I'm so tempted to delete this whole blog.
We found out this week that I've miscarried our first child, and the sickening nervous excitement in the last few posts is making me positively ill.
All my pointless stressing about money, the apartment hunting for a second bedroom, reading stupid 'expecting' books and buying Richard "How to be a Great Dad for Dummies" and onsies with the outline of Ghana on them was such a waste of time.
And I was so cocky. So sure I was going to be a success at making babies that I TOLD. And now I have to untell people.
I miss my little peanut. For a little while there I was special. I had something wonderful that infected everyone who knew with happiness. Now I'm just empty.
Richard, of course has been amazing. But I caught him crying on his own, and I heard his voice crack when he called Ghana and told his mother. And seeing him so sad...sadder than I've ever seen him, is the worst part. I'm so good at compartmentalising my grief that I could probably go on pretending it never happened. But I feel like the grim reaper, forcing a black cloud over everyone I tell.
I might delete this blog. Except that I can vent here without anyone I know reading it.