When I originally thought about writing this 3-month-post-miscarriage entry, I secretly hoped I would be newly pregnant and have a completely different outlook. Sadly, I am not currently pregnant and we are in the heart of the baby-making process, which is trying and exhausting and exciting and full of promise or complete disappointment all at the same time.
The wound from my miscarriage has healed, but there is a scar that will last a lifetime to forever remind me of the little life that never was. Part of me will always carry that with me. Its almost as if the only real way I can be a mother to that little baby is to recognize the life and never forget it. The physical toll of the miscarriage was a sprint to recover from. The emotional toll of the miscarriage was more like a marathon. As the weeks passed, I didn’t cry as much and the loss wasn’t as raw as it once was.
The worst part is the waiting game. Waiting to get your first cycle. Waiting to start trying again. Waiting to stop feeling a sense of loss. Waiting to find acceptance. Just plan waiting. Days seemed like weeks and despite how hard you try to think of something else, there will always be a pregnancy announcement, belly bump or newborn pics to remind you of what you are trying so desperately to forget for 5 seconds.
When I finally got my first cycle back after 22 days of torture, it was like a switch went off and I finally felt like I was moving forward. Getting my period was the biggest concern I had post miscarriage. Given my history with hypothalemic amenorrhea, I was paranoid this miscarriage would throw off my cycles again. Luckily, that wasn’t the case.
My doctor instructed us to wait until AFTER my first normal cycle, which is 28 days. This took two months. Last month was the first time we could actually “try”. We did with a vengeance, so when I got my period last week I was pretty devastated. After hearing all the stories of women who got pregnant that first month of being able to start trying, I just kinda figured that would happen for me as well. Even when I started spotting I denied it could be Aunt Flo and just thought it was implantation bleeding or something. However, that darn stick slapped me in the face with a big fat negative over and over and over and over again. I literally went through 10 tests before I finally accepted that this just wasn’t the month for us.
So here we are going at it like rabbits, which isn’t fun, isn’t exciting and is quite frankly draining. Granted we try to spice it up, but at the end of the day, my hubby still feels like a walking sperm bank and I still feel broken. Charting, ovulation tests, counting days and just crossing your fingers and saying a few Hail Mary’s hoping timing is on our side.
What this little future baby of ours doesn’t know and will probably never understand is how much he or she can change things for us. How they will have this power to fill a void in our hearts and in our family. An ability to make me feel whole again and fill my undeniable desire to be a mommy again. Provide the greatest gift of making our son a big brother. What they don’t know is how much we want them to be a part of us, how much we want to love them and how much they will be loved.
Well, there goes my whole claim that I don’t shed tears over this, because at the current moment I can barely see what I am typing as the tears roll down my face. To my fellow mommy friends who have announced pregnancies, shared your adorable bump and newborn pics, please don’t feel bad, because I don’t. The gift of motherhood is something to celebrate and you better believe I am right along with you! Again CMB readers, thanks for allowing me to share my story and in the process heal just a little bit more!