People are strange, and sometimes completely inconsiderate.
I am so very tired of being told that I should be “over it by now” when I have a bad day/moment/hour/whatever because I’m thinking about the baby we lost to miscarriage.
I realize that to you, it wasn’t a baby yet. I was only a few weeks along. I wasn’t showing yet. Heck, I had only known I was pregnant for a very short amount of time.
It doesn’t matter.
To me, the moment that I found out I was pregnant, it was my baby.
I wondered if the baby would be a boy or a girl, if B would have a little brother or a little sister. I wondered if he or she would look like their sister. I wondered if they would look more like me or more like D. I imagined our family growing from a family of three to a family of four, daydreamed about it, was so very happy and nervous and looking forward to going through the whole journey of pregnancy again.
I was happy…
And then, it was all ripped away. I tried to cling to hope after that first phone call to the doctor, even after I went in to have my blood drawn and saw the unwanted sympathy on the woman’s face, and even that night, when the cramps were so terrible I was retching…I tried to tell myself it was a mistake and they would call me tomorrow and tell me that everything was fine. Even when I knew the baby was gone, I hoped for a miracle.
I didn’t get my miracle.
I listened numbly to the nurse on the phone who was trying to gently explain to me that I had a miscarriage and what to expect over the next couple days. She asked me if I had any questions and I said no, even though I wanted to ask her “Why? What did I do wrong?”
I know that miscarriages are common. 1 in 3 pregnancies ends in miscarriage. Knowing the figures doesn’t help when it’s your heart shattering into a million little pieces, when it’s your body that you feel like betrayed you, when it’s your baby who is gone.
I’m still sad. And on June 8th, when the baby was supposed to be due, I will likely be curled up in a little ball on my bed, sobbing hysterically, at least for a little while.
I dare you to judge me.
I will take as much time as I need to heal, and screw anyone who says I should “be over it.”
I’m still grieving.