Maybe its that I'm not too thrilled with big thrills - but mostly, I think it's a matter of fact that I totally dislike the feeling of my stomach residing somewhere between my throat and lips.
But this past three wees - what a roller-coaster they've been.
Up until Sunday, the 13th of March I would have plainly told you that I've lived 28 years with few disappointing moments. There have been few (if any) times I've felt the bottom drop out of my life, so to speak. Of course, there have been moments of doubt, of longing, of fear - but few disappointments. I've felt (and been outspoken about feeling) very blessed - blessed almost to the point of wondering when something big and ugly is going to happen. Because God works like that, right? Blessing, blessing, blessing, SMITING! (wrong, but that's how it feels sometimes)
...If you aren't in the mood for things to get ugly, this is the place you need to stop reading. I'm not saying that as some clever ploy so that you'll keep reading, I'm saying that because I don't want to ruin your day. I could just not write about this at all, but something inside of me feels compelled to do so before I am able to move on from it and return to the petty details of things like making yogurt, and jam, and washing diapers.
Last Sunday morning I faced one of my worst fears. Head on. An in a split second my reality - my newly formed identity - was washed away. The tears that followed were only a foreshadowing of the tears that were to come as I came to the quick realization that the baby I had carried for nearly six weeks was no longer mine to carry.
I crumbled to the bathroom floor. I melted. the reality of losing that baby was heavier than I ever could have imagined. And the deep, red, physical reminder of what was happening at that very moment was numbing.
Although I had given lip service, many times, to the notion that so many pregnancies fail prior to the 12th week, (it would take me many sets of hands to count the number of friends I have who've gone through this very horror) nothing could have prepared me or otherwise desensitized me to my new reality. It's one thing to acknowledge that miscarriage "happens", it's quite another to experience it. The physical pain pales in comparison to the emotional heartache - to the soul drenching grief that follows it.
To those of you who are wondering what to say, I'll offer you this:
Yes, if it was going to happen at all, I'm glad it happened this early on
Yes, I'm glad we hadn't yet told very many people about our pregnancy
Yes, I'm so happy I already have a beautiful, thriving, nursing, son
Yes, I know that everything happens for a reason
Yes, I understand time will bring healing
And I know, you probably "don't really know what to say"
Neither do I.
And so I think I will stay quiet on this issue for the time being - until some light bulb goes off in the center of my soul and I am allowed to see WHY things like this happen - or at least until I feel like I have a normal body again.
In the mean time I would appreciate it if you stayed quiet on the issue as well. Your kind words mean a lot, but I don't really want to be reminded about this any more than I have to be. Not that I'm trying to brush it under the carpet (quite the contrary) but more that, in order to maintain some level of sanity, I need to re-focus on the joys of life instead of the awful ugliness and total devastation that I wish never to experience again.
And in that vein - the joy that surrounds me - I think it's high time I begin posting about what we Nebraskans have been up to. simple things, like yogurt, and jam, and diapers - and Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day.