We are still living partially in boxes. Part of me want to say enough is enough and just throw everything that is still in the basement out onto the curb in some sort of giant free pile. But that would lose me my good corkscrew; not to mention the good wine. And I need the wine.
It's been a long 3 months. Jude is still without a room. He is sleeping in a corner of the old upstairs kitchen surrounded by boxes. His actual room is being ripped apart wall by wall, so that insulation can be put in, a closet can be built, our room can be enlarged...it is taking forever. In October we thought we had a deadline to meet, we thought we had a need for Jude to vacate his space in the corner. We thought we were having a third child.
I don't even know why I decided to take a pregnancy test on our 4th wedding anniversary. Sometimes I wish I hadn't. The test was positive. I cried. Sometimes I wish I hadn't. That morning my only thoughts were timing is not right, finances are not right, our life is not right for another kid right now. And right now? I wish I hadn't thought anything. Because it turns out our life right then wasn't the right time for a baby. Turns out that even though I have had 2 healthy pregnancies, I can still be a statistic. Turns out my body is unbalanced, my hormones insane, my uterus not the marthaesque welcoming host that it should be.
We told my mother in law that we were having another baby, a week before we found out that we weren't having anything. Except heartache, except pain from not knowing what was going on, except a seemingly endless debate about what to do with this lack of growth going on. I cried, became comatose and unable to leave the house for days on end. And I didn't even really want another child right now! I can not imagine how people deal when they are trying to have another. All the doctor could tell me was that my hormone levels were dropping, there was no way I was going to be pregnant for long. Then I went for a sonogram.
There was nothing there. Nothing. An empty sac. A gaping hole where a baby should be growing. The grief lessened. I didn't feel like I lost a BABY. I didn't have to make a decision about having a procedure to remove anything, there was nothing to remove. Some tissue, some of my own cells. Nothing belonging to a potential son or daughter. If I hadn't taken that pregnancy test I would have just assumed I was late. The grief lessens. But it does not go away fully. It was a loss even though not many (including myself) acknowledged it as such. There are no wakes for miscarriages, no funerals. No gravesites to visit on the holidays. Only the nagging what ifs, the wonderings of what could have been.
I'm not writing this all down to see a slew of I'm sorry postings, I am writing it because women don't talk about it. Women are urged not to tell people about pregnancy until they "are in the clear". But how do you carry the weight around by yourself? Why can women only share in the Joys? The loss is not the same on the man in the relationship. They can only share the burden so much. So I am sharing my grief. Sharing it so it lessens more. Sharing it so I can move on. Sharing it so if it happens to anyone I know, they know I've been there too.