The good thing about it all (sometimes you can find a good thing even in all the crap), is that we have time. And we may not know how much time that is (which is most definitely NOT a good thing for the planner inside me), but there has been time. Time to feel our baby move, to see the girls kiss my belly and tell him secrets, to get ultrasound pictures of him, to give him silly names (Hope calls him Chubby and Paige goes back and forth between Chubby and Hairy Daddy's Stomach), to make up stories about what he's "saying" when we go over a bump or when Hope blows raspberries on my belly.
We've had time to make memories, and that feels like a good thing.
And, even though with each bleeding episode the doctor hasn't been able to find a reason or signs of impending labor, it's starting to feel like the beginning of the end to me. (Of course, I hope I'm completely wrong and it's just my paranoia...) But I am terrified. I'm afraid of the unknown. Am I going into labor today? Will it be tomorrow? Do we have days, or weeks, or even months? What will labor look like? Will my doctor end up delivering him? What kind of nurses will I have? Will he be born breathing? Or will he already be gone? What will he look like? Will we have time with him?
The questions are never-ending, and the unknown answers eat away at me. I love this baby so much and I want to keep him for as long as possible, yet the waiting and the not-knowing are so incredibly hard. It's a roller coaster that is constantly going down, with a few tiny bumps up along the way. We're just on the ride, not knowing quite when we'll hit the bottom, until we can hopefully start to make our way up again.