One year

I can't believe it, but it has been one year since I started this blog. Tomorrow is my birthday, which means that I should be cleaning up and preparing things for the party I finally had to organize myself. I'm certainly not happy about that. One year ago I hoped I would have a chubby baby in my arms by this time. I don't. I could have, the due date for the first miscarriage passed this week. But I don't. An I have two more missed due dates to go. They will be hard. I don't have a baby in my arms, but I know more than last week. It turns out that I'm fine. But our chances of carrying a baby to term are slimmer. Apparently little L was our lucky shot. The doc said we have good chances of having more babies. But they want to do all kinds of prenatal testing. And I don't. I won't. Because even in the worst case scenario, I would never terminate the pregnancy. I'm as agnostic as they come, but I have lost three tiny babies. As little as they could be at six weeks of pregnancy, they were my babies. I also won't get pregnant unless I have realistic expectations of having a VBAC. If a c-section is mandatory, I'm out.
We have an appointment with a genetic doctor in two weeks. They wanted to meet this week, but of course Mr Hubby is too busy. Which bugs me. A lot. The doctor made sure to repeat him one hundred times that it is not his fault. I didn't hear anything of the kind when the ball was on my side of the court. Am I pissed? Very much. Do I feel bad for him? Certainly. But when today I got a package with all the forms from the genetic office, I got mad. Because they are addressed at me. Because they include a shiny brochure of all the fancy prenatal tests they can perform. Because I know I'm in for a fight. And one year later, I don't know if it is a fight I can endure. What a lovely birthday I will have. In four hours, I will be thirty.