You my dear reader, may have noticed that I been an absentee dyer lately. I sometimes deal with stress by hobbiting myself away inside myself. And this year has been a doozy. Last year, right after Kid N Ewe fiber fest Ray and I found out that we were going to have another baby. We were surprised and overjoyed to discover this especially since there had been no other pregnancies since O and we figured that our baby making days were over. However, 2 days later when I went to the doctor, I found out that my hormone levels were really wrong.
So, I went to google. Where I learned way TOO much about progesterone and hcg levels required to maintain pregnancy. And mine were low. Not ridiculously crazy low, but low enough to be worrisome. I had a sonogram, and there she was. My tiny little grain of rice with her heartbeat going like it should. Then I went in to see the doctor and he started talking D&C and sometimes these things happen and blah blah blah. I said 'Wait a minute! There's a heartbeat!' he was all, 'Oh!'. I think he never really looked at my chart and just saw what he expected to see.
So he sent me off and scheduled another sonogram for the next week. This was the beginning of my weekly sonograms. I went weekly, dreading every appointment, never getting a due date, hormone levels never being good enough to support a good pregnancy, supplementing with prescription progesterone. And every week it was the same. Dread the appointment, go in to the sonogram room, have the tech find the baby, and hear the heart beat with joy and fear and amazement every week. I heard her heartbeat 5 times over the next month and a half and begged her to fight and get big and strong so that I could meet her. And yet every week, I came home without a due date, with a new bandaid from the blood test.
We defied the odds, even the doctor was saying that maybe it could be a viable pregnancy. But on Jan 30, I was out on a walk with the boys and I felt something go wrong. New Years Eve, the spotting and cramping intensified, and I spent most of the night curled up around myself begging for the pain to stop, not even able to do much more than moan in pain. I have never felt physical pain quite like it. It was amazing in its intensity. Then, a few days later, while making a middle of the night trip to the bathroom, I passed the pregnancy. Just like that, flushed away with all the waste. I was about 11 weeks into my pregnancy.
And No. I did not tell. Because I couldn't handle the 'whole world' knowing when I wasn't even sure that the pregnancy would progress past those first few weeks.
And so. I've watched other friends grow large with baby and give birth all in the last few months and it has been hard. Because I am equal parts happy for them but also jealous and sad. Because I should be under slept and over worked and smelling those new baby smells and kissing a soft and sweet head. But I'm not. I am sitting at my computer with tears rolling down my face. Healing. Slowly healing. And peeking out of my shell, looking around the world, and maybe coming back to myself again.