Again, as I start to write this, I'm teeter tottering back and forth about whether or not to actually publish. But I know I will... even though it's already taken me two days.
I wrote last week about our doctor appointment and the incredibly sad news we got there. We were given an expectation of what was to follow and sent home. My midwife is one of my favorite people in the world. How she does her job, when she has to give news like this to expecting moms, I have no idea. I tried not to make her job (or day) worse by crying or breaking down. I did slip a bit.
I did feel this news coming. I think I had internally prepared myself for it. At least for the news.
I need to be clear. I didn't WANT to miscarry. I was confused and worried how we would balance our quickly growing family. I stressed.
But I was also eager to see who this baby would resemble. I was excited to see their smiles and hear their laughs. I was nervous and excited.
And as crazy as this sounds, hearing that my tiny little baby was no longer alive and growing was the easy part. (This is not true for Dan, who took the news initially very hard.)
But when my body started the process, and I recognized what was happening, I almost got physically sick. Knowing this baby was disconnecting from my body. It turned real.
My miscarriage hurt. I rocked back and forth in pain and begged God to take away the pain. By the time, I finally asked Him, He did. The physical pain ended early Mother's Day morning.
But my conversations with Him continued. I believe this baby was a girl. We had a name already picked for a girl, so I told Him her name. I didn't want her playing with kids in Heaven without a name for the children to shout. I asked Him to tell her how much I love her. I don't get to hold her, so I asked that Jesus would.
Sometimes I talk to her. I tell her I'm sorry. I don't know what exactly my body couldn't do to sustain her small little body. But I know previously having chemo, didn't do any favors to my reproductive system.
Listen. As I write these things, hell, when I am thinking these things, I know it sounds crazy. This child never lived outside of me. I never saw what she really looked like. I didn't watch her personality develop. I didn't really know this baby.
I get that.
But I don't care. I think that makes it hurt that much more.
I am left WONDERING.
Would she have looked like A or P, Dan or me? Would she have the crazy beautiful curly hair like my oldest? Would she have been the one child who would get Dan's green eyes or be like A and P and have big blues? Would she have talked too much like her mom, or kept it all in, like her Dad?
Now I wonder what life is like today for her. What does Heaven look like for her young self? I know it's better there than here, so she is truly blessed to have bypassed the corruption of this world.
When women have miscarriages or stillborn babies, our society tends to let them suffer alone. We act like it doesn't hurt them as bad, that they aren't experiencing the pain that a parent would feel if their child had lived outside the womb.
We, as a society, say our apologies and move on. It doesn't affect us until it affects us personally.
I can tell you it still hurts. As a parent, it's our job to protect our kids. There are feelings that I didn't do everything I needed to help this baby grow and live. There is guilt.
This isn't a blog for sympathy. My skin crawls when I think that people may take it that way.
I just needed to recognize the tiny short life of my miscarried child. I was NOT going to continue to live and blog without acting like this happened.
I'm thankful that the first person who welcomed her into her forever life is my Savior. I'm glad she's with Jesus. When her eyes first opened, she saw Him.
And sometime, in the future, I will get my questions answered. Someday I will see how beautiful she is.
{And if she is actually a HE, I will have more apologies to give having given him such a feminine name. :) }
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