The best laid plans

As you may recall from my last post, I had determined that we would never again try to have a baby and that I was done.  Well, do you remember in that very same post where I said,   "After we lost the baby, I was hell bent on getting right back on that horse.  We were going to make a baby, damn it, and nothing was going to stop me."?  
So begins the next chapter of my life.  I wake up two days after making that decision to sore boobs.  And we all know what that means.  My body, after seven pregnancies now, knows exactly what-in-the-hell that means.  I can't believe it.  I had tried for three months to get pregnant and failed, and failed, and had a dead baby.  And now, with one tiny moment of cursing the pregnancy gods....  no.  I just am not ready to buy into this pregnancy deal again.  My uterus should be a shriveled desert, right?  It had just kicked out its last resident and hadn't even started a new cycle yet...
  Maybe I had seen that beautiful, clear, and sticky goop that indicated high fertility...  Maybe I had dragged my husband off in my haste to prove the world wrong...  Maybe I had known in my crazy, well-informed, and hormone-filled-with-loss mind what I could be doing.  But then I decided I didn't want another baby, and the new plan seemed better.  So, I just cannot agree to what my body is saying, which is:

As the days pass, my poor girls become more tender.  Within two weeks, I am sick.  Deathly sick.  Sick like I have never been before.  But I refuse- refuse- to take a pregnancy test because I refuse to be pregnant.  But the nausea gets worse.  I can't hardly eat, and I feel exhausted to the point of tears.  I don't feel crazy like the last time, but I still feel crazy.
I know when the miscarriage was, so I know how long it has to be before I can even try to see if this could be real.  I continue through life knowing I am pregnant.  I know just like moms know things.  And my brain cannot wrap itself around this.
October 17- This is the day I have decided I will get a positive test if I am.  I wait for the day.  I take the test.
It is the darkest, most beautiful positive (BFP) that I have ever seen.  This is not a pale line like the last one.  This one probably would have shown up a week ago, had I been so inclined to look at it (You will notice that my positive line on the left is much darker than the control line on the right).

As my ridiculously poor luck would have it, it seems that while I was in the "damn it all" phase of grief for my lost baby, and before I had regained my senses, I had gotten myself knocked up.  Congratulations to us!

And, as a very important sidenote, my husband is completely over the moon and happy that he has this new chance to have a baby.  He is scared because of our recent loss, and tries not to get too excited until we make it further along, but he is so happy.  

Author's note:  I leave this sidenote so that if one day my child decides that I am horrible and evil for these thoughts, she/he will know that daddy never had them.