Dear Baby.

Thursday, November 16, 2017

It took me 3 weeks to open an empty blog post and write this title. I changed the title 4 times. It took me three weeks to say the word. It took me 6 weeks to come to terms with what was happening. I closed it, I deleted it, I started over. I stopped writing and I started writing again. Ten tissues, three re-starts, 4 texts to Adam and here we are.

I write about everything. I've shared a lot of great times on here but today's post is not a great one. For me, I wasn't sure I even wanted to write this post. But, writing this post is my version of therapy. It's what pushes me through the sadness and helps me deal with what I'm feeling. Grab a coffee, or if you're like me, a bottle of wine.

Let's start at the beginning.

Labor Day started like any other holiday weekend. Saturday was a day for sleeping in except I couldn't sleep because I felt nauseous (despite not drinking the night before) and I had to take the dogs out. I tried to make eggs but they made me puke. Coffee, puke. Thirty minutes later and two pretty blue lines and all of a sudden this labor day was not so typical.

Adam and I spent the weekend doing new parent-to-be things. We picked out names (call us presumptuous), we told our parents (call us excited beyond belief) and we already started making summer plans for our first summer with baby. Safe to say our dreams had officially come true.

We had the "do you want a boy or girl" conversations. We talked about daycare. I even made a private baby room board on Pinterest. Things were becoming so real. I stopped drinking coffee, eating sugar and I was loading up on all the good things. Except for an occasional starburst, I craved them so, I was prepping my body, heart and mind for baby.

Five super short weeks later our dreams were dashed and our baby was gone. "The heartbeat at the first ultrasound was strong." "We had no reason to worry." "At least you know you can get pregnant." "You can try again soon." "You will move on."

These are all very comforting words to everyone except the mom and dad who were just told they weren't going to be parents. They are anything but comforting when you're told you just lost your baby. When the doctor said there was no heartbeat it was as if she ripped mine out too.

The part that comes next is the worst so I'll save you the gory details. Words like DNC, naturally pass and miscarriage pills are thrown around casually like girl-talk at brunch. Talk of what comes next is gross and difficult to stomach. I was so cold, but so hot and crying so hard that I didn't process a word my doctor said. I sat there in a blur, crying. One minute, I was buying winter pregnancy clothes and the next I'm just supposed to move on. I went through the next week in a blur, crying. Sometimes I still feel like I'm in a blur. My body hurt. It ached. My heart actually burned with pain. I went seven days without dry eyes.


The worst part is not knowing what to say or what's next. My friends would ask me how they could help, they would send flowers, text messages and their prayers and I felt so grateful but also had no good response to their outpouring of kindness.
But here's the best part, the silver lining, the light; I have the best friends and family. Coti called (and still calls) me every single day making sure I'm okay. My Omaha girls text me hourly to make sure I'm getting through. My family, oh my family. And my sister-in-laws - don't even get me started on how wonderful they are.
A lot of people have asked me if this is something I'm going to blog about. My response then and still today is how do you communicate a pain you've never felt before? How do you find words to explain how you're feeling when words haven't yet been created for the pain. How do you blog when your heart breaks with every word.

I've been through breakups and blogged about them. I've dealt with death and blogged about it. I've failed, blogged. I've been hurt, lots of blogs. There aren't words for this kind of pain, but I'm a writer, and writing is the very least I can do. Even when I don't have the perfect words to write.

Luckily for me, I married a superhero. A superhero husband who knows exactly what words to say, when to say it and he knows when flowers and wine are the perfect kind of unspoken words. Adam reminded me that throughout my 10 short weeks of pregnancy, every day I prayed for a healthy baby. I prayed for our peace and our understanding but mostly, I prayed for a healthy baby.

God answered that prayer. Even if it wasn't in the way I wanted that prayer answered, He did.

Today is a hard today. Yesterday was a better day. I'm sure tomorrow will bring a whole new set of emotions. I find myself leaning in to the people around me a little harder, leaning into God more than I thought I could. I'm trying to find my balance again.
I have learned to live this part of my life as a season. One of my friends explained how to live life in seasons. We move through them, they change, the flowers bloom, the leaves fall off and winter comes. But the important part is that we keep moving through them. Grief is my current season and for now, that is okay. I will embrace this season and learn what I need to learn from it. Because I know, the flowers will bloom again and this season will change. 
I never thought this would be my story. I always saw others dealing with this pain and could never quite grasp it. I could emphasize but never grasp it. I never thought it would be my story to tell.

The thing I realize most in all of this pain, is that this pain is also my husbands. I hate to say this but so many times he has gotten lost in this. I'm the one who physically lost the baby, but he lost one too. I'm the only physically dealing with this but he has to not only comfort me, but himself. I'll tell ya again, I married a superhero. A superhero with a strength I can only envy and a heart I'm so glad is mine. This pain is real and this hurt and confusion is hard but it's so important to have someone to lean on. I'm so glad he's letting me lean.

When I found out I became a statistic, yes that's right, one-in-four women will have a miscarriage, I immediately went numb. I still can barely stand to say the word.  I felt so guilty, so ashamed and so embarrassed. I made Adam call his family because I didn't have the strength. I made my mom tell my siblings, I couldn't bear to hear it in their voices.

Even though it seemed impossible, I found that when I told those close to me, the pain lessened, even if just by a little. I heard others stories of loss and sadness and how they grieved and again, the pain lessened. But then I heard the stories of rainbow babies and huge families. I heard about the next time people saw those two pretty little blue lines. These are the stories that bring a smile to my face and in my heart I know we will see those two lines again and eventually a beautiful rainbow baby.

A little over six weeks I had a miscarriage and I know that while this pain burning in my chest may never fully go away, it will lessen. I feel my heart lightening. I feel the embarrassment dissipating. I feel the joy returning.
Dear Baby, you are loved, you are wanted and while we never got to officially met you, we are blessed by the 10 short weeks we had with you. I'll never forget hearing your heartbeat or seeing your little picture. <3 
I know this isn't the end of our story.

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3 comments:

  1. Oh, friend. There aren't words, but I'm so sorry. My heart aches for you. Sending you so much love.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Im so so sorry you are going through this! Sending lots of hugs and prayers.

    ReplyDelete

I love hearing from all of you and greatly appreciate all your feedback and comments! xx Kristen

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