Sunday

A short life

I experienced my first miscarriage this week and I hope it's my last.  It was the severe cramping that stirred me from my sleep at five o'clock in the morning.  Then, I felt blood all over my legs. I knew the baby was gone before I even turned on the light. I told my husband, almost in an altered state, "I am having a miscarriage."  When I went to bed earlier that night, I had no clue that my pregnancy was ending.

That scene was eerily similar to the birth of my daughter.  At a couple days past her due date, I woke up at 4:00am with a strange feeling that my cycle was starting.  But, it was my water breaking and I was going into labor.  It was so exciting and joyous.  I called the midwife and woke up my husband like I was a kid on Christmas morning. Two very different mornings in my life as a mother.

My experience was the "typical" first trimester miscarriage.  There wasn't a recognizable baby to hold or bury.  It's not a pleasant physical experience to endure.  Not only is there blood and severe cramping that makes you vomit in pain, but I had to get used to my body returning to it's non-pregnant state.  Symptoms started leaving me one by one. The cravings left, no more nausea, I felt less bloated.  I have a giant jar of pickles in my fridge that makes me cry.  It truly is a death.  When they are gone, they are gone.  My body moved everything out and it's like nothing ever happened. It's like there never was a baby to begin with.

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