My miscarriages have a way of tarnishing my favourite holidays. First Canada Day, and now St. Patrick's Day. What's next, uterus? If you're planning on fucking up Halloween or August Long Weekend, I'd like some notice, thank you very much.
I'm doing okay though. I was only about a month along, not that that matters at all, other than the fact that this time we didn't get a chance to tell anyone, which is good, I guess. We didn't even get a chance to think about it, because the day I found out I was pregnant, was the day I found out I was in the process of miscarrying. I probably shouldn't even be writing about it, but what the hell. I'm a rule breaker. I'm also strong and not willing to let this break me. I'm moving on, and keeping my chin up, and all that jazz. I am less angry than the first time, but somewhat worried about medical issues, of which I have no interest in looking into at this point in time. I will still continue to avoid pregnant folk like they have the plague. I've kind of given up on my lady bits at this point, and I'm kind of okay with that. Is that a negative way to accept something you don't want to? I don't know. For some reason, all I want to do is get more dogs, have a beer with my friends, have a good cry and call it a day.
Life continues to be full of awesome, and I am looking forward to summer, and my excelling at my new job, new opportunities that my husband is looking into, and gardening two gardens, growing my hair long, and beers and books on my deck all summer.
And I'm looking forward to telling you all about it as all this awesome happens. This depressing shit has got to go. Keep on bringing the fun, world. Keep on bringing the happy. I'm more than ready for it.