the week we shared
In the span of a week, I became a mother again
and lost, who would’ve been, my second child.
The week we shared was an emotional rollercoaster. It was beautiful, and it was tragic. All I knew of you was a little pink line and the place you took in my heart.
They call it a chemical pregnancy, a pregnancy that ends before it really begins. The egg and sperm meet up, but sometime around the 5th week, the pregnancy ends. The fertilized egg never attaches. It’s very early miscarriage.
It is a pain that I didn’t really comprehend until it happened.
I’m still processing it.
our story
My period showing up a few days late every now and then is not entirely unusual. So, when I was 2 days late and took a pregnancy test, I really didn’t expect to see that second pink line show up! I took several more tests. Just to make sure. All said the same thing. I was pregnant!
A rush of emotions flowed through me. This was very different than the experience I had with my son. He was planned and when I saw that line with him I was immediately elated! This pregnancy, however, was a total surprise. I was in shock. Yes, we had talked about adding to our family, but we hadn’t made a final decision. My partner and I are both only children. The idea of our son having a sibling sounds amazing, but also foreign. As I held that positive pregnancy test in my hand, the decision had been made for us. I was going to be a mama to two!
Fear struck me. Can I handle two? My son is one year old and is in need of my constant attention. How will I manage a newborn and a toddler? Will this pregnancy be as wonderful as my first? I am almost 20 lbs heavier now than I was when I became pregnant with my son, will that make this pregnancy more difficult? I will be 43 when this little one arrives. Will my age make a difference? Will this baby be healthy? Will I be healthy? Will I be able to have the birthing process I want? How much does having another baby cost? Can we afford this? What will we need to do to prepare? How high will my insurance go up? is my midwife covered by my insurance? Will this be a good thing for my son? Will I be able to spend enough time with each of them? Will they share a room? How will nap time go? When will I be able to sleep? How am I going to do this? How am I going to tell my partner? How will he react? How will my family react? — As you can see I was spiraling.
I stood in shock, staring at this unexpected pink line. it meant there was a baby growing inside me. I became overjoyed. I cried happy tears. I was pregnant again! I was going to experience that wonderful miracle all over again. What a gift!
The Week
It was only a week. But, during that week, we made plans. We sorted out how this new person would fit into our lives. We discussed how to tell our parents. We talked about how much fun our two little ones would have together. We laughed at silly names we could give him/her.
I called my midwife. I found out my due date, July 5th. We talked about when my first appointment would be. This was real. This was happening!
The first signs of pregnancy had arrived, my sense of smell was heightened. My breasts were tender. I joined a due date buddies group on Facebook. I started talking to my little tummy traveler. I told a couple of close friends. I dreamed, I worried, and I did all the things you do when you are expecting.
Then, on November 1st, I started spotting. It was only a little and I had no cramping. My midwife told me that it could just be implantation bleeding and I might not be as far along as I thought. This gave me comfort, but somehow I knew something was amiss. An hour later, more spotting. An hour after that, even more. I tried to got to sleep that night, but it was so difficult to shut out the fear that something was wrong. I went to the bathroom and took another test.
It was negative. I was no longer pregnant.
The next morning and for the next 5 days, I bled and I cried. I kept myself together on the outside, but inside I was a mess. Every pregnant woman I saw, every pair of siblings, every mention of a baby just brought a horrible ache to my heart.
We never told our family. We never got to experience anything other than a pink line and one week worth of excitement.
This early of a miscarriage may seem trivial to some, but to me it is a tremendous loss. I am grieving. I am hurting. I feel alone. I feel like a failure. I feel like something must be terribly wrong with me.
At first, I blamed myself. I must have done something to cause this. I shouldn’t have done all that walking in weird floppy clown shoes to take my son trick-or-treating. I shouldn’t have taken that new vitamin. I shouldn’t have eaten that spicy food. I shouldn’t have… a million other silly things.
Even though I now know that it wasn’t my fault. A part of me still feels like it was. I carry shame and guilt.
To My moonchild
No one will ever know you or even know of you. I can’t discuss you with anyone and outside of this blog post, there will be no record of you. But, although it may seem silly to some, you are my child.
You were conceived during the month of the first blue moon on Halloween (my favorite holiday) in 76 years. My dad had just sent my son a glow in the dark moon for his room, but somehow there were two moons in the package. One of them would have been for you. You would have been born this month, which would have made you a moon child. My moon child.
Thank you for the dreams of the future that you inspired. Thank you for the excitement and joy that you gave to my heart.
Thank you for the week we shared. I will cherish it always.
I love you.
