The last few days have been nice. I have finally started to be optimistic about this pregnancy. For so long, I was sure it wasn't going to work, I was sure the hcg results wouldn't be good on the repeat test, I was sure the ultrasound wouldn't show what we hoped for, I was sure of so many things and I was proven wrong.

I was glad I was wrong, of course, but still feeling like it was all just too good to be true.

But then, as the days turned to weeks, I started to count my chickens.

Then, I started spotting. I had my appointment with nurse ratched, which wasn't exactly as bad as I thought, though she will always be nurse ratched to me. I was a bit peeved a few things she had to say but, honestly, I'll never see her for an appointment again and I'm going to wait to get answers on my care from someone, oh, less evil.

Anyway, the next morning, I noticed a little blood on the tissue in the morning. I tried to calm myself by realizing I had just, well, pooed and that might have been the cause. Then I went to work and there was more once I got there. Admittedly, it was not a large amount--but it was red blood. very red. I sat and teared up in the bathroom for a while and then went back to my desk to call the OB. One of the nurses, Betsy, in fact--one of my favorites--said not to worry--it was probably just a little bleeding from the exam I'd had the day before. I said I know, I was just a little concerned--I know blood is never a good sign. We hung up after a few more reassurances from her end.

Then she called back about 20 minutes later. She had checked with one of the doctors and I was to have an ultrasound "just to be safe" and I was to go home and put my feet up and drink lots of water.

So I did--I called and made an appointment for a sonogram but they can't take my until monday. The bleeding has stopped--it was never really much to begin with but it was enough to really upset me. I really thought I was feeling optimistic and good about this pregnancy. I had even gone so far to buy a couple of baby-centered knitting books. Something I had, until now, still avoided because of the ugly reminders of last time. See, knitting is something my grandmother taught me to do when I was just a kid but I never really got into it until last year, when I wanted to knit something for my daughter--who I was about 4 months pregnant with. The combination of knitting and babies has been hard for me ever since and I thought my ability to think about knitting for this baby was a real step forward for me, as weird as it sounds.

But, apparently, I am still hanging over the edge of pessimism--holding on with the thinnest of threads. I feel fine now--I'm glad I'll have the ultrasound on Monday anway but I'm more disappointed that I can't be as happy and secure as I'd like to be. I dont want the failures of the past to be a shadow over this pregnancy and my baby. I know I will never forget Gwen but I also want to love this baby in the unique way he or she deserves. I hate that I can't do that yet. I know its still early and I have a certain right to be scared--I just wish I didn't have to be.