Just kidding. Though it kinda feels like that. Yesterday I had a miscarriage. It was the most unexplainable moment in my life. I’m on this roller coaster of emotions, I cannot get off, and I just feel like venting. Bear with me. I’m not logging onto this here blog seeking words of support. I don’t want your pity. I just feel the need to talk about it a bit further. And I don’t even necessarily want a comments of condolences. And I ALWAYS want a comment. FYI, bloggers rate their self worth in comments 😉
I went to the doctor yesterday for a follow-up. I love my doctor. He’s incredibly kind. He’s delivered about a million babies. He’s good at that. But he is a he. He was absolutely unable to relay to me the sensations, the pain, the feelings of a miscarriage. I do not think less of him, nor do I wish to replace him because of this. He’s a great fella’.
I’m interrupting your day only because I feel the need to get something off my chest. I’m okay. I’m totally in acceptance of what has happened. I felt like the absolute worst mom-to-be in existence for the lack of instincts and enthusiasm I had for Baby 3. I love them, I wish they were still a part of my life. But I feel relief. When I saw that there was not a little lemon sized baby inside me, it was as though I wanted to scream, I KNEW IT!!!! Motherly instincts are indeed a real and powerful thing. This was proven to me this past week. I feel as though I had let go of Baby 3 in my soul, and my body was betraying me by hanging onto false hopes.
I still want another baby. (If time and money were not an issue, I’d have ten more.) It didn’t work out this time. Statistically it does not work out twenty percent of the time. So, next time I still get to face that one in five chance. But I want to take my chances. I don’t know when, someday.
Having a miscarriage I am sure is not the same for everyone. But my earnest internet searches assure me that relief is an acceptable emotion to experience. Still, I feel like I need to suffer a bit. I feel like I did not complete something because while I did have “labor and delivery” it was a cake walk compared to the real thing. I feel in need of an aerobic beat down. I feel like building up my body to the most healthy thing ever. I feel strangely powerful and strong.
I am now part of an elite group of which nobody wants to be a part. I don’t want to live in this moment for the rest of my life, but I find it amazing that it becomes an under the rug hush hush tragic event where I am expected to lie in bed and cry. I won’t do that.
If Baby 3 was six days old or six years old or sixty years old…I’d still want to celebrate them. Baby 3 was my child. Baby 3 was no less my flesh and blood than Lucy Girl or The Max.
Everything I’ve read says the confusing emotions will ease. I even read one page that pointed to exactly one month being the cut off point of mourning. I found that amazingly specific, and likely untrue. I’m not going to get online every few days and discuss this, don’t worry. You can come back soon and watch me plant the herb seeds I’ve been sitting on for the past week. I just wanted to let you all know that it’s okay. It’s okay to come and talk to me. Don’t feel the need to hang your head, ask if I’m okay, and slowly walk away backwards without meeting my eye. I want to feel normal again.