Barely pregnant. Too low. Indicative of a chemical pregnancy. Tests should turn negative shortly. If not by Monday, I can have another draw just to be 100% sure there is no ectopic developing.
I got the news in the car. I parked it at the park I love to go to, the one I wanted to take our children to. I sat there in the car and sobbed and sobbed.
I feel devastated. Even though this was the likeliest outcome, even though I expected it. It's just so cruel. And on fucking Christmas Eve. So much for hope. So much for a miracle. Hope is nothing more than a meaner way to get kicked in the teeth.
I am not in the agony I was after losing Chickadee. I never knew that little one, never looked forward to its due date or wondered what it would look like. But I had stupidly (as stupidly as taking that first fucking test) allowed myself to believe I was pregnant and I had a chance.
I just want to scream and cry and kick something. That is compounded by the fact that I can do none of these things and instead have to go shower and wrap gifts and visit family who know none of this was occurring and pretend that I am in the Christmas spirit and happy. Difficult enough when I was merely exhausted and grumpy. Seems impossible to deal with, but I will.
And maybe tomorrow I will feel better about this, and we can think again about trying and not about how horribly abused I feel right now. I don't know if it is possible to hate God, but I know that if I think about it too much I will learn the answer to that question.