I spent all day yesterday remembering, but now knowing what to say. I remember. I can never forget. Little things remind me no matter how hard I try to ignore them. Pictures of my own baby can not be viewed without thinking of the baby that came after him. Would they have looked the same? Acted the same? Or completely different. How was I so blessed to have one so perfect, although a bit of a hand full at times … followed by two who tried to kill me, literally, and one who wouldn’t leave my womb long after it’s tiny heart had stopped beating. What was wrong with those two? What is wrong with me?
One of my biggest regrets? Missing so much of Monkey’s childhood as I tried, and failed, repeatedly, to give him a sibling. Days of bed rest instead of days at the zoo. Days of morning instead of days of enjoying what I have.
And it’s not just those two that I morn. I more all the other small groups of growing cells, graded and photographed and placed in my womb, only to fail to thrive before their time, leaving me to feel the symptoms of pregnancy fade from my body once again. I know those are simply 2WW’s and even most of our closest friends don’t know about them, but to me, as the progesterone and other infertility drugs mimicked exactly the symptoms of pregnancy, and hope filled my brain with images of swollen bellies and chubby cheeks, nursery colors and possible names, each of those two week waits was like a tiny death to me, each to be morned and remembered.
I wanted to link to all of my friends who have also suffered a loss, but I do not have the time to gather all those links, nor the strength to see them all in one place. There are too many and I think of them all. I think of them often.
1 in 4. If you think it doesn’t effect anyone you know. Thing again. She is just to sad to talk to you about it.