Right now I should have been halfway through my pregnancy with Baby Truett. I would already know his or her gender – we probably would have had a big party to do a proper reveal. We both felt it was a boy in our gut, but I’m usually wrong, so who knows.
Right about now I would be feeling those first flutters – kicks that feel more like gas bubbles and are my favorite thing about being pregnant. I would be getting a nice, round baby bump and shopping for fall maternity clothes and secretly mourning the fact that I wouldn’t get to indulge in any of the fall fashions in the window displays at our local mall.
Well, now I get to shop for “regular” fall clothes.
I should be well into my second trimester – those blissful middle months of more energy, less nausea, and finally looking pregnant instead of fat. We’d probably be preparing a nursery, arguing over colors and fretting about getting Wrenn out of her crib so she could pass it on to her baby brother or sister.
When we first found out about our miscarriage, a wise friend warned us that after our initial time of mourning, we would find ourselves grieving again at random times. Small triggers hiding around corners that catch you by surprise on a seemingly normal day. And she was right. It has been mostly smooth sailing through this thing called grief, and yet every once in awhile it surprises me and catches me off guard, and I get sad again as I think about what should have been, but what isn’t.
The meanest joke has been that I may not have a baby here in my arms, but I still had to walk through many of the same postpartum maladies I experienced with Wrenn. My hair fell out again, just like it did after I had Wrenn. It fell out in clumps and we found it all over our house, clinging to every dark shirt it could find. My sleek ponytail is back to having all sorts of stray baby hairs growing in where the longer ones fell out. I went through the same joint pain in my legs and feet that I had Wrenn – enough to be in a decent amount of pain every single day for months. Just like with Wrenn, the pain is now waning and will soon go dark – nothing I can’t live with, but still a cruel, daily reminder of the child I don’t have.
And I gained weight. I’m totally blaming that on the pregnancy and not on the fact that I may have eaten one too many rich meals with Mr. Right as we tried to find fun ways to spend our time over these past few months. Either way, my pants BARELY button. It’s just one more way to feel a little less than I did before this happened.
I share this, not for your sympathy, but because nobody told me that my hair would fall out or that my joints would hurt after losing my child. Only one person warned me of the way this grief would manifest itself – in waves, hiding in unexpected places, ready to catch me by surprise. And so, I apply my life’s motto of “Me, too” to this experience as well. Ladies, may our transparency be a blessing to other women who join our club after us. You’re not alone. You’re normal.