When I started this blog last month, I promised myself that I would not write about this topic. But I am still living it and breathing it and I have something to say. I guess if folks don’t want to read this facet of my reality, then they don’t have to. I find comfort and solace in writing, so I’m going to do it. I was hesitant to write anything that would take away from the little perfect zen world of crafts and cooking, but that isn’t life. My favorite blogger, Little Pink Monster (Natasha), wrote today about the facade of perfect marriages. Her candid post gave me the strength to write this.
And I will say this right now: I am not looking for pity or sympathy. I’m really not.
Life does not resume back to normal after a miscarriage. Not right away anyway. And having one is not like what I ever imagined. It’s physically painful and an emotional train wreck. I had one in January and I thought I was over it.
I guess I’m over it in that I know the pregnancy failed for a reason. Our embryo was genetically imperfect and I’m all right with that. It’s nature’s way of taking care of things. The feeling of my own imperfection, however, still prevails. I still wonder what went on down there and why I was incapable of creating another perfect baby. I know it’s silly and illogical, but I can’t help it. I’m a woman and my cavewoman instinct and function is to create and sustain life and I was unable to do it. So that’s one thing that lingers and I hope will go away in time.
Physically, there is good and bad. The good is that my body has slimmed down. Even though I was only 2 months pregnant when I lost it, I had already started to put on some extra pounds. Or maybe it was my 5 dozen Christmas cookies! Someone (who knew I miscarried) said to me, “Risa, you’ve lost weight. Have you been working out?” I wanted to say, no, I’m not pregnant anymore, duh. But I didn’t want to be rude.
Caution: Men, you may want to cover your eyes for this next part. The bad part is that I have no idea what the hell is going on in my uterus. After I took the “miscarriage pills” and emptied out my uterus, I bled heavily for four weeks. Yep, no joke. That was in February. I jumped for joy when it ended. Then I started my period around March 25th and am still bleeding. It’s kind of getting old here! I should consider buying Kotex stock.
D and I have decided to hold off on creating Baby #2 for a while. Some days I think I am good with just one. I remember that we weren’t entirely ready emotionally or financially for another baby. Other days I feel the baby fever and it hurts. I would have been halfway through my pregnancy at this point. But I like working out and drinking alcohol and not being tired all the time. I go back and forth almost daily. Kind of annoying to be in my head sometimes.
Then I feel envy. I hate envy. I have three cousins that are having babies back to back this year. I see the news anchor on channel 7 getting bigger. And I have 2 colleagues that are also due sometime around the time I was supposed to be. While I am truly happy for them, I feel sadness for myself. It’s sickening and probably wrong, but it’s how I feel.
So as I sit here and write this, I know I need to get over it and move on. I need to accept it for what it is. Life sucks sometimes–even for good people. And I know it can be sooooo much worse. I haven’t been handed a death sentence. Just a small setback.
I have a beautiful daughter that makes me happy to be alive. She is my proudest accomplishment. Derek and I created her from love and she’s perfect. When I think of her I imagine her big, chubby cheeks and hear her raspy laugh, and I feel warm inside. Without even trying or comprehending what her mommy is experiencing, Ella gets me through this.