I have spent a few months feeling sorry for myself, wondering if I would ever write this post. I knew that I would at some point come on here, and hammer out a few sentences, hoping it would be therapeutic, as writing so often is for me. I might save it for a month or two. I might erase it. I might save it forever and read it sometimes. But sharing it is a whole different story.
However, as time goes on, I know that I have to share it. Not for any reason except that I hope it will help me heal a little more. And also, maybe someday, somewhere, it will resonate with someone else, and help them too.
Anyone that knows our family knows that we would love to have one more child. If you see me in stressed out moments you might even wonder why. Hehe. But deep down, in the depths of my soul, I feel that there is another child out there for me. When we first got married, I really pictured us with 4 kids. My husband is one of 4, and I am one of 5, so I just imagined we would be the same. As we have created our own family, and I realize my strengths and weaknesses, coupled with my husband's job as a football coach, I honestly don't know that I am equipped to handle 4. I do not know how you did it, Mom! So I have started to just really put that in God's hands. But I do know that I would give anything to have just one more.
About 17 months ago my husband and I went on a once-in-a-lifetime trip to Italy. We left our three year old and one year old for 7 days and it was hard and wonderful. I will always be thankful for that adventure we had. I was thankful that I missed my babies as much as I did. I am thankful we had the money to do that, and that my parents blessed us at a young age so that we did. We went on the trip with a purpose: do something outrageous and wild and slightly financially irresponsible before we have our third kid. I just assumed we would return from Italy, and within a few months, I would be pregnant again, with another 2 to 2 1/2 year age gap between the next one and our younger one. It did not occur to me that this wouldn't happen.
But here we are. It's August....over a year later......and our baby is almost 3. And I am sitting here writing this with tears streaming down my face and the heaviest heart I have ever had. I am so sad that we haven't been able to have another one. We did get pregnant once, and we lost that baby. I have told some people. If you know me, you probably know I am an open book. I will tell you if I am cranky, if I have gas, my whole life story, whatever you want. But I have been a little more guarded about this. Slowly I have started to tell people, but the words are usually out of my mouth before I have thought them through and I don't even know why I am saying them. Some days I want to pretend that I never had this happen to me. That I am perfectly fertile with golden eggs and I could have 82 children if I so chose to. And other days I want to scream from the mountain tops that I know what you feel like. Anyone who has struggled to get pregnant or has laid in their bed curled up and sobbed until your face hurt after losing a baby. I know you. I get it.
As I have struggled through different emotions since our miscarriage I have realized several things. I am beyond lucky, and grateful, to have two beautiful children. I can't imagine my life without them and I don't remember my life before them. They are gorgeous, hilarious, and way more than I deserve. The depth of my appreciation for my children is deeper now that I have endured loss. I should be thankful for that. I have met people and I know people who have endured losses and I know stories I wish were not true. I miscarried early on in the pregnancy and actually never heard a heartbeat. In some ways that's better. I hadn't told many people and I didn't have more time to get attached. But in other ways it makes my mind crazier. What happened and why did it not work? What did I do wrong?
So I drink less coffee. I run less. I track everything. I track if I lose a darn hair off of my head I swear. I pray more than I ever have in my gosh darn life. I pray more on my knees than I ever imagined I would. And that's good. It's easy to say that maybe that's what God wanted for me. To feel the appreciation for my 2 beautiful children. To realize the miracle they are. To stop and appreciate what I have. I have so much. Maybe he needed me to pray more. I pray in bed. I pray in the car. I pray while I exercise. I pray while I watch TV. I am the ultimate multi-tasking prayer.
My husband has of course been a saint. He would do anything for me. I will miss him this fall when I have bad days. I miss his hands the most. They are huge and they make me feel safe. I love laying in bed with him without the TV on and talking. He makes me feel calmer and I am afraid for nights when he works until midnight and I feel the world is caving in.
I know I need to carry on and get over it. When I am busy, really really busy, I even go a few hours without thinking about it. And then it creeps back in. Not being busy is not good for me. I let my mind wander to your due date. Would you have been a boy or girl? I do not care. I know you would have been so special. How can you miss someone you don't know? But I do. For about one month afterwards I would dream and see a face. It was like in an ultrasound, fuzzy and wavy, and you don't really know what it would look like. But it was sweet.
I went out to dinner with my 2 best friends about 6 weeks ago and we met a clairvoyant lady who "read us." She approached us, and without us saying a word, she asked me if I had recently miscarried, and that it was a boy, and he was in the room. I felt wonderful and angry and a million things.
My lowest points usually come curled into a ball of self pity in bed and my highest points usually come on runs. So I'll try to run more, and I'll try to curl into a ball in my bed less. And I'll pray that someday, I will only think about you once a day. That I will stop beating myself up, wondering if it was something I did. Sometimes it feels like running is the only glue keeping me from losing it completely. Ironically, anyone who I tell my fertility struggles to tells me to run less. So I try to hang a balance between not too much and I might jump off a bridge if I don't run today.
As time goes on I have really started to mentally grasp that I might just have 2 kids. It makes me feel like I want to jump out of my own skin. Because of that, I cling to the memories of when Brooks and Luke were little. Every time I try to remember harder they seem farther away. They're fading and it makes me frantic. I want them to be vivid and present. I want to hold a baby. I yearn to hold a baby.
With that I worry that I am letting these times slip away while I am in pain. I am so sad about my situation and in a year I will miss Luke being 2 instead of enjoying him being 2 now. I want to slap myself out of it. I want I want I want. My life has been lucky, and good, and maybe I needed some struggle.
On really bad days you might think I am someone completely different than I am. I have let it consume me. I am trying so hard to not let that happen anymore. I try to remind myself that what attitude I put out into the world often speaks louder than my words. Nobody knows what happens to me at the grocery store. Nobody cares. And my kids need me to move on and smile. I need to carry on and get over it.
When I finally got the courage to post this my son said, so sweetly, "momma, what are you crying about?"
I said "The baby that I lost."
It felt ok to tell him that, and I felt good.
I love you, whoever you were. I miss you. I'll pray for you. And you are forever mine.
xoxo
Big Momma
