I Cried

I had a miscarriage in May. End of May. I wasn't very far along.

Shit. This is hard to write.

I never cried when I found out I was pregnant. I stared at the line up of 3 (mostly) inconclusive tests for a long, long time. Hid them in the laundry room, snuck in to check on them while fixing dinner or correcting homework, squinting to see if the palest of lines was darker than it had been the day before, the hour before, the minute before. I was in denial. Over the next week I bought a few more, just to see if any of them were any more clear, until finally I coughed up the money for the "fancy" test - the one that develops the word "pregnant" so that there can be no doubt, no uncertainty - you are going to have a baby. And that's what it said, in letters darker than anything I'd ever seen. Pregnant. And I was conflicted.

I already have six kids,an embarrassment of riches. I'd never had a miscarriage, a stillbirth, a child with a birth defect - I felt like I'd dodged a big bullet and honestly, I was unsure if I could handle being pregnant again. I remembered my last pregnancy and how difficult it had been - granted, it was a mere 5 months after the previous one, and I'd been on some heavy duty mood lifters, but the last five years of the spectrum stuff have been rough on me and I just didn't feel ready to do all of it over again. I've read that siblings born after a child on the spectrum can have a higher rate of their own "issues", and I worried about my sanity if I had to do all of "it" all over again. After all, I'd had a little nervous breakdown in March, so what was I doing adding to my workload - even though it was a complete and total accident? I plotted out the due date and realized it would be right after Christmas, just a bit into a brand new year. Go though a winter baby again? Gah. All my winter babies came down with RSV and asthma. And being huge at Christmas? This was not in my plans.

But I was pregnant and as soon as I really realized it, I grew to be happy. I looked through the baby clothes and remembered my favorite outfits, went up in the attic to gaze on the bassinet and the papasan chair, and looked online for maternity clothes and cloth diapers - I'd given almost all of mine away in certainty that I'd never be pregnant again. I told no one, though, except for one blogging friend. We had an enormous family wedding coming up and I wanted to spare my niece the drama. What drama? Probably it was all in my head, and I certainly didn't give anyone enough credit, but I remember the comments and digs, the swipes and the hurtful ugly things that were said to me during my pregnancy with Riley. Not so much by family members, although the jokes about my sex life aren't funny coming from anyone, but people can be deeply cruel without realizing it. Sure, I was getting to the comfort zone, but I was not fully there, and I wasn't secure enough yet to be able to deal with ugliness and crass comments - and I knew both were coming.

So I kept the pregnancy to myself.

And then I lost the baby.(What a dumb saying, for who would LOSE a baby? You lose your eyeglasses, not a human being.) And I realized that, by not sharing my news, I'd kept myself safe from swipes and digs, but unknowingly sheltered myself from consolation and comfort, for how could anyone comfort me if I had never told? I explained here on this blog, and received tremendous comfort from you, my readers. I gave the baby a name, talked about it a very tiny bit with my husband, and put it behind me.

I did not cry.

I put it behind me and went on with my life. "You already have six kids," I told myself whenever my thoughts touched on the subject. "God knew what he was doing, for you couldn't have handled it. Besides, you have nine kids together - it's greedy to want more." A friend had a baby and I was happy for her, but sad when I visited her in the very hospital that I'd delivered two children. I pushed that sadness away. A mother on my daughter's soccer team was pregnant, and it turned out that we would have been due a day apart, and I silently observed her tummy at games and practices. That's what I'd look like now, I thought to myself. She's as far along as I would have been. It was tough, but I pushed it away, for greed is unflattering and how could I explain what I didn't even really understand? When I thought about it, I switched my thoughts to something, anything else. Nothing to see here, move along!

Thank goodness you miscarried, said one well meaning friend. Now you can get on with your life. You are almost 40, said another, babies born to older mothers have "problems". You CERTAINLY don't need any more of THAT! True. And True.

And yet.

A baby lost at any stage of life is still a baby lost. I knew this baby a short time, and grieved it's conception for most of that time - a reality that will haunt me forever. I wish I could go back. I wish I could do things differently. I'd have shouted from the rooftops, ignored all the hurtful things that were said, and punched anyone in the face who'd dared to tell me differently. My hands would have been sore, no doubt.

I went to a funeral today. The friend who was pregnant with me gave birth to a stillborn daughter.

And I cried. For her, of course. For her two remaining daughters, her husband, her family. For the incredibly small box, the pink roses, the framed picture of the baby and the photos of her three girls together once. Only once. I cried when her 6 year old spoke at the service.

But, I think, I cried for me as well.

Most probably, I will never have another baby. I'm having female issues that will need to have some type of resolution soon, and those actions will take my fertility. My husband doesn't get it - but how can he, when I really don't understand it myself? Nothing to see here, move along, you already have six kids, Who are you, Michelle Duggar with better hair? Don't be greedy....

And yet...

I cried today. Almost all of today. I'll probably cry tomorrow too, and maybe on and off for quite a while.

I cried, I think, for me.

Comments

[Joni Boetticher]

It's okay to cry. Be kind to yourself. There are so many thoughts and emotions that make so little sense but just ride them out and let them take you where they take you. I've lost two babies in the past eight months since I got married and I know... I'm so sorry for your friend, too. Prayers for all of you...

[Jessica]

I have five children, and have miscarried twice in the past year. Those two pregnancies are the only times I have ever found out I was pregnant and not been immediately excited. Sometimes I struggle with the thought that if I had just been more excited, maybe things would have been different. I understand the regret that comes with not embracing a pregnancy before it is gone.

No matter how much your rational mind tells you "it was for the best", it still hurts. Sometimes, you just have to cry.

[Mama Cas]

I'm so sorry for your loss, yet relieved to hear that you're finally crying. You have every right to grieve and you have my permission to punch ANYONE who tells you differently.

My heart is with you. I wholeheartedly understand...my small house, my even-smaller bank account, my painfully small amount of patience? All of these are reasons why a 5th child would be a hugely BAD idea for us. And yet. I would be nervously happy if I found myself pregnant. And I'm sure I would be saddened by a miscarriage.

Cry on. Until you don't need to cry again.

[Heather]

Carmen, I still read you daily but don't have the free hands to comment as often as I'd like but I have thought about you and your baby so often in the last month. I'm so glad you were able to cry. It's so often needed for us Moms but pushed to the back burner as a means of protecting those we love (and ourselves) but really, it's a form of therapy that brings a peace to our soul. Hugs.

[Debby Pucci]

Thank you for sharing your heart. I am so sorry for your loss. I pray for your comfort.

Carmen, if you have your friends full name & address I would love to send her a handkerchief from my For Your Tears blog.
Would you like one for your tears?
dpucci9972atgmaildotcom

[The Mommyologist]

WOW. This post really puts things into perspective. You never know what hand you are going to be dealt in life, so you have to be happy with what you have and never take it for granted. I really need to live by that principle a little better.

[melissa]

i'm so sorry.
hugs to you.

[FishyGirl]

Oh Carmen. You cry. Cry as much or as little as you need. Then cry a little more.

I am so sorry for your loss, and your friend's. Peace be with both of you and your families.

[Kelly KH]

Carmen, I don't comment often, but I always read, and I remember your miscarriage well. I have 4 kids, and I was talking with a friend this week about grieving the end of my fertility, and how another baby would screw up a lot of plans, but not be a disaster! My mother was so hurtful - "You don't need any more kids," " Don't you have enough?!" "That's so stupid to grieve."

I didn't have a miscarriage but I am coming to terms w/ the end of my childbearing years and it hurts. I know it is time for a new phase, but it is OK to grieve, it is OK to be sad for dreams lost or never realized.

Sending you prayers and peace.

[mm]

Men don't get it. Other people don't get it. Until you live through some horrid tragedy yourself you just.don't.get.it. Cry until you need more tissues my dear blog friend. Do you think Mrs Duggar will feel it any less if something happens to this child that she has delivered so early? I think not. I hope the pain eases soon.

[Mommy Cracked]

I'm so sorry. I know this took a lot of stregnth and courage to write. It was beautiful.

[Tina]

So sorry to hear of your loss.....

[beth]

Hug.

[Marie]

So sorry Carmen. You go ahead and cry. The baby I lost would have been 18 this past September. Even though I have wonderful 13 yr. old. The "what if's" still make me cry sometimes.

[Sarah]

I get it. And I'm sorry.

[mom-101]

Oh Carmen, that's just gut-wrenching. You know, I find sometimes the universe (God? Zeus?) sends us what we need when we need it - and despite your friend's terrible, tragic loss, it provided you the catharsis your soul was demanding.

Sending love.

[elizabeth]

I can not imagine the pain of a stillbirth -a friend's baby recently died (when?) at some point between the day before a scheduled c-section and wheeling her in...stunningly shocking and SO sad. Miscarriages are so private and often unspoken...I had one between my first two. Life goes on around you and you're there with a huge sad weight on your heart, a deep emptiness and NO ONE knows. I am so saddened by your loss. Let yourself grieve, be gentle on yourself. One of the most important things I have learned over the past few years, is when I don't let others know I need them - that I have losses...they are not able to gift me with their care and love. That is so hard for me - to humble myself to have things done for me. I AM the caregiver...NOPE, others too need to do/be that for me (for you.)

I just had our beautiful (last? - only God knows...) 4th kidlet almost two years ago. AT 44. Sure, there are some risks, but there always are. Some would say so much more increased, ah - I don't know. I love being a mom of a baby in my advanced years. ;-)

My winter baby had RSV too, it was truly a nightmare of a winter...I had NEVER been so thrilled to welcome spring.

Gentle hugs, dear one!

[Lisa @ All That and a box of Rocks]

Carmen,

I'm so sorry. I understand. I've never had a miscarriage, but I have buried an infant. I've had 6 kids, two with birth defects. And yet, I still ache for another. I am pretty sure (at my age) that I'll never be pregnant again, and I feel like no one understands how I could possibly be sad with all I've been through and all I've been given.

I understand~
Lisa @
All That and a Box of Rocks

[Nicki]

It's okay to cry and to grieve your loss. I am sorry that you are hurting.

[Michelle]

I am sorry Carmen. I understand what you are goin through. I would have given birth on Dec 6.th

[Karen (from Our Deer Baby)]

I had many miscarriages between my 6th and my 7th child and it sooooooooooo hurt every single time. The moment I was pregnant, I started bonding with this baby. Starting looking forward to what season she would be born in. Calculated how old my other kids would be.

Sending tons of love and warm {{{ HUGS }}} to you. Give yourself time to grieve and to cry and write as much about the baby as you want / need to. I know writing always helps me through hard times, and we are all here to listen to you and support you,

Karen

[Issa]

Am crying as I read this. For you. For me. For our babies who I guess weren't meant to be.

I have hated this holiday season. For a few reasons...but a lot of it is that I wish I was pregnant right now. About to give birth. Complaining about the last week of pregnancy. I wish I had tons of little socks and onesies to wash. Instead? All I have is the empty feeling inside me, whenever I look at anyone with a baby; at any very pregnant woman. I know it's probably a good thing, considering my current situation, but still I wish.

Writing this was very brave Carmen. Truly. I adore you for writing what I can't seem to write. Huge hugs my friend.

[Young Wife]

I'm so sorry. People (myself included) do say cruel things without meaning to. I can see why you would have kept your pregnancy quiet. This must be so very hard. I am glad you cried, though. It sounds like maybe you needed to. And I am sorry for your friend's loss as well.

[Stephanie]

This was so touching and even got me to choke up. Your pain is real, I hope sharing it with us was the start of some real healing, as well.

[Maureen]

Losing a child is difficult - the fact that you have six children in no way diminishes your loss. In fact, having been a mother, you are more acutely aware of what you have lost. Miscarriages are hard - perhaps in part because they often go unacknowledged by so many people.

Know you are in my thoughts and prayers.