Miscarriage.
It’s taking 10 tests, praying that the lines will get darker each time and that the doctors got it wrong.
It’s dropping to your hands and knees on your bathroom floor, crying out loud sounds of agony, praying to God over and over to ‘Just let this be okay!’.
It’s trying to go about your day but not being able to switch laundry from the washer to the dryer without breaking down and crying over the wet, clean clothes.
It’s trying to stay busy but forgetting what you’re even doing every few minutes.
It’s avoiding going to the restroom as long as you possibly can because the dread of what you’ll see haunts you.
It’s making lunch for your other children and masking the heartache with all that you have to protect their sweet, innocent spirits from the ugliness that you feel.
It’s deleting and removing every baby page that pops up on your timeline because it’s like having a bucket of ice water thrown on you when you see it. Shocking and heartlessly cold.
It’s not watching TV because everything is a reminder of the life that you’ll never hold, know, or watch grow.
It’s wondering why it happened.
It’s thinking back on every little thing that you did before you knew that you were pregnant such as rearranging your living room furniture and blaming yourself for the loss.
It’s feeling bad for being sad about it because you have healthy children.
It’s seeing piles of baby stuff that you had purchased and/or pulled out of storage laying in your bedroom floor and wanting to toss it all out because you’re bitter.
It’s coming across your journal where you drew up nursery designs and wrote down baby names to see how they looked on paper.
It’s a calendar in your kitchen that includes OB appointments and gestational weeks.
It’s being completely drained physically and mentally but still not being able to sleep AT ALL because your mind won’t stop obsessing over miscarrying.
It’s having people say, ‘Well atleast you know that you can have children! Just try again.’ because what kind of logic is that, anyways? As if one life replaces another.
It’s ordering ‘Big Brother’ shirts for your youngest child and knowing that when they get here it’ll be another reminder of what’s been lost.
It’s drafting pregnancy posts for your blog and being so excited as you created them, only to have to delete them all so that they aren’t constantly reminding you of the moments of pure bliss in which they were written.
It’s spending half of the day on the phone lining out midwives and insurance business just to have to call back and cancel.
It’s regretting telling your parents because now they are hurting too.
It’s wishing that you didn’t know that you were pregnant because then you wouldn’t have known what you are losing.
It’s crying. Lots of crying. Crying to the point that you find yourself staring blankly because you’re to the point of complete mental detachment and can’t cry anymore.
It’s watching friends that were due when you were continue on their beautiful and healthy (THANK GOD) journeys and being authentically happy for them but still feeling hurt for yourself.
It’s life going on around you like nothing ever happened but feeling like it shouldn’t be that way.
It’s a lot.
A life time of reminders and what if’s. No matter if you have 5 babies after that loss or never get pregnancy again, you are in for a life long hole in your soul that nothing will ever fill. A special, one of a kind, space just for that life and presence.
Miscarriage.
It’s weird and hard. It’s not fully understandable until you’ve walked it yourself. It’s forgotten and blown off quickly but it’s so, so intricate. It’s impact is forever.
We were SO excited to be pregnant again. I was due in March (my dad’s birthday month). I instantly told my closest family members and friends. I named this baby Roan Andrew or Pariee - Scottlyn Le’Ann. I planned where the baby would room. I planned pictures. I wrote blog posts that announced it and answered a lot of pregnancy questions. Our sweet friend/photographer, Avery Scott, was coming to Colorado with us next week to do our reveal session in the mountains. I ordered the blood test to find out the gender this week. I bought baby girl stuff because I have no chill and could save it for the next baby or gift it. We knew that we’d be having another baby so we didn’t get rid of any of Granger’s things. We were 100% covered if we were having another boy aside from needing another crib. We set up midwives and birth plans. I was so happy to be growing another little Lane. It’s hard to understand why things like this happens but as my dad reminded me yesterday, I wouldn’t have my children if I hadn’t experienced certain losses in the past. My heart is undeniably crushed. It hurts badly. I am struggling to keep myself together but finding comfort in God’s promises to us as His children. Thank you to every single one of you who knew the situation and covered us in prayers. I don’t think that I could get through this without them.
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