In March, we lost a baby.
On March 10, I was supposed to be 8 weeks pregnant. Instead, we found out that day that the baby had stopped growing around 4-5 weeks.
The image on the ultrasound of the egg sac and what was supposed to be my healthy baby but was just a tiny blob is pretty much frozen in my mind.
I prayed all the way to that ultrasound appointment, that against all odds, there would be a heartbeat. I hoped and believed so hard. But there wasn’t.
Everything had felt so perfect; the timing felt so right. Jaye and her new sibling were going to be 3 years apart, just like we had wanted. The new baby would be born right after/before my 30th birthday, just like Jaye was born right after Phil’s 30th birthday. We were ready to be pregnant again, so ready for another baby. It was supposed to work out.
That afternoon, I kept thinking of really stupid “positive” things like “Well, at least now I can wear those cute summer dresses I bought on sale before I knew I was pregnant.” or “I can have a beer tonight.” and each one would make me cry. I didn’t want to wear those dresses or have a beer, I wanted my baby. I still don’t want to wear them.
It feels like a terrible joke. Especially the fact that I had to continue to walk around and do things like a normal person. Go to work, take the dog for a walk, cook dinner. One night, as we were walking the dog, I burst into tears in front of some random house and Jaye gave me a hug and a kiss to make me feel better. A few nights later, as we passed that same house, she asked, “Are you sad, Mama?”
It took 3 weeks from the time we found out until the time I actually had the physical miscarriage. 3 really long, cruddy weeks, where I was pregnant but not really. I was having no signs of miscarriage, but it was there and always on my mind.
A $1200 bill came today from the ultrasound that confirmed the baby wasn’t growing any more. The cruelest knife twist right at the end.
Wednesday of last week, as I was putting Jaye to bed, I started bleeding more heavily. I sat on the couch and watched a couple of episodes of Love it or List it while the physical part of my pregnancy finally came to an end. At the time, I felt relieved, glad that the limbo was over, grateful that it happened naturally. It restored my faith in my body as strong and capable.
And most days, I feel strong and capable, too.