I had my annual visit with the gynocologist this week. The last one I had was, obviously, a year ago. A week after that I found out I was pregnant. And five days after that I found out I was miscarrying. So you'd think that knowing that, I would've been more prepared.
I should have a three month old right now.
The whole visit was a punch in the gut. Walking into the waiting room I felt like someone knocked the wind out of me. Bellies of various sizes and six week old babies accompanying mothers to postpartum check-ups surrounded me.
The clinic staff should recognize me from all my prenatal visits.
In the exam room, shivering in a paper gown, I held back tears. I hated being there. It felt oppressive and even cruel.
I should be talking to the doctor about trying for our third.
My new doctor came in. We chatted, joked around, discussed normal annual exam stuff. We did not talk about having another baby.
Why can't we be ready for another baby?
The whole outing didn't last long, but driving home I felt exhausted. I am happy for my pregnant friends. I truly am. But yesterday after my appointment I had a strong dislike for all the other pregnant woman out there. (Which I know isn't fair. And I feel guilty admitting that I felt it, even if it was only for a moment.)
I want another baby.
Maybe by next year, it will be easier. Maybe by next year, we'll be in a different place.