Like an unwanted Valentine's Day present, a few days late.

You know that feeling of hopelessness and inadequacy and failure you get when you first see a tinge of red and you're flooded with sorrow and anger because here's yet another sign you're not pregnant when all you want is to be, and you were, and you should be still if the fates hadn't led you down another very much unwanted path, and then you think, well! perhaps it's implantation bleeding! and start doing some math to try to justify that, even though it's rather creative math and anyway, everyone knows that "implantation bleeding" is just something that the internet created to mess with wanna-be pregnant women's minds, and you resolutely squash the dreams and anticipations that never should have dared to expose themselves during your mad calculations, but you're still kind of hoping anyway even though you won't admit it to yourself for fear of invoking another resolute squashing, and then you look again a few hours later and realize that yes, it really is your period, no doubt about it? 

Yeah. I have that feeling.

To temper it, I am focusing on the positivity of the indications that my body is returning to normal, five and a bit weeks after the first physically visible signs of miscarriage, almost eight weeks after the estimated demise of the pregnancy, the missed miscarriage. And based on this start date, it seems I properly pinpointed the timing of ovulation a couple of weeks ago. (See, not all of my calculations are crazy.)

I was also accurate in saying I wouldn't be devastated if the ill-advised immediately-post-miscarriage baby try didn't work out. I'm not. I'm just so fucking sad all of the time.

right now. source