One year ago today, I believed I was pregnant with my second child. I noticed a tiny little bit of spotting in the afternoon, but I didn't think much of it. We took Fuss to a Trick or Treating event at my SIL's church and she was adorable. I felt some cramping, but thought I was just tired and not used to being on my feet as much as I was. The spotting got heavier. The next day, there was a lot more spotting. By Monday, the spotting was no longer spotting and the "emergency" ultrasound my OB/GYN got me showed no evidence of the sack we had seen only a week previous and they officially diagnosed me as having had a miscarriage.
It's been quite a year. I lost that baby and was incredibly sad. I struggled to stay out of depression. I think I would have fallen into depression if I hadn't had my wonderful husband and family for support and my beautiful girl to remind me of how much I had already been blessed with. Not that long after, I got pregnant again and have since given birth to the most precious baby boy I've ever seen.
Losing a baby hurts. It's a physical, emotional, and psychological pain. I will wonder about that baby for the rest of my life. Who would he have been? What would she have looked like? How would he have fit into our family? What would she like to do? It's all a mystery.
I comfort myself by reminding myself that if that baby had lived, our Little Man wouldn't be here. I comfort myself by reminding myself that God knows better than I do and His ways are perfect. In the darkest days, that was little comfort. In these brighter ones, that makes at least a little more sense.
I look forward to having more children some day. But I never want to go through that again. Even when I was pregnant with Little Man, each day was tempered with the worry. But each day was also a gift.