I know how I appear on this blog. Utterly consumed with my growing baby, and busy arranging for the changes that will occur in the next few weeks when we welcome her into our arms and make this whole family thing official. That's a pretty accurate description of how life is actually going for me right now.
But there's still something there that I will never forget, and have never gone a day without thinking about: and that is, that this isn't my first.
I miscarried my first pregnancy at eight and a half weeks. I try not to make a big deal of this because it really is very common. It's practically normal. And in comparison (though it shouldn't really matter), my miscarriage was a pretty easy one (no D&C surgery, it happened early on, etc, etc) But I also try not to make light of this, because it's still life. And it's still sacred. And it was still really hard. And it hurt, and still does. Regardless of comparison to any other person's loss.
In those months after I publicly announced my miscarriage, I was often checked in on, to make sure I was okay. Asked how I was handling it, how I was coping, how I was feeling, asked if there was anything that could be done to help. And I usually told people that I felt like the only cure for what I was feeling would be to have a baby. And that was true. All I wanted, and what seemed like all I would ever need, was to just be a mother, finally. And that would fix everything.
So when I got pregnant again, two months later, and announced that pregnancy three months after that, the questions stopped. I had been cured! Right?
Well, mostly. I guess. Getting pregnant again, especially so quickly after my loss, really did heal that wound, and fill that void. It made the biggest difference and brought me so much closure, and so much peace, which I so desperately needed. I was able to move forward and focus on a new baby, a baby that would stay.
But that doesn't necessarily mean that I am "over it". And I don't think I ever will be. When I think about my family, my future children, and the life we'll live and what I want it to look like, I always take that first baby into consideration, too. I still wonder who that baby is, boy or girl, what they would have looked like, and I wonder what it will be like when I finally get to meet them and raise them. Because I truly believe that time will come. I don't think the babies you lose come back to you. I think they go to Heaven and wait patiently for you to return, so you can raise them, just like you would have done on Earth. And I like that better. (More babies!)
Losing a child, in any capacity, changes your life. It changes how you view things, and it gives you a different take on the eternal perspective. It puts you through some of the darkest times of your life, but also brings you one of the greatest hopes you'll ever know. It's unique to other losses, I think.
It wasn't easy - physically or mentally - to lose a pregnancy, but I definitely feel like because of it, I'm more grateful for this one that's stayed. I think it may have given me a perspective I needed, personally, in order to get through a full term pregnancy. Because pregnancy is not for the weak!
