Last week I went to Georgia. I had planned on going before the miscarriage as Miles was in the field all last week (and is gone again this week). When my doctor said it would still be ok for me to go, I knew that I still wanted to. Ironically, I was going to visit some close friends who ALL had babies in the last two months. But I had a great time and am so glad I got to meet all the new arrivals and visit with some really great friends. It was nice to go back "home" even though it felt weird. I will share more of that trip later though - especially the short videos I took of Finn dressed up as a fish for Halloween (surprise, surprise).
Going back to Georgia was a good distraction. But yesterday I was a hot mess. Honestly, I don't think it even has so much to do with the pregnancy loss itself (although that obviously factors in), but rather the quick dump of hormones from my body. Poor Miles. He had gotten little sleep all week in the field, and only got to come home for nine hours. Yet when he called to say he was on his way home, he made some comment about dinner that I took the wrong way and I got mad and hung up on him. Then when he walked in the door I just started crying and apologized for my short temper. . . and the crying mess that he got to come home to. Welcome Home, Miles!
I think another reason I got so worked up yesterday was because I read through all the sweet comments people left on the blog from my last post. People would say things like "it's unfair" or "why do bad things keep happening to good people" and I just got to the point where all I could think was "yeah, why DO these things keep happening? Why is life so cruel?" And it kind of did me in. Not to mention I had gone for a short, short run and I was just feeling so slow and out of shape. I'm not trying to fish for compliments and it's not a body image or weight thing. I hadn't yet gained any pregnancy weight and I'm not trying to lose any, but over the last couple months I haven't been working out much and just kinda let myself go. So when you feel out of shape it's frustrating just adds to the already "blagh" ness that I was feeling.
Anyway, I do feel that I'm entitled to feel the way I feel and that sadly I do have good reason to throw a little pity party, but at the same time I needed to (and did for a short bit) sit back and remember that life's not over. We didn't just lose our house in a hurricane, the three of us are in good health, Finn was adorable yesterday (as always) and so excited to see Dadda. When he woke up yesterday morning, it was like he knew he was back home and Dadda should be there too. I said "good morning baby, how did you sleep?" and he responded with "Dadda!" So yes - life can knock you down at times, but there's still a lot of good in the world. It just sometimes takes longer to see through the haze of grief and sadness.
Anyway, I wanted to share another entry I had written, but instead of just going backwards in them, I thought I'd share the first one I wrote. I had just found out I was pregnant and put Finn down for a nap and came to the computer to write how I was feeling:
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It’s September 12, 2012. And I’m pregnant again for the
third time. I’m pretty much in shock. A million thoughts running through my
head. Mostly, “how do I tell Miles?” I know he will be happy. He was ready to
jump on board the baby-making wagon long before I was, but I just want to tell
him in a special and unique way like I did with our other two children.
I thought I might be pregnant. But then I thought that I was
probably being silly to think that. We had JUST decided to. . .to not even try to get pregnant, but to not prevent
it. I thought it might take some time. It, in fact, took no time at all. I know
that is a blessing. Some people struggle for so long, some forever, to get
pregnant. And I have been able to easily get pregnant three times. I’m lucky.
But I don’t feel lucky. I still feel behind. I feel sad that our math equation
will never add up.
I’m mostly just in shock. I bought the tests yesterday. I
thought that I could maybe even take one yesterday as they say they can detect
up to 5 days from when your period is due. But yesterday was September 11th,
and that day deserves to be somber and special for so many other reasons. If I
was pregnant, I wanted to save finding out for another day. Yesterday I
realized that I wasn't crampy like I usually am before getting my period. I
thought “hmm, what if I’m pregnant?” and water tasted bad yesterday which made
me think of Jenny because I think she hated the taste of water when pregnant.
And then I just felt really tired. But I also have been sick, so wasn't sure if
I was tired because I wasn't sleeping well of if it was maybe another sign that
I’m pregnant. With those few hints, I really started thinking I might be. I
woke up in the middle of the night. My throat hurt so much from my cold and I
was coughing and it woke me up. I couldn't fall back asleep because I was
thinking how I would test in the morning. And then I woke up and fed Roscoe and
got Finn his milk and sat with him for a bit and then decided to go take the
test. I took it and put it down on the counter. I told myself it probably wasn't positive and that was fine. Maybe that was a good thing even. We have
lots on the agenda and Miles will be out in the field for three weeks so
there’s no way I could get pregnant this month so it would put it off for a
couple months. But that was fine. We were prepared for that. For the
possibility of having to wait. I could sign up for that triathlon and get in
better shape and it was cooling off outside finally so we could enjoy the
outdoors more.
And then I walked back into the bathroom and looked. And
there were two clear pink lines. And I just said out loud, “oh, holy crap” –
like the way you say it when you realize you are late for a meeting you forgot
about or something. Finn was chasing
Roscoe around the room and I just stared at him and thought of how he is still
my little baby. Is this really happening again? Are we ready for this? Am I
ready for this? If all goes well, am I ready to parent two children!? Yikes,
what happens when I lose my mind with just Finn? Will I just completely lose it
with two? Will it be easier in any way? HOW DO I TELL MILES?
Lots of emotions.
There’s fear. I’m pregnant but how long will it last? I just
peed on the stick, haven’t seen an actual baby on an ultrasound yet. What if
it’s just a blighted ovum? What if I miscarry? What if we lose this one further
along? What if, what if, what if. . . .
There’s excitement. Wow – we could have two living children
come next summer. I can decorate another nursery and name another baby and
breastfeed again (ha – I am surprised how much I miss breastfeeding). Finn
could be a big brother. Wow.
There’s sadness. Is this the last time I will be pregnant?
Would it be if Cale were alive? Oh, Cale. I miss you so much. I’m due in May.
It would have been nice to have another June baby. Silly to get spun up on
dates, but June is a big month for this family. But hopefully May will be too.
Will I tell my sister? She’d love that. Maybe I should text
her right now. No, I should tell Miles first. He was the first to know with
Cale and Finn. And maybe we should wait for a bit anyway. Can Miles keep it
from his brother? Probably not. When will I tell my parents? My cousin’s
wedding is in a month. I will see Anna and Deborah then too. Can I keep it from
all of them? Probably.
If all goes well we could put this in our Christmas card and
announce the pregnancy the same way we did with Cale in Finn. Three Christmas
announcements. In four years. Damn. So this means that I’ve been pregnant in
2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, and hopefully 2013. Oma would be proud. (Oma is Miles' grandmother who had thirteen children)
I don’t like prefacing things with “if all goes well” but I
can’t help it either. I wish I could say that I’m immune to miscarriages. That
I already suffered a terrible lose and I’m guaranteed smooth sailing from here
on out, but I’m not. And if miscarriages
are so common (1 in 4), then am I almost due for one? That sounds horrible. I
hope it’s not the case.
I guess I should call the doctor.
Wow. Three pregnancies. Here we go . . . .
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