Worst Weekend Ever

Don't get too excited. It came and it went. I thought the first miscarriage fulfilled my statistical quota for life: some 1 in 5 pregnancies are miscarried. But two in a row? This stinks. And rotten of rottenness: it happened the day before my first miscarried baby was due. Nasty weekend.
Scott and Bruce are taking good care of me. Scott took Bruce to the store so I could get some down-time. Bruce picked out some flowers for me. He insisted on buying these daisies in a watering can and he keeps talking about when we're going to plant our garden (he loved playing in the garden last summer). For a few days, Bruce kept telling me to "Go get some rest! Go to sleep!" He doesn't really understand what's going on; I hadn't explained the baby-in-the-tummy thing yet, so he just thinks I'm "a little bit sick," as he puts it.

In happier news, tomorrow is Valentine's Day and I've got a huge cheesecake in the oven for my boys. Scott and Bruce both LOVE cheesecake. Their toppings differ though: Scott prefers fruit like strawberries or blueberries. Bruce prefers rainbow sprinkles - or "jimmies" as New Englanders call them.