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.   

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!

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.