Christmas was so swamped with projects and commissions that we didn't even decorate, which is a first for me. The only thing we did put out was the Advent wreath, and it's still out.
After all the chaos died down, we realized I had accidently turned up pregnant. January crawled by in a haze of relentless morning (and noon and evening) sickness, finally resolving itself in one distinct bleeding episode and two weeks of blood tests and cryptic ultrasounds. Eventually it was determined that I had miscarried very early but that the placenta was alive and well and determined to make me sick indefinitely. A D&C was successfully completed yesterday afternoon.
That is basically what has been consuming our lives. My OBGYN group wants to finally do some follow-up to try to pinpoint what the problem is, but frankly I can't be bothered to care anymore. I really don't care. If I could have my way, I would never be pregnant again. I'll humor the doctors for a while, but if they want me to do months and months of charting and testing and injections and procedures, I'm going to beg off. I'm not going to cross state lines; I'm not going to invest excessive amounts of time or money. I refuse to let the best years of my life be consumed by wasted efforts to make my decrepit reproductive system function normally. Life is too short for that much pointless vomit. Hope is dead. Hope makes us miserable. We're done. We've accepted it. Now, let's adopt some kids and get on with our lives. Finito.