I Wish For Another Beginning

I'm jealous of the beginning because I loved that part. The middle was fun and the end I wouldn't wish on anyone:

Beginning. Mentioning to your husband that you're 6 days late. Trying to spare his feelings in case you're wrong, but still wanting to involve him by suggesting that you pick up a very cheap pregnancy test just to make sure. Taking a home pregnancy test with some amount of certainty that it could be positive. Watching the second line appear. Emerging from the bathroom to his "So?" and only being able to nod your head up and down. Him asking if you're okay and you burst out crying and tell him that you are terrified. The smile on his face and the joy in his eyes. Experiencing your own disbelief, but knowing deep down that this is it. An actual reason for your hand to stray near your stomach.


Middle. 6-11 weeks.


End. Rising early (even on the weekend) to head down the hall to the bathroom, as it has become habit for you. You see the smallest amount of spotting. You try to calm yourself down and remain positive, but you knowknowknow that it's over. Talking, more words, attempts not to worry, and no crying, but you don't remember what you should do. You do not wake the husband because there is no point in both of you worrying, but you do call the doctor on call from your clinic. What do you do? What do you do? You wake her up she says stay off your feet, go to the ER if this this and this happens. You wait. You can't handle waiting, so you wake up the husband by telling him that he shouldn't worry, but . . . He worries, you worry. All day there is bleeding and he's asking questions. Go to the ER or don't go? More bleeding and it's beginning to scare you. Not worried, scaredscaredscared. You call out to your husband and tell him that it's time you head towards the ER. You knew and it's over. Now you only have to wait for them to tell you a couple dozen times. It's the end.