Expectations: pregnancy post-miscarriage

Last week I had a full physical, more because my insurance paid for me to wander hallways in a light robe and FitFlops between spurts of blood-draws and chest x-rays than because I really care about my health.  Or, that would be the case under other circumstances.  Such as it is, I have to try to care about my health for the purposes of baby-making.  Just... under the radar.



Heather says that she handled her miscarriage better than I did, and that her goal was to have made every attempt possible to get pregnant; once IVF didn't play out, she'd fulfilled her obligation.  I didn't have that approach: my goal was a baby, and it wasn't met.  And it's true that she bounced back more gracefully than I did at the time, with more confidence and less regret, as though she was at peace with an experience that had been nothing but wrenching.

I envied her perspective, but it never confused me into thinking she was at peace with our next effort.  There was always this... almost a line in the sand: "We will try again if this doesn't work, but I won't be happy about it."  Not in those words, but there was a chill there.  Post-miscarriage, there still is, and I don't know if it's going to be a problem.

I told the doctor who saw me last in the rotation that I was going to try getting pregnant in a month or two.  She was delighted, telling me about her baby and how he was a surprise (when Mom was 40).  She asked me if I needed a prescription for prenatal vitamins and I said no, that I was already taking them.  These are Heather's leftovers that I tuck into a basket in the bathroom like porn behind the toilet.  I like to believe that the ovulation monitor, during the week or so of each month I use it, blends into the bathroom counter.  It was out there so much over the past two years that I barely register it, and hopefully Heather doesn't either.

The other day, my beloved said that she'd be a little sad when I got pregnant, especially if it happened quickly.  I'm someone who understands resentment and jealousy, often to the point of pettiness, and I've been studiously avoiding news about other people's pregnancies or efforts to get pregnant.  Talking about a terrific lesbian-mom blog, I told Heather that the ladies in question were having twins.  She tensed up, and I automatically responded, "No, it's okay.  They spent a lot-- a lot-- of time on this.  They earned it."  She relaxed and said, well, okay, then we can be happy for them. 

The question seems to be whether she can be happy for us, when it's me.  I've got to sneak a vitamin now.