and all I thought about was you

I was trying to write for Writing Workshop this week… 

I started a few drafts about light… and a few on summer…

And all I kept coming back to was the same thought.  If I hadn’t miscarried I would be 21 weeks right now.  I would know if my baby was a boy or a girl.  I could talk to her and she would hear me.  I could read her stories.  I could tell her about how wonderful her daddy is.

We don’t talk about the baby ever.  Not that I expect to.  AMP, like most men, doesn’t see the need to talk about something that’s in the past and that we can’t change.  And, I don’t want to bring it up.  I know he was relieved, but he was so wonderful when I told him that now I don’t want to hear any “well, it’s for the best” or “we’re not ready anyways”.  I’m not yet done mourning the loss.

I think I’ve done a good job hiding it.  Only six people know about it – AMP, my parents, my brother and Principessa.  My parents don’t seem to take it very seriously.  I guess it’s not a big deal after all.  Makes it silly that almost 4 months later I’m still thinking about it. 

But, I don’t think anyone knows that I think about it every day.  I don’t think anyone realizes that every time I see a baby, I wonder what mine would have looked like.  Every time I see a pregnant lady, I wonder how I would look pregnant – if I would be feeling my baby kick. 

It doesn’t help that everyone around me seems to be pregnant.  And they all seem to be at 18-24 weeks along.

I’m so sad.  I want to be a mom.  I really do.  I don’t know why this desire is so strong, but it’s all I think about.  I think I could be a good mom.  And I think AMP would make a great dad… But he doesn’t want to.  And I don’t want our child to have a reluctant father.  But, I still want a baby so bad.  And I don’t want to wait 3 more years, only to have AMP tell me that, no, he doesn’t think he wants to have a baby after all.  By that time I’ll be 28.  He’ll be 34.  I want to have a baby while I’m still young enough to have the energy to run after her, to play and to survive the sleepless nights.

And now, I will go back to the real world, where I pretend that everything is okay and that I don’t miss someone I didn’t even get a chance to know.

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8 thoughts on “and all I thought about was you

  1. Pingback: Just a little bit of me… « The Undomestic Working Housewife

  2. *hugs* I never know what to say on posts like these. I find myself wishing that I could say something that could make the pain go away, if I could take it away I really would.
    All I can really say is that I can’t even imagine the pain you must be going through but I do understand the longing for a baby, that I definitely understand.
    Sending you lots of love xxx

    • Thanks Livi.. I appreciate your comments! Those thoughts have been swirling around in my head, and it was good to get them out.
      xoxoxo

  3. Awwww, sweetie…hugs. I just went through the same thing last year and wrote about it on my blog, too. I also had family members who didn’t think it was a big deal. I was very sad at the time that I’d never meet that little one. I KNOW exactly how you feel. However, I don’t know what it’s like to have to wait 3 years to try again. I’m so sorry. That must be hard. But, I do think it’s possible the same little soul that tried before will wait and try again. =)

    • Thanks Erin. I clicked over to your blog – you have a beautiful family. Your boys are sooo cute!
      Thanks for your comments. I’m sorry you had to go through that too. It does help to know that there are people who do completely understand – makes me realize that it’s normal for me to still be sad. Anyways, I really appreciate you reading, and now I’m going back to read your blog some more. :)

  4. Hugs to you. I went through the same thing. My husband didnt want to talk about it either. I just hid from the world. Miscarriage is so terrible. I had mine over a year ago and everyday I think about it. No words I say can help. I will pray for you dear one.

    • Thank you!
      Your comments are very much appreciated. I’ve been battling whether to write about it – I first wrote about it after it happened, but the words kept tumbling around in my head – and I’m glad I wrote this post. It’s been therapeutic, and the comments I’ve received have been very comforting. I know it’s a pain I will carry forever – but knowing others out there understand, it helps a bit.

  5. DB. Miscarriage is a unique loss. It’s ambiguity often leaves women, me included, confused in how and if we should mourn. Also, sharing the pain with others is difficult.

    Like you, when I see pregnant women or newborn babies, I feel a pang of sorrow.

    I am glad that you have found solace through writing. Sharing something this personal can be difficult and I hope it really has helped you in your own grieving process.

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