Counting My Blessings

Well, I knew ever since we found out almost four weeks ago that we were having a miscarriage that this day would come, and it has. The medication that my doctor gave me two weeks ago did the trick, and things are truly over now. The biggest feeling that I am experiencing right now, other than sadness? Loneliness. It probably sounds odd, but when I was pregnant with Grace, it was so cool knowing that I was carting this little person around with me everywhere I went, and I enjoyed knowing that she was always around. When I gave birth, I was a little sad that I didn't have her with me every moment of the day anymore. I sorta feel that same way right now. When I found out that I was pregnant at the end of April, I immediately had that sense of...I don't know...shared space and companionship, even though at that point the baby was nothing but a cluster of cells (and, as far as we know, that's all it ever was). Now that things are really and truly over, I am feeling that very same sense of loneliness that I felt after giving birth to Grace, although this time I don't have a newborn to hold. I just have my sadness.

I spent a large amount of time today staring off into space and trying to piece together my feelings. To be completely truthful, I am a little bit relieved. If that sounds horrible, I'm sorry...but not really. I am relieved that I don't have to wonder about when it's going to happen anymore or how it's going to be. I am relieved to know that I'm not irreparably broken, physically speaking. Part of me is also relieved that this didn't happen last week, when Aaron and I were at Bonnaroo. Maybe our baby's spirit wanted to hang out with us for a while longer just to see how great his parents' tastes in music are.

I'm also very sad. Even though I knew in my head that we had lost the baby, in my heart I was still hanging on to the smallest shred of hope that maybe there was a mistake and that all of this sadness and agony was for nothing. Giving up that last modicum of hope is like admitting defeat, and more than that, it's admitting that nothing will bring our baby back. It's over.

I do want to move past this and feel better. Coming home from vacation has been extremely difficult for both of us--being able to escape reality for a few days was great, better than great, and I've noticed that since coming home, I have lost the ability to care about some things. Oh, I care a great deal about the important stuff--Grace and Aaron--but some of the stuff that I usually obsess about doesn't really matter to me anymore. So what if the laundry that I folded on Tuesday is still hanging out in the laundry baskets waiting to be put away? Who cares if I don't water my plants? We've gotten enough rain anyway. Does it matter that I haven't made the bed all week? What's the big deal if I don't go through the mail every day? The fact that I DON'T care about this stuff is alarming to me...this isn't normal for me. I need to pull myself out of this.

And that's just what I plan to do. I hate it when people look at someone who is truly depressed and say, "Pull yourself up by your bootstraps," but I'm gonna give it a shot. I have hit tough patches before, and although this patch takes the cake, I want to try to whip this on my own. It's not going to be easy, but I have so many blessings. I have the most awesome, beautiful, sweet, amazing daughter. She is my life, and I am so fortunate to have her. I have the most wonderful husband, and over these past few weeks he has shown me more patience and love and encouragement and support than I ever could imagine. He's my rock. I have an amazing support system of family and friends, without whom I'd be lost. And, as difficult as it is to fathom right now, I know that I have another shot at having another baby. A lot of women don't get that second (or third) chance, and I do, and that gives me back that little shred of hope. I am blessed and I will remember that.

Deep breath.

I need to move on now. Move on, but never, ever forget.