Time to resurrect the motherfucking action plan.
We were ready for a different kind of action plan-- Tums, foot rubs, surreptitious browsing of the Amazon baby department-- but we've got to hold tight for a little while yet. Heather and I shared our grief Sunday with the usual exchange of tears and anger, and, when Monday morning rolled around and she had wretched cramps, we accepted that there was nothing negotiable about the spotting. I nagged to be sure she was truly bleeding-- this, again, is the kind of warped reality in which we're living-- and then started pulling out the books.
Expect the Best has something to do with what to eat when you're trying to conceive or are pregnant. I only have a vague understanding of it because it was a part of my initial trying-to-get-pregnant buying spree, along with a book about a super-hardcore fertility diet that forbids everything from gluten to fruit to water. That's an exaggeration, but not by much. I skimmed a few pages at the time and decided we weren't ready to survive on oatmeal alone. Expect the Best seemed legit and sane in comparison.
The bitch of it is that the book focuses on a healthy diet during pregnancy, which is precisely the information we don't need right now. Blah, blah, blah, brain development... Tell me what the hell Heather can eat so that there's a baby to develop in the first place. I wanted to kick the shit out of the book when I found that the section on infertility (ugh-- are we there yet?) to which chapter 2 directed me was about 10 pages long, 9 of which were about cysts and various other diseases that-- god willing-- have nothing to do with Heather's womb.
So now I'm going to have to turn to Google. I'm going to be absorbed into what I believe is probably an even more warped world than the one I'm currently in, filled with teas and Robitussin and yoga. Tea! I think I'll have more luck with the Robitussin.