being sad…


It makes it hard to write (or think) about anything other then the source of your sadness.

The source of my sadness is a dead baby.

Really, it was only a gathering of cells, not an actual baby yet, but it would have been.

And it makes me sad that I never got to meet it.

Ironically, I got a negative pregnancy test a week before the ER told me I was knocked up. (That’s not actually ironic, ironically.)

So, obviously, I had a sneaking suspicion that we had accidentally made a baby.

Before the negative home test I kept thinking, “I think I’ll get concurrent care with an OB for this pregnancy.” Meaning, I wasn’t feeling comfortable with just using my home birth midwife like I had for Emie’s birth. Also meaning, I knew something wasn’t going to be quite “right” with this pregnancy or baby.

Now I’m almost feeling guilty for those early thoughts about a less then perfect baby.

Honestly, when I thought about it, my mind went immediately to Down’s Syndrome and the possible heart conditions that go hand-in-hand with it.

I would also think fondly of the face of a little boy with the distinctive features of a child with DS.

I did not think I would miscarry.

I didn’t expect it.

I expected to love and cuddle a baby with a difference. I expected the beauty, struggle, and life change that would come with a special needs child.

I was already embracing how this would change me and my little family before I took that negative test.

So when they told me I was indeed pregnant, I already felt like I  knew who I was miscarrying.

I think it broke my heart.

It’s still breaking my heart.

And it fucking sucks.

Also- I may be a little crazy. Just FYI.