There's been an unknown heaviness on my heart these past couple days I've struggled with and all it took was a simple kind gesture of a friend to gift me a beautiful cookie as a reminder of the baby I lost in pregnancy, not once but twice. It struck me in that moment just what I've been struggling with all week.
I'm not even sure my friend knew exactly what this would have meant to me, that the timing of her gift would hit me so hard, but I spent the next 30 minutes bawling alone in my car.
I'm sitting here this morning sharing this cookie with my boys, remembering the babies I've lost, thinking of the newborn I would be holding in my arms this very moment if God had planned it otherwise.
I think it's particularly hard this week because exactly a year ago today I sat by this same old fireplace on a Monday morning watching my two year old and three year old run around playing and screaming, asking myself if this was really possible, could I be pregnant again with us trying not to be? Did I want another baby? Yes. Was I ready for another? No, probably not. Was I ready to break that news to my husband? No, definitely not.
Of course I knew if I told my husband we were expecting again he would be nothing but happy to welcome another baby into our wonderful chaos, but he wanted to be done and had made it clear he was happy with just the four of us.
So days passed and Friday came and still no signs of a period. I knew then for sure, over a week late, very emotional, vivid dreams, the break outs, utterly exhausted, I was a stranger in my own body and I knew why.
With this knowledge in the back of my mind we began our getaway weekend together that we planned months prior. I debated telling him before we left but if I'm being honest I was nervous about how it would affect our time together. The worries another pregnancy would bring finically, physically and emotionally, so I didn't. I would save it for the flight home.
We arrived in Cancun on our anniversary at our destination and began enjoying ourselves. The place was beautiful, the food was amazing, and the beach was perfect and acting like an old married couple, we were in bed and asleep by 11pm on the first night. A couple hours later I woke up in pain, the kind I'll never forget, it was just like the first time. I knew I was losing the baby and there was nothing I could do about it. It was such a bitter sweet trip for me and one I will never forget for two very different reasons.
It was difficult to deal with the fact that it was by far one of the best trips we'd taken together but I was still losing a baby. At that time I was emotional and looking back knew I had clouded judgment. I was scared to tell him, to share with him what was going on because I really didn't want him telling me it was for the best. So I cried in the shower over the loss of the baby I knew we would never meet here, telling myself that this has happened but you're going to be ok and it's alright to enjoy this trip even as you're going through this. That it was ok to be sad and still be there with him.
So I did and the trip with my husband was amazing. It was exactly what we needed, the time together remembering who we are outside of being parents and who we are to each other. Four days later when we arrived home there were two lines and eight days later there was one. In the end I told him what happened and he clarified he would have been happy, which I knew. I always knew because that's the kind of man I married.
I don't think most people know the emotional pain it leaves behind or can understand unless they go through it themselves. I don't know why it's hard to talk about these things but it is. I know it is. Is it the fear of having to face it? Fear of others not understanding and thinking you're overly emotional for no good reason? Fear of anger and confusion? Whatever it is, it's hard.
But when you lose something, someone, you have every right to feel whatever way you want.
I remember what I've lost every day and knowing someone else remembers and understands too, reminds me I am not alone.
So thank you to my sweet friend who remembers and understands and thought of me.
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