33 weeks of memories

I had an email from my sister-in-law yesterday. She’s pregnant for the third time. In my head I know this is a good thing. They want this baby. They’ll do their best for this baby. However, it’s making me anxious, edgy, and upset. I chickened out of calling her yesterday. I sent a brief Congratulations e-mail. I didn’t put it together until this morning, but her baby is due on the same day Peanut was due.

That’s what has me freaked out. They have the same due date. Each week I’ll be thinking about my disintegrating pregnancy and birth. There’s no reason to suspect that her pregnancy will go the same way that mine did. It’s incredibly rare for that to happen, but for the next 33 weeks I’ll have that reminder of ickiness.

I have to find away to break my association between those dates. It’s not my pregnancy. It’s not my birth. It’s not me. But it hurts. I’d love to have another child, but I know that neither my husband nor I can face another pregnancy. We’ve decided to have the big V performed this year. I know this is the best decision we can make. But I’m still sad that I will only have one child, one pregnancy, one birth.

Thirty three weeks of memories…