I have always been the kind of person who pretends to be fine, or (more often) forces herself to be fine, even when she is not. I don’t like negative energy, and I’m a strong person who can handle things. This time I think I need to feel my sadness and face it rather than stuff it away.
I am sad because I miscarried at 7 weeks. This was a baby that we planned for; we were so thrilled to see the positive pregnancy test. This baby was wanted and loved before it even had a heartbeat, or a name. We kept it a secret from our parents because we were planning to make the big announcement this Friday.
Every day since I confirmed my pregnancy I happily sucked down cans of ginger ale and ate my body weight in pretzels to fight off the constant nausea. I was sure that nausea, which was not a problem in my first pregnancy, had to mean I was pregnant with a little girl. I started a list of names. The day before I miscarried, I woke my husband up to show him the unmistakable bump on my lower abdomen. He put his hand on it.
Life does not always go as planned. Things happen. Bad things. I have learned this time after time because I am a planner by nature and have had my plans dashed to the ground more times that I can remember. I’ve lost a lot of plans, but I have never lost a baby. It’s a startling experience. It shook me.
I think that this loss makes me realize how blessed I am to have a happy, healthy, almost-two-year-old running around my house in bright green rain boots. He is the light of my life. One day, hopefully soon, I will have more happy, healthy children running around my house … and I have one child in Heaven.
I think it is a girl, and I know she is beautiful. I can’t wait to meet her.