregnant ever again. It meant that everything we’d lost wasn’t in vain. Well not really, but I was able to see it that way, sort of.
But now I’m back to being broody again, so broody but so scared of it all. I just keep thinking what if? And I knew I would because I’m that person. All I ever do is think about what could’ve happened and the chances I didn’t take and this is a massive chance that I didn’t take, that I didn’t risk and I wish more than anything that I could just know what would’ve happened if we’d gone ahead.
I feel as though I’m typing the same things day in, day out. Which is why I haven’t wrote much just lately, this is becoming less of a blog and more like a space where I just vent about the same thing. I can’t even read back because it makes me sadder than I already am and on good days I just don’t bother writing at all, which must make this all one hell of a depressing read.
On the plus side I’m feeling a little more Christmassy which is a positive. I just need to get to 2017 so that I can say that this is all last year.
I think I’ll feel better that way.