Confusing Math

So with Halloween right around the corner, and me feeling incredibly large, sick and tired, I oscillate between two general feelings:

  • pathetic self-pity for my current sad state/general malaise/irritability
  • extreme gratitude/excitement for things to come/mindfulness that our family dynamic is about to change

Basically my hormones are a wreck. And both Simon and I have been hit with an incredibly awful sinus cold-bug that has laid me out entirely.

But I was thinking, since last year at this time, I was pregnant- but only a “little bit pregnant” but still, pregnant.

And I believe I was about 7.5-8 weeks pregnant on November 1st, when I had the emergency ectopic surgery.

And now I’m 33 and a half weeks pregnant, and incredibly grateful to be here.

There are 52 weeks in a year, right?

But I have been pregnant for many weeks this year. Many Many weeks.

The other day as I was opening another medical bill for “the pregnancy that didn’t work out” that we’re still paying off. I noted that it will not be paid off until well after we’ve had this baby that is coming in December.  Gabe said, “Maybe it would make you feel better if you thought of the bill as your “life-saving surgery” instead of the “pregnancy that didn’t work out”…”

He’s right, that does help a little bit.



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