Yesterday was 2 months to the day. August 9th we said goodbye to Baby H. It’s strange, really. Realizing last night that I’ve officially spent just as much time without the baby as I had with him.
side-note: I call the baby him for 2 reasons. 1- come to find out that most miscarriages are (were?) baby boys. apparently the DNA makeup for a boy is such that it’s more complicated to construct than a baby girls. thus, more chances at chromosomal abnormalities and chances at miscarrying. and 2- Baby Superman is clearly the name of a little boy. Otherwise we would have called it Baby Superwoman or Baby Superhuman.
8 weeks. (sigh) I’m so proud of me. Of us. I’m so proud that I get through most of my days without crying. I’m so proud of the progress that I’ve made getting back into my routine. Of carrying on when I didn’t think it was humanly possible. I do think that- at times- I put a band-aid on this whole situation and try to pretend that I’m okay! okay! okay! when in actuality I really want to sit in the corner and cry. But that’s the thing about me; I don’t see the point in being perpetually sad. It won’t help, it doesn’t soothe the hurt, it won’t fix anything. So why not put a smile on your face and make today the best day you can? My sunshine-y perspective through the rain (if you will).
I’ve lost count of how far along I would have been. I think it’s 19 weeks— or was it 20? That’s progress to me. I still vaguely remember the feelings of carrying a life. But I also think that I’ve perhaps even shielded myself from that. [don’t worry Mom. I have everything written down just like you suggested.]
How will I talk about my next pregnancy? Will I tell people that it’s my first? How scared and wary will I be for the next go round? When I’m ready. Will I ever be ready? I fear that the laissez faire approach I had this time will be absent with the next. Surprisingly, for as Type A as I am, I was so relaxed with everything. Perhaps it was my body foreshadowing what was to come…
but that’s not for me to know. I can’t have all the answers. I can’t be ever knowing and controlling. Some things just are what they are.
It’s taken me 8 weeks to really be able to say that and to believe it. And boy [pun!] does that feel good.