Seriously, what ELSE?

So, yesterday morning, Lawrence developed croup. I thought his labored breathing, wheezing and horrible cough was the scariest thing ever.

And then I woke up this morning. With bright pink blood when I used the restroom.

I know some spotting can be okay in the first trimester. Shoot, I had it with Lawrence. But this was much more and much earlier and I just don't feel optimistic. As the day's gone on, it hasn't let up at all and it's gotten to be a brighter red. I don't really feel crampy, but I still don't think it's a good sign.

I sit here, listening to my poor baby wheezing through the monitor as he naps, thinking about the other baby inside of me that I may never know and not-so-patiently awaiting the call from the OB's office and the stress is unbearable. I can't explain it and someone that had never been through it wouldn't understand, but I already love this child. I haven't known about its existence for very long at all, but the thought of it being over before it ever really began is devastating. I can't help but wonder if I'd been less stressed about being pregnant and not worried so much if maybe it would have turned out okay. I know consciously that I can't blame myself, but I can't help but ask the "what ifs..." What if I hadn't drank caffeine? What if I hadn't been so stressed? What if I'd gotten more rest? Or eaten more? Or been thrilled from minute one?

I worried about my second pregnancy before it even happened. I'm surrounded by friends and family who've had healthy pregnancies and children. With the rates for miscarriage as they are, I just *knew* the odds were stacked against me.

I seem to run out of tears. I'm trying to be positive and remind myself that some people have bleeding and everything turns out fine, but I don't want to set myself up for an even farther plunge if the reality is that this pregnancy is over. It's been four hours now since the lab technicians stabbed me and poked around in my arms (yes, armS. I knew I wouldn't escape without at least one poke in each arm. Good thing I'm not an addict. My veins are autrocious) and I still haven't heard anything. I hate to be *that* patient -- the one that calls, what would that be? FIVE times in one day. I just need a plan. I need to know what the next step is. I need to know if it's okay to hope.