This week could have been so different. At one time I was looking forward to this week with excitement and anticipation. This would be the week we would meet our third child. My "due date" was July 15th, but I was sure that the 14th would be the day. Anika was one day late and Emily arrived right on her due date so it was time for one day early. My pregnancy started out like the others had. I knew almost right away that I was expecting and took a test to confirm. I was so excited that my hands shook as I held the test out for my friend to tell me if I was seeing things or if there really were two lines.
I confirmed it with a digital test a day later.
Eric was already deployed by the time I found out so I dressed Emily up in a "big sister" shirt and took a photo and then waited for him to log on to his computer so I could share the news.
By 5 weeks I was very tired and not feeling well and I took those as signs that all was well. But then my symptoms never got worse and I started to worry. I kept telling myself that maybe I was lucky this time and wouldn't have morning sickness or maybe it was so different because it was a boy. My pants were getting a bit snug and that helped ease my worries.
On December 3rd, when I was 8 weeks along, there was a spot of blood. I immediately burst into tears. Then I started to pray. I prayed over and over "God, please no". There wasn't much blood at all that day and only a little more the next morning. It was very light spotting and even though I knew there was nothing the doctors could do I went to the ER. I had to know for sure. I kept up a brave face for the first few hours because the girls were with me, but once my friend came to pick them up and I was left alone the tears started to flow. The ultrasound showed that I was only 5 and a half weeks along, but I knew that couldn't be true and that my baby had stopped growing. As far as the doctors could tell I was still pregnant and they said with that little amount of spotting I had a 50% chance of losing the baby. I was sent home and told to come in if the bleeding got too heavy. 4 days later I was still spotting as I boarded a plane to visit family for Christmas and the next afternoon, December 9th, my baby left my body. After a week of pain it was almost a relief to be able to move on. My brother went out in the rain and buried the baby under a flower bush in our parents' yard. Being with my family at that time really helped, especially since my mom knew well what was going through.
Now, 7 months later, I feel like I am grieving alone. I know Eric has forgotten the date and there is no reason he should remember. He was deployed the whole time and didn't return until months later. Others might remember when I lost the baby, but they wouldn't know when the due date was. Anika seems to have forgotten there even was a baby and for that I am grateful. She asked the hardest questions and what can you say to explain miscarriage to a 4 year old? I thought I was past the worst of the pain and then this week kind of snuck up on me. I find myself wanting to just be left alone to read or watch movies or anything to get through this week without thinking too much. I put the calender away so I wouldn't have to see that page every time I walked through the kitchen. Everywhere I go there are pregnant women and new babies and while I wouldn't say that I am envious, seeing them brings back thoughts of what might have been.
God will comfort, time will heal, and I'll see my angel someday.