Trigger Warning: I am 1 in 4
Surprise! It’s positive.
”Oh fu**! Oh fu**!” Cue the tears. “Oh fu**!” I KNOW how I got here, but I wasn’t exactly trying to get knocked up. We’re so busy. We’re shopping for a new car. We’re saving for home ownership. The two babes I have are healthy, rambunctious boys. I’m trying to resurrect my music career. I’m terrified. I’m not excited to tell anyone.
My nurse asks “You’re pregnant AGAIN?!” Why, yes I am. I plan on keeping you in business with the basketball team I plan to birth. Prepare yourself. *eye roll*. Thanks for making me feel worse. I’m not excited and I’m even more nervous now. I don’t know what it is about being pregnant that makes me feel inadequate and not at all prepared, even though I’m a working mother and wife. We are fully capable. And yet, it makes me feel so small every time.
I haven’t figured that part out yet.
“Honey.. I have to tell you something.”
My sweet husband. It was as if I was telling him we we’re going on a whirlwind adventure. He was game. I cried. I thought about the bed rest, the hyperemesis gravidarum , the breastfeeding. Starting over. I wasn’t excited with any of my pregnancies. I was terrified, the excitement came later. For now, we were 6 weeks in...
My lack of excitement changed the tone of the evening. I’m sure he was worried about my emotional rollercoaster. Hell, so was I. That’s pregnancy for you.
Tonight was going to be so special.. We were celebrating my husband landing a huge project. It was already a success and it was about seeing his vision come to fruition. We were very excited. Getting my glam on is a favorite pastime of mine. Tonight was going to sparkle.
No biggie. I’ve had cramps with my last two. They were subtle but a reminder that my uterus was ever expanding. Why must I always have to pee. I’m spotting pink... Normal. Nothing to worry about. My hair and makeup is done now. Can’t decide what to wear because I’m already feeling full and bloated. How can I hide this?
Trigger Warning: Realness Ahead..
My cramps got stronger.. I didn’t have to pee but something was very wong. I could feel it. I sat in the restroom and I’m almost positive that if you were listening from the outside, it would’ve sounded like I was peeing. I wasn’t. A heaviness left my body, I had “painted” the toilet. “Oh fu**! Oh fu**! Oh fu**” Cue the tears. Sore breasts, gone instantly. Wow.
I knew what was happening. Now what?
Such A Pretty Glam Girl
I was not prepared for this. Is anyone? I can’t cancel on my husband. Tonight is too much of a huge deal. I have to show up for my family, tonight will be no different. I put my big girl pants on, literally. The doctor couldn’t do a thing for me at this point unless there was extreme pain. There wasn’t, my heart was hurting but the ER doesn’t specialize in that.
I was called ‘pretty’ all night. But inside I was screaming. Going back and forth with myself. I wasn’t excited, maybe the baby knew that? Maybe rough housing with my boys put me at high risk? Can stress cause you to miscarry? Guilt. What’s wrong with me? Damaged goods?
I ended up in the ER for excessive bleeding. Being anemic, this is serious business. I know what was happening to my body but having soaked through my clothes seems excessive. The doctor is trying to be kind “I’m sorry, there are no longer signs of a viable pregnancy.” Ouch. I already knew that sir. I wasn’t coming here to have you search for a heart beat. Just tell me I’m not dying. “Rest & monitor your bleeding.” Will do. More guilt.
My 7 year old was crushed. He didn’t understand. “God will give the baby a second chance. I will have a little brother or sister one day.” Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. “Mom, the baby needs a name. It’s not fair the baby doesn’t have a name... Dani, because it’s good for a boy or girl.” My heart is officially broken.
I know I’ve rambled. But this feels therapeutic. I’ve always loved having the answers to everything. I have women message me everyday asking questions and wanting advice. Music, homeschooling, child rearing etc. I don’t know why this is a part of my story and I don’t have all the answers this time. Not yet at least.
What I do know, is that I’m not alone.. My mess is going to be my mission, for some reason the good Lord wanted me to be apart of this very specific group of women, which is actually a lot more common than you think.
I see you. I’m hurting with you. I am still deciphering my own feelings. Let’s talk...