I wasn't sure how I would write about it, I wasn't sure if I should, but then I thought it would be weird if I didn't acknowledge it, because it was a tough day.
So way back in June, I suffered a miscarriage. I chronicled what it was like to lose it in the days after. It would feel strange to not say anything about what it's like for the due date to come and go and you realize at that very moment, you could have been holding a newborn.
But you aren't.
And it's tough. It's really tough because I've gotten kind of a mix of responses to my posts.
1. You get the people who are absolutely, 100% sympathetic and kind and wonderful. They are there when it's tough and they don't try to minimize what it means for you to be going through it.
2. There are the "Oh, yeah- I've had those too. You'll be fine." group. I don't think they realize how awful that sounds, and they are probably trying to be really supportive and let you know that hey- shit happens, and you'll actually be fine.
3. Then there are the people who say nothing. Or they think I shouldn't share it, that it's something that should be handled in private. I don't really understand the reasoning on this point of view, and I wonder if it's only because it makes them uncomfortable, for whatever reason.
But here's what I learned: that it's important to share good things, and it's important to share bad things. There's always that fine line on social media where you hear about every terrible detail about a person and you realize you know more about the marriage of some loser you went to high school with than you do your best friend because it's just out there all of the time. Then there is the other end where people are practically pooping rainbows and they have the BEST kids and the BEST husband and the BEST everything and go on the BEST trips, several times a year, and Jesus did it all for them because isn't he just the BEST?!
I'm here to call bullshit on the rainbow poopers because I happen to know Jesus doesn't pay your bills, you're probably in debt to your eyeballs, your husband has days where he's a jerk too, and your kid is probably going to be a mean girl in high school.
So after mulling all of that in my head, I decided to share with you what it was like to see my due date come and go. Because it's all part of the process.
It was hard.
It was really hard when I realized that this was it. I knew it was coming and somehow I kind of spaced it out the couple of days before. I wasn't feeling very well and my level of exhaustion was high and I was already feeling low on life. I woke up that morning, feeling sick as hell, having contractions, and I hadn't had my blood pressure medicine in three days because I didn't have money for it, but it was my niece's baptism, so I was trying to rally.
I managed to rally and get the kids and myself to the baptism and while sitting there, I realized that it was January 18. And I started to tear up. I could feel Penelope moving, and I had Olivia and Jackson on either side of me. I left as soon as I could, and thankfully when I got home, Matt was just getting home. He got the kids some lunch and I went upstairs to lay down.
And I just cried.
It's weird how all of these months later and it feels all the same. It feels like I just lost that baby. The only solace I've had is that I've got my little Penelope just baking away, seemingly perfect in every way. I have nothing to be sad about. But it was hard. I think the worst thing was that Matt didn't even say a word. It didn't even occur to him that the day held any significance. I tried to talk to him about it but he's kind of an emotional mute when it comes to this kind of thing.
The nice thing is that every day it gets better. I know I won't always feel sad about this. I know someday, I will maybe not even acknowledge the due date. Maybe not the day I lost the baby. Which also makes me feel guilty, I feel like if I don't acknowledge it, it's like I'm saying that baby isn't worth it. Like it didn't mean anything, so easily forgotten.
So I am going to scrapbook the ultrasound photos I do have. I don't want that baby to ever be a thing forgotten. For the rest of my life I'll have to acknowledge that I had a miscarriage on medical forms. But it'll be OK. I'm going to be OK. Pretty soon, my days (and nights) will be so full of Penelope it won't hurt as much. Heck, with her due in May, maybe I'll be too exhausted to acknowledge the one year anniversary of my miscarriage? There's some optimism.