I find myself clinging to the memory of what it was like, that one week I knew I was pregnant. The nausea, the frequent bathroom trips, the testing, the excitement mingled with fear.
And I read these posts on the forums, and I think, I could answer this question. I had a BFP. I tested on 11 DPO and got my +, I felt this, I felt that... but then I'd have to explain that mine didn't last, and that my experience with such and such doesn't mean this poster will m/c too. I don't post at all, I mean, why be a downer for this expectant happy mother. I don't post. I want to, I want to so bad, but I refrain.
I keep clinging to these little things.
That surprise positive digi when I wasn't even sure I Ov'ed because I didn't have a temp rise until CD44.
That tenderness in my bosom, that nausea in my tummy, that frequent running to the bathroom to pee, and that annoying gas.
I am so glad I got all my symptoms strong and early, that I could experience them before it all came crashing down. It's better than nothing I suppose. But, I cling and I cling.
I want to say, "Yeah, I remember what that was like when I was pregnant."
But, I don't have a baby to show for it.
Most people don't know about my m/c and they'd be puzzled, and it would reopen the wound.
Not that the wound has closed or anything, but I feel like maybe, soon, it will start to scab over.
I hate being silent, but everyone gets hush hush if I mention my loss.
And even trying to recall the good, to remember how happy I was to have horrible gas, how happy I was to be sick to my stomach...
it doesn't matter because who am I going to laugh about this with. It's not like I'm going to have my New Years baby and talk to my family about those first few weeks laughing them off;
those first few weeks are all I had and they're all I'll ever have with my first pregnancy.
And I am stuck wondering when I am going to feel like that again. That week was the best week of my life, and the worst week of my life. Here I thought I'd never get pregnant, but I managed to trick my body into doing it. I managed to beat the odds, I was on cloud nine. And then the cloud shook with thunder and I came crashing down to earth as the blood leaked from me like rain and I shook in terror as I waited to go to the ER.
And like that I went back to being a hoveled scared little girl, afraid of never being able to concieve, but now this added weight, this fear of never carrying to term.
So I have found myself recently trying to cling to that glorious week, a week I should have found uncomfortable but instead found delightful. That one almost perfect week, if only Sunday morning hadn't made everything come crashing down. That one most beautiful week of my life.
I named my baby Sebastian while I was in the ER starting to m/c. I knew, I just needed confirmation. I held the slightest hope that I was wrong, but I knew the whole time what was happening. Sebastian means "Revered." And so he is.
My beautiful baby that I will never get to see, thank you for the gas.
and the nausea.
and the exhaustion.
and the tenderness.
Thank you for that one perfect week.
Mommy loves you.