Aching

My computer is nearing the end of its life, so I've been going through old photos, backing them up and pruning them in an effort to clear some space on my hard drive.

I'm usually the one behind the camera, so there aren't very many photos of myself. The most recent ones I found were from Darian's birthday, back in July.

Two months before the BFP. Three months before the miscarriage.

I couldn't help but reflect on what my life looked like just those three short months ago. I realized that this was the smile of someone who had never experienced a loss.

But it was also the smile of someone who didn't realize how much she could love a child she had never known.

For the first few days, I thought I was only grieving the loss of the hopes and dreams of what this baby could have become. I mean, I had never known the baby as a person; I hadn't even felt pregnant.

But then, a couple of days later, I started talking to him. "I'm sorry that I couldn't carry you," I said. "I'm sorry that you never even got have to heartbeat." I ached for my child, who would never get to know his big brother, or see daylight, or learn to walk. I ached for him, because I loved him, and I missed him.

I honestly did not know I was capable of this. I don't know if it makes me sound like a terrible mother. But how can you really know how you feel about someone you've never met?

This has been a terribly painful experience so far, but I think/hope that I will emerge a better person for it.

A loss

On September 19, I had one of the biggest surprises of my life when I found out I was pregnant with baby #2. That week, I happened to be at home with my son who was sick, so I had the fun opportunity of getting him a "Big brother" shirt and dressing him up to surprise daddy that evening.

Daddy was shocked, to say the least.

We hadn't planned for two under two, but after a few days went by, we started getting excited and envisioning our new lives as parents of two.

The pregnancy progressed very smoothly. Maybe too smoothly. I commented many times how strange it was that I felt no symptoms, as I had been nauseated, fatigued, and terribly run down while pregnant with Darian. But I told myself that every pregnancy was different, and to count my blessings that I was feeling so great.

On October 17, I had a dating ultrasound. Early ultrasounds aren't standard for low-risk pregnancies, but I had requested one for peace of mind because of the lack of symptoms. Thus started a rollercoaster of emotions that we've been riding for the past week.

The ultrasound showed what looked like a 5.5 week pregnancy. I should have been close to 8 weeks. No heartbeat. Nothing was diagnosed; I was ordered to do bloodwork, and a follow-up ultrasound in a week. I was not optimistic.

Two days later, the bleeding started. I cried at the sight. I didn't know whether I would cry, given that I knew it was inevitable. But it felt good to start letting it out after holding my breath for the past two days. In hindsight, I'm grateful and amazed that it started so quickly, on its own.

By God's grace, I hope that our baby is now in heaven, and has a good spot to sit and watch over us. Over the past week, I have been slowly trying to move on. I find that there is something new to think about, something new to grieve, every day. But that feels like progress, I think progress is good.