Saturday, November 1, 2014
There's a rule when you become pregnant that a lot of women follow.
"Don't share your pregnancy publicly until you're 12 weeks along."
The idea is that by that point the highest risk of miscarriage is over, because if you miscarry before that, it should be kept secret. Mourn and grieve privately.
I was never going to follow that rule, I was only going to wait until my almost 7 week ultrasound to see the beating heart before I told the whole world that Jace would be a big brother. I was ecstatic, thrilled, and couldn't wait for June to meet this little baby.
When I went in for the ultrasound I had already told a small group, including my coworkers because I was sure I'd start feeling morning sickness soon just as I had with Jace. But instead I found that they couldn't find a baby at all.
I don't exaggerate when I say that I believe this has been the worst week of my life. Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday passed in a blur of bloodwork, tears, and scheduling surgery for Friday morning. There isn't a physical reason, no one is at fault, and no one can explain why I lost it.
I know other mom's that have miscarried, some recently, some a long time ago and each one does what they need to get through. Some tell a close group of people for support and otherwise keep it hidden. Some have moved so far past it that they can bring it up in casual conversation. I'm choosing to share it because I am mourning. I am mourning for so much more than the loss of a cluster of cells, I am mourning for baby Ava or Sawyer and what could have been. And I don't believe that I should have to grieve secretly for someone that I loved.