- Was eating chocolate by 9:45 am
- Cried all the tears I’ve been holding back for weeks; not for Anja (exactly), but because I cannot for the life of me sort out the complicated page numbering I need to do for my dissertation
- Took my bright and sweetly sensitive little E to a child psychiatrist who told me that children her age don’t grieve the loss of a sibling they never knew
- Went to an appointment with a doctor who is covering for my regular GP’s holidays, and who said, after hearing my pregnancy loss history, ‘Wow. Yeah. I totally can’t imagine what that must be like.’
- Wrote what surely must be the final, final, final words of my dissertation.
It’s been quite a day.
(P.S. I feel compelled, because I want to be honest here, to share that as of today I am, by some miracle (though I don’t believe in miracles), still pregnant. I don’t want to talk about it. At all. Ever. For now.)
(But, still, I am enormously grateful for all the comments on this post. I really, really believed it was over. So much so that realizing it wasn’t has required a tremendous effort.)