Remembering

It's October 12, 2009. I'm laying in bed at night, my body physically exhausted, but I'm afraid to fall asleep. I'm afraid to fall asleep only to wake up, realizing that this isn't all just a horrific nightmare.

I'm still in such disbelief that this is actually happening, for a third time, all over again. After identifying the clotting disorder and taking Baby Aspir.in, DH and I really thought that this could be it.

If I'm being honest, I wish it would have all been over weeks ago instead of the way it happened today. If I ever carry to term, this day, this what-should-have-been milestone is gone. Why couldn't the spotting continue? Why did they have to put me on bedrest for that hematoma, only to tell me that it shrunk and that all was fine. Nope, that wasn't enough...the follow-up u/s is behind and my doctor presses us to discuss our options. In some sort of twisted denial, DH and I leave. Literally leave. We pack up and drive up north in our state. We're both so frozen and so paralyzed that we don't even know how to speak or how to act.

That night, in our hotel room, I almost collapsed in the shower. I remember the water falling down on me and I just wished it could wash me all away. I didn't want to have to deal with all of this all over again. DH comes and and just holds me as a cry. It was a horrible night.

The elation that we felt that next day when we found out the betas were still rising...damn us for falling for it. We're smarter than that! I still figured that something was just off with my body and then, then the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life. Lying on the u/s table, I'm refusing to look at the screen. I don't want to see what could have been. I do though see your sweet, sweet face, strewn with tears. You shake my hand and make me look at that screen and see our baby's heartbeat. We finally, finally thought we had our miracle.

I never felt right about today. I was trying to listen to that stupid speaker at school today and all I could think about was our first OB appointment. I am nine weeks. We would finally get to see our baby again...the baby we thought we lost. Damn Dr. Goog.le and the images in my head of what the screen should look like.

Each second of today felt like a lifetime. I'm so sorry I called you so many times, I just needed you to talk me off the ledge and tell me that it would be fine. Why? Because in the pit of my stomach, I just felt like it wasn't going to be ok. Those last reassuring words this afternoon when you said how you'd pick me up in a few minutes and to stop...I'm not spotting or anything.

And then I went to the bathroom and saw the pink and I knew.

The poor nurse this afternoon who was trying to go through all the first OB visit stuff. It's all the stuff the anxious parents are waiting to hear. I still am so embarrassed by how rude I was, asking to skip all this and get to the u/s. After all, there may not be a reason to go through any of this talking if there's no baby.

And then I saw her face. I saw the expression try to stay in stone but showed concern. And then my doctor came in and I just knew.

I will never forget this pregnancy. I could see you and now it's just all over, again?

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My sweet baby girl, not a day goes by that I don't think about what life would be like with you here. I imagine your eyes and hair and your smile. I imagine your tiny hand in mine and all of the things that should have been. I miss you every moment of every day.