So today my doctor confirmed what I already knew…I am experiencing a miscarriage. I have decided to share my story, because even though I hadn’t made my pregnancy known to the general public yet and could hide this away without most people knowing it ever happened, I think it’s important for me to work through it and also because you never know who is reading your blog and getting encouragement from it. (Case in point here at my old, old blog.)
As a warning, I use humor as a coping mechanism, so if this post doesn’t sound like it’s coming from someone who just lost a baby (I hate that term, like I was irresponsible and left it somewhere like my sunglasses), it’s because everyone grieves in their own way so sorry if I don’t live up to your expectations.
It will be a two part story: First, the happy part where I find out a little sesame seed is growing in my belly giving me diarrhea and making me take naps like a 3 year old; then the not so happy part where the little blueberry is nowhere to be found but feels like its in there clawing away at my lower abdomen and kicking me in the lower back. Let’s start with the happy, okay? Okay.
In March, on the day I was supposed to start my period, I had a sneaking suspicion that maybe our baby-making efforts for the previous two months had been successful. I had read on a couple of blogs (including this hilarious one) that dollar stores sell pregnancy tests that are just as accurate so I decided I’d give it a whirl. And yes, I had to ask for it behind the counter because it’s a popular target for cleptos. I asked the clerk for two and she says, “What brand?” I say I don’t care since they are all generic and I’ve never heard of any of them, and then she sweetly gives me two different kinds because apparently most people feel more confident in the results if they try two different brands. She also tells me that’s what she did.
What the blogs didn’t tell me (and maybe this wasn’t their experience) is that the dollar store tests are like a science experiment. You don’t pee on a stick and then you’re done. There are medicine droppers and pH strips involved and some assembly is required. I think I’ll pay the extra money in the future to avoid the superfluous urine handling that is involved by saving a few bucks. Anyway, I took these tests and one was negative and the other was very vaguely positive. I didn’t trust the contradictory results from my science experiment tests and longed for the simple pee on a stick method. So the following day, I went to good ol’ Publix and bought a few more.
Now I believe cashiers are supposed to be discreet about this kind of thing but apparently the guy at Publix doesn’t know universal pregnancy test protocol because he decided we should have a conversation about my purchase. He says “So are you hoping???” And what if I wasn’t? What if I was in an abusive relationship and was praying to God that I hadn’t brought a child into that situation? What if I was having an affair and wasn’t sure the child was my husband’s? But I’m too polite (or actually aware of grocery store banter protocol) to bring up these possible scenarios to the cashier and simply answer “yes.” But that wasn’t enough for him. He says, “Are you hoping for a boy or girl?” I, still being way too polite to this complete stranger intruding into my very personal life, say, “well it’s way too early for that, but if I had to say right now, I think I’d say a girl because I’ve had more practice with them.” Then, and I’m not making this ish up, the guy in the checkout line behind me chimes in and says, “Be careful what you wish for. I have one of those.” Great folks, why don’t we just announce it over the Publix loudspeaker and let all the customers and employees have a chance to weigh in on my fertility?
I go straight home and happily pee on my expensive, unmessy pee sticks and both show up clearly positive. My mom is there but Davison is not. God knows she can’t keep a secret or a straight face so I decide to lie to her and tell her I’m waiting to take them when Davison gets home. When he gets home, I set up my camera to video his reaction in the guest bedroom (aka future nursery), press record, and stuff a pillow under my shirt as a “too excited to think of something really creative” way to tell him. Of course I’m chomping at the bit to get this huge secret off my chest, but my mama, God bless her soul, has no idea what’s going on and starts a conversation with him as soon as he walks in the door. I’m trying to be patient and not obvious, but the camera only records for a few minutes before it stops, so I have to start yelling for him to come talk to me. Here is the awkward video, which I’m not ready to watch again yet, but will share with you. And here is a pregnancy pic, which is sort of a joke because you really can’t see a baby bump in the first 8 weeks, but I know every blog post needs pictures.
The next few weeks I spent mentally decorating both a boy and girl nursery, figuring out what my insurance is going to cover, avoiding deli meats, sleeping, reading pregnancy books/websites/blogs, sleeping, and just smiling a whole bunch. We did tell my bffs, some close family members, and several coworkers so that they didn’t think I was just a lazy bum for going home to sleep all the time.
To be continued with the not so happy part….