On Christmas Eve I found out I was pregnant.
I was shocked. Overjoyed. Ecstatic. Shocked. This baby wasn't planned but I was excited nonetheless.
I pulled up a due date calculator that said I would be due around July 28th. Pregnant in the summer?? Goodness. I wasn't looking forward to that but I would have a sweet little baby and that was okay.
I wanted to see my doctor and she was on vacation so the next available appointment was January 5th. The wait was long but seeing how I had two kids already, I wasn't worried about it. The only thing that surprised me was that I didn't have any symptoms. No morning sickness, nothing. I felt like the luckiest prego around. I gave up soda, started eating more healthily and was going to bed early.
Those first pregnancy appointments are the worst. They ask you to pee in a cup, weigh you in, ask a bunch of personal questions and examine you. We wrapped up our appointment and I got a fun breakfast date with my hubby after.
The next day rolls around and I get some spotting. Happened in my last pregnancy too. I just kept getting this nagging feeling that I'm not pregnant. I had texted my sister about it and she's sure it's my anxiety and tells me not to worry. I let it go.
Later that night a friend from church and two sister missionaries came by with a message about hope. It was so divinely inspired now that I think about it. I tell Omar after they left that I still felt like something was really wrong. To ease my worries, he gives me a blessing. I then know for sure that I needed to prepare for the worst.
Woke up the next day, got my big kid ready and on the school bus. I share a breakfast pic on Instagram of how yummy my breakfast broccoli is and I feel a twinge in my stomach. Maybe baby wasn't as down for greens so early.
The twinge got stronger and stronger. I go to the bathroom. There is not just a spot of blood. But then I think this could be normal. I call the triage nurse and she said I should go to the doctor to be safe. I call Omar's work because by that time there is more blood. He came as quickly as he could. I get the ultrasound and the doctor confirms that my baby passed away at 6 weeks and I should have been 11 weeks along. The ultrasound tech gave me a picture of what was. The doctor said she was sorry but they had to make very sure that this baby was a loss so I had to come in the next week to confirm.
I cried and cried and cried. I had a dream for this child. Maybe it was going to be a boy. We had already tossed around names. We had plans and my imagination was so great, I already envisioned this little baby fitting in so perfectly into our little family. All of it was over.
Omar showed me so much love. He made me feel like a loved, needed person and held me so tightly during those hard mornings and long nights.
After family and friends from church were informed of my loss, I reached out to a few friends in a closed discussion about what happened. I had to talk about it. I knew if I kept this to myself, it could be easy to go to a dark place. It turns out it's true what the doctor said, "Miscarriage is more common than you think." I had many friends share their stories with me.
I didn't write this up to receive apologies or condolences. I read a recent article on Buzzfeed of all places, about a woman who had a miscarriage last fall and it was personal and needed as I was going through the worst of it at the time. She said she had wanted to start a conversation with the hash tag #ihadamiscarriage.
I'm going on 6 weeks and it's still not over. I have a follow up appointment on Friday.
Talking about this has helped me feel less alone, more loved, and at peace. I know the gospel in my life has helped me to know there is a greater purpose in my life and that God is merciful and has blessed me. Had this baby continued to develop, it would have had so many problems. Our bodies are smart and know what to do. Maybe one day I'll see this baby again in this life or the next and for that I'm grateful.