I would be 12 weeks today.
Today, I would be announcing to the world that we were expecting baby #5 and writing an entirely different sort of blog post, although, most likely, with the same set of pictures. #5...making us a family of seven, making me the mama of an official Brood. Hopefully our last. I was due May 31st, although, with my history the baby would probably arrive mid-may, hopefully not on Spencer's birthday on the 14th and before Georgia's on the 26th. I would be explaining to everyone just why I've been looking a bit...rounder...than usual.
With each pregnancy I show earlier and this last pregnancy was no different. I swear to you now that I was starting to get a bump by 5 1/2 weeks. I promise I'm not making it up. I've always suspected it's the hormones that make me show so early (versus that actual microscopic baby or overeating) and sure, enough, when I started to miscarry that bump started to shrink (as the testing showed my hcg hormone levels were falling), proving my hormone/bump-relation theory. It was basically gone before I was even done bleeding.
We were planning on this pregnancy being my last so I made sure to savor all the milestones of it. I thought to myself, "this is it," when I got a positive test result. I surprised Spencer at work with a bun in a metaphorical oven (a gift bag labeled "oven" ;) to tell him the good news. I took a couple of early bump pictures when we went to the pumpkin patch in early October (about a week before the miscarriage) and then told the kids about the "baby in my belly" during our family photo shoot so I'd be sure to have it on film, unlike any of the others previously.
I thought it was my last and I wanted to savor every moment of it.
It's silly I know, I knew and know that miscarriages are rampant and I wasn't far along at all, really. Only 7 1/2 weeks when we lost it. It's barely a bump in my lengthy reproductive history.
But it wasn't just a bump. I think, maybe, that's why I felt so driven to write about it today. I keep on down-playing it to everyone because, frankly, sympathy makes me uncomfortable and for a myriad of other reasons. And I really am, truly doing fine. promise. In some ways I feel like I shouldn't really be all that torn up about it...I mean, I was only 7 weeks and I had only known I was pregnant for a few weeks. I have 4 other beautiful children and the miscarriage didn't do any lasting damage. It only took me a few months to get pregnant with that baby and I've never had to try to conceive longer than 6 months at a time...so chances are I'll get pregnant again fairly soon with relative ease. In reality, the fetus was underdeveloped and wouldn't have lasted long, regardless. The list goes on...
Really, I know all those things, I do. There is so much fertility pain in the world and mine is not even a drop in the bucket. I know so many wonderful, amazing, strong women have it oh-so-much harder than me. But still...it wasn't just a bump on the road to me.
It was a baby. A teeny-tiny, underdeveloped (even for it's miniscule age) fetus, I know, but still a dream of a baby to me. And...that dream died. That was the single most painful thing...I knew that there was a infinitely small baby dying inside of me. I went in to get things checked when I started to bleed and there was still a heartbeat. Faint, underdeveloped, and irregular...but a heartbeat. That baby, despite the fact that it shouldn't be, was alive. And...then it wasn't. I knew it was coming, too. As soon as I started spotting I knew that was it.
I just did.
And so, life goes on. I have a bit more experience under my belt and a bit less naivety too. I'm slightly more vulnerable and things sting a bit more. Like when Spencer gets some short-lived pregnancy detail wrong or when I hear yet another pregnancy announcement due within a month of my due date...we're up to a dozen already. Really, let me clarify now, that I am SO HAPPY for all of my friends who are pregnant now and due around the same time I was. Really, truly happy for you all. I wouldn't trade places for an instant, wouldn't wish my miscarriage on anyone. I just wish we could've been pregnant together. I'm ok, though, really I am.
I just didn't want to forget. I didn't want this whole thing to pass me by without recording it in the only thing I have that resembles a journal. I've always believed that the world needs more honesty in it...that we all need to share a bit more of ourselves, more of our humanity with each other. But mostly...I just didn't want to forget. There was a baby in there and I loved it. For a very brief period in time...it was mine.
At the pumpkin patch:
How tall this fall?
Spencer, the brat, insisted I had to lay on the ground for an accurate baby height reading. That's why the back of my jacket is all dusty in the previous picture.
Here's the family photo shoot announcement:
Ezra and Georgia, silly kids, didn't believe me. Despite having seen it two times before, it still took much convincing before they actually believed there was anything of note in my belly. I'm totally trying to convince Georgia here.
So, there you have it, friends. This blog is my heart and my soul and right now, for a while at least, my heart is a little sad...so my blog is a little sad too. Thanks for letting me empty my mind and soul to you for a bit.