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Oh Internets, I have been holding out on you like a uptight virgin on prom night. I've wanted to give it up but WHAT WILL PEOPLE SAY?

I haven't been able to write here, because every single thing that is interesting or funny that has happened to me in weeks has to do with this thing that I weirdly couldn't talk about or wouldn't talk about and GAH. I am sorry. I do weird things sometimes.

I'm eight weeks pregnant.

I learned last time that you have to tell the people in your life that would have to know about a loss about the pregnancy. Because the day I had to tell my boss about my miscarriage, well it was awful in a way that I cannot even describe. So I have known for a month about this and have managed not to blurt it out to you.

I don't know why I chose this way.

Actually I do. Because I thought it would be better this way. I wanted to be eight weeks along and have seen a heartbeat on an ultrasound before saying a word to the Internets (also make sure that I had told everyone that needed to know first because you know, if you can't tell your mother about your pregnancy then it's probably bad to tell total strangers).

I knew right away and it would have been so much easier if I hadn't. First, I had a rapturous, almost sexual dream about a sausage McMuffin with extra cheese. I don't ever dream about food, in fact the only food dream I ever had when I wasn't pregnant was when I was seven and dreamt about drowning in the cream filling from a Twinkie. It was a nightmare brought on by my dad trying to force me to eat one (for some reason I didn't like them and my dad thought this was a sign that I was a defective child and tried to cram it in my mouth--which sounds violent but wasn't more teasing but still kind of a weird thing to do I admit). The McMuffin dream was followed by a day where I had a crashing hormone headache that was identical to one I had with my first pregnancy. So even though it seemed impossible and J made so much fun of me I just knew I was.

And I tested. And it was positive. And I was happy for about ten minutes and then started freaking out. Which was not helped at all by the fact that J was pretending that it wasn't happening. I don't know if he was just in denial or trying to prepare me for the worst but I hated him for about a week because I couldn't not think about it and couldn't tell anyone (except you know I told L) and he wouldn't talk about it with me.

The best thing I did was tell my mother who was unreservedly happy. She just doesn't think in terms of the negative. And I needed that permission to be happy. By this time we had had a couple of betas with good growing numbers and I was marginally reassured. My mom being happy has made this experience bearable.

Last week we had an ultrasound and I could barely talk to the tech before we saw the heartbeat. Even though I was living in a mess of fatigue and nausea I was still convinced that nothing would be there. Once there was a heartbeat I felt like I could breathe.

I actually felt fantastic. Sick as a dog but I felt safe. Nothing is ever certain but this felt good.

Then Zoot miscarried. And my friend that was a couple of weeks ahead of me miscarried last night. And I am terrified. It just feels like the chimes of doom are closing in. Failure is an option, I have definitely learned that before.

I do not know how to be this person. Who goes to bed at a second grade bed time, who has to eat protein every few hours or DIE, who cannot help but be afraid of the worst every day. My pants barely button (thanks to having tailored all the waists in my pants last summer) but I worry about jinxing myself with maternity clothes. Even though I have a business trip next month and it's clear my clothes won't fit. I don't know how to be this person, but I guess I am learning every day.