For almost 11 weeks, we thought we were going to be parents a second time around. (Or rather, we knew about the pregnancy for about 8 of these weeks - gotta be accurate, right?)
I still don't know how to talk about this, really, but I've found that I'm thinking about this set of experiences all too often, and sometimes the way for me to move past something is to write it out. Maybe that will work here.
We'd started doing that almost surreal work of re-imagining our lives with another individual around; just as we'd grown accustomed to our particular threesome, we learned it was to be a foursome - and this news was met with equal parts excitation and bewilderment. At least on my part. As I found myself increasingly giddy with this prospect, I also experienced a new self-doubt - what if this pregnancy were rougher than the last one? What if I wouldn't be as lucky in getting the birth I wanted? What if, what if... these are the musings of a mother-to-be, and I learned that, regardless of having been pregnant before and truly lucky to have had a pretty healthy pregnancy and a powerful birth experience, the what-ifs come back with a vengeance.
And just as I was able to breathe into those insecurities and worries, poof! No need.
But it's not like it was actually a "poof." Miscarrying at 11 weeks is different than miscarrying earlier on. In many ways, it's like giving birth. There are powerful, nerve-snapping contractions; there is a lot of blood; it takes a disturbingly long time to happen.
This is what I kept telling myself over the hours that this potential #2 emptied from me: "You will get through this. This will pass." But unlike the first birth, where my mantra was probably something similar, there's no kid to show for it. And it was a lonelier process this time around, too.
In a way, maybe the best way that I've learned to deal with this over the past few weeks, I view this as another experience that I've had. Now I can relate to something that I heretofore had no concept of. "Oh. Huh."
I was lucky that we hadn't told many people about our goods news. I know I was worried about the prospect of a miscarriage (I'd had one a few years before, but much earlier on in a very different time, a very different pregnancy), but I've tried to not make myself crazy by wondering if my reluctance here was based on some womanly intuition. I haven't had to un-tell many people - an awful conversation if ever there was one. I'm normally a very private person - or rather, I don't tend to talk about things until I've decided how I feel about them, the spin I'm going to give, the way that I want to talk about a topic. But I found that I can't be similarly reticent here; when asked about my week after that awful Monday, I was honest with at least three people who hadn't even known I was pregnant. It didn't feel good, exactly, to let this out, but I needed to, apparently, and I was able to do so without my usual embarrassment. At the least, it doesn't feel bad to say, "This mattered to me, and now it's gone."