Well, *that* happened.

suckitIt’s been 2 months since my last post.  In part, it’s because of the 12 week rule.  I found out in late July that I was pregnant. I found out last Wednesday that I no longer am.

On the one hand, the outpouring of kindness from my friends and family has been heartwarming.

On the other hand, I’m pretty sure that I don’t have full access to that heart right now.

I don’t want to talk with anyone. I haven’t even wanted to blog. I barely wanted to Facebook. I had no idea so many amazing women, who I genuinely care for and love, had experienced this kind of loss quietly or even silently.  The compassion I’ve showed friends who had experienced this was present, but seriously lacking. I had no concept of the depths of emotional darkness and physical pain that come with this experience. I’m finding it hard to emotionally connect with my husband without turning into a sobbing mess, and that is profoundly uncool because I really love that guy.  We started dating 11 years ago today, and I can’t even think of a quirky way to celebrate it right now.

My brain is, of course, doing what it always does when things go sideways (and man-oh-man, do they go sideways frequently!). Idiot brain is rationalizing all the ways that it’s my fault that the baby died (It isn’t.), berating me for those imagined slights (No, brain, I’m not sorry that I went on an airplane.), and then forcing me to find all the ways that the change in direction is positive.

Here’s why my brain believes I “should be happy” about the miscarriage:
(Name the ANTs!  SPOILER: They’re all “should” statements.)

1.) It means that I can pick Henry up again.  He’s at a phase where he wants to be held or touched almost constantly. Pick him up and put him in the stroller. Pick him up and put him in the swing and then push him. Pick him up to change his diapers. Pick him up to put him on the potty for the billionth time, silently praying that he will eventually take a dump in the toilet. Pick him up to put him in the high chair he’s outgrown, because watching him teeter on our kitchen chairs is too much for my anxiety. Pick him up to move him away from distraction when I have to discipline him. Pick him up to take him off the couch when he won’t stop jumping. Pick him up to put him in his car seat to go anywhere. Pick him up to give him hugs, all the time. Pick him up to dance.

2.) It means that I can take the medication I need to help with MS & PTSD symptoms again.  Yes, I’m talking about weed. I missed the help with the pain in my limbs.  I missed the help with anxiety, especially when Nazi-palooza exploded onto the scene.

3.) It means that I can get Henry potty-trained for sure before we introduce more diapers into the mix. A woman can only wipe so many butts per day without losing her mind. I’m pretty sure he’ll be using the big boy potty like a champ in a couple of months. He already pees in it at least 3 times a day.

4.) It means that we have more time to save money. Kids are expensive. This is also not something that I care too much about. But my brain likes to rattle off anxiety about money, since I’m disabled, so it’s counting this situation as a fiscal “win,” in that sort of way that makes me want to smack myself.

5.) It means I can get back to losing more weight. I dropped 10 pounds in the 2 months prior to this pregnancy, thanks to participation in accountability groups online.  I’ve now been under 200 lbs for 12 weeks. Didn’t even gain 2 lbs in 9 weeks. I’m not sure why I’m proud of that. Anyway, the next pregnancy is more likely to remain viable if I can drop even more weight.  It’s even supposed to help with my GERD issues, since that’s being caused by fatty liver. So, hopefully, once I stop bleeding, I’ll also be able to stop wanting to eat my feelings. (I have had way too much chocolate this week. I cannot actually care. I may buy one more clamshell of brookies before the week is over because they taste like what I imagine feeling “good” is like.)

6.) I wasn’t sure I could handle it anyway.  2 kids? They’d outnumber me all day.  Good luck, “Mom.”  At least now, life is manageable.

But all the sunshine in the world won’t change a turd into a flower.

The shitty truth is that we lost a baby we were all really excited to have — even Henry — even his grandparents.  I’ve been bleeding profusely and in sometimes shocking amounts of pain for a week straight. I’m more than ready to be done with it…

I just really hope the next one sticks, when I get brave enough to give growing our family another chance. I don’t ever want to go through this again. I can’t imagine anyone would.

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