This morning, I ran into a girl who worked out at they gym in the wee hours of the morning. . . I haven't been going to the gym since the miscarriage. She happily asks, "Did you get your wish yet?". . . I replied "no". Then she beams and says, "I did!".
She's 8 weeks pregnant. . . due two weeks after I would have been. I realized as I stood there that I should be 10 weeks pregnant today. . . instead, I tested negative again today at 17dpo and discontinued my progesterone so that AF can show up.
I'm a mess. When does this start getting easier? When do I accept that I may never get to have a baby with my husband?
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