Monday, January 10, 2011

Then There's that 20%

We've started telling people that we're having a baby. They're all excited as is my husband. I'm excited too, but I know what could happen. Really, my husband and I both know. The stats are something like one in every four pregnancies don't make it. 80% of those losses happen in the first trimester, but then there's that 20%.

That 20%. Now statistics are something that some people despise. My thought is averages are averages. Maybe my numbers are better. Maybe not. According to my High Risk Doctor (HRD), who doesn't like numbers; we've got less than a 3% chance of something happening to Wombat late term, which is higher than a woman who has never suffered a loss. Still, that's a pretty good chance of holding a living Wombat. That's better than most grades I received in school. An A+ even. Hum.

However, when we tell people that we're pregnant, I just don't want them to hug me, congratulate me, tear up, basically anything a person would normally do when someone announces pregnancy. I don't feel that way.

Let's just act like I'm saying I bought a new coffee mug and save all the hyperness for the actual arrival of a healthy, breathing, happy Wombat.

And no, this, contrary to what many people seem to think, does not mean I'm "over" Moose, that I want to hear about _____'s baby, or I'm not scared out of my living mind that one day I'll either have a new urn on the mantle or I'll be responsible for a sweet, innocent, little baby and the decisions I make will have a lasting effect on someone's outlook on life and his/her sense of humor.

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