…I should be going to church. Instead, I’m laying in my bed crying.

Most days I deal with infertility well. Some days I don’t think about it at all. And then there are the days like today. The ones where I don’t feel any hope about the future. Where I have a hard time being in public because who knows what will start me crying.

I know the reason for this. Tomorrow it will be two years since my first miscarriage. I remember going along with my husband hunting a few days before and talking about how old the baby would be before he took it along to sit in the deer stand with him. That was the last conversation we had about the baby until I started bleeding heavily and I called him at work to tell him we were losing it. That was the last thing we ever said about the little one. He came home and hugged me a long time and just held me.

K just won’t talk about our two babies that are gone. It’s the one thing that we just do not, under no circumstances, discuss. I know he doesn’t talk because he doesn’t want me to think about it and start crying. Maybe he doesn’t want to think about it and cry. I don’t know. It’s the elephant in the room in our relationship.

But on days like today, that’s all I think about. I think about how I should be having baby showers planned for me right now. That we would be thinking about baby’s first Christmas and who would give the baby blessing at church. We would be figuring out where to set up the birthing tub in our tiny overcrowded house. Painting the nursery. Listening to Frick and Frack complain because they now have to share a bedroom.

I was due November 30th. I lost my baby the same day I found out I was pregnant. I didn’t even get the chance to tell K I was pregnant before I had to call him and tell him we were losing another one. I remember going to work with this huge stupid grin on my face and wanting to tell my clients so bad. Planning on telling my husband by giving him the camo onesie I had bought for “someday”. Sitting and talking with my client then standing up and feeling a huge gush and going to the bathroom and knowing that that much bleeding meant the pregnancy was over. Having to tell my client what was happening because I was crying so hard I could barely talk. And calling my boss to tell her I was leaving work. They all knew before K did.

Even though I miscarried so early, the second I found out I was pregnant, I was in love with that child. I naively thought that because I already had one miscarriage, that I would be protected from another. I had so many hopes from the last four years of trying pinned to something that was gone in the blink of an eye. And it hurts like hell.

So today, I’m going to cry because I’m home alone. I can give myself the chance to mourn and grieve without K trying to make me feel better or channel my thoughts to something else.

And tomorrow, I’ll smile and laugh and feel better. We’ll talk about our baby plans and how going back to school will affect them. Yeah, that’s our next step. What to do while I am in school and we have a very limited income. I’m kind of leaning towards just getting myself as healthy as possible these next three years and if I get pregnant, it’ll be a nice bonus. If it doesn’t happen, we’ll probably move on to adoption as our next step.


One thought on “Today…

  1. Hi. I understand about not wanting to go to church. I just suffered a chemical pregnancy last month and everyone at church knew about it because it happened when we were going through a donor embryo cycle so we were so excited that this might be the answer for us. We are going to try again, but it’s hard to know that we were so close to being a family. I have a post on my blog that I write for our church called “God Will Find You” and I wrote it at a time when I was in too much pain to go to church. I hope you can find some comfort from it and I will pray that God will bring you peace with your struggles.


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