I’m not sure I should be writing this post so soon, while I’m still such a mess, but here goes.
On December 9th, I took a pregnancy test. We were trying to get ready to move, our stuff was almost completely packed, we were in contract on a new house, and it was the day before my period was supposed to arrive. I thought, okay, I’ll take the test so I can stop thinking about it and just focus on all we need to do…and then it was positive.
I was pregnant, for the third time. I told my husband immediately, we were happy and scared and nervous. We got out of the contract for our new house because the furnace didn’t work, the plumbing was dodgy, and there was mold in the bathroom. BUT, there was a new baby, and so that took the sting out of a lot of that disappointment.
I had an ultrasound at 5 weeks, and the heartbeat was fine. Baby was tiny, of course, but it was good to hear him or her. We have one ultrasound photo of this tiny life.
By this time, due to title of this post and my use of the past tense, you know that I am no longer pregnant. This past Tuesday, January 12th, 2021, I went in for another ultrasound and there was no heartbeat. I had a D&C on my doctor’s recommendation yesterday. We have no answers as to what happened or why. We sent our poor baby for pathology; I have no idea if they’ll be able to find anything. If there is anything left of our third darling, we’ve given the hospital permission to bury him or her in their baby memorial cemetery. We have no name for this baby, since we don’t know the gender. Baby Three felt like another girl, but I don’t know. Maybe the pathology report can tell us and we can decide from there.
A huge part of me is so guilty for these decisions. Faith and Elijah got funerals and a headstone, and this poor little one gets nothing commensurate. It feels like I’ve added insult to injury to my third baby, no name, no grave to visit, no funeral to attend, nothing but our broken hearts to stand witness to this loss. True, this baby was tiny. There very well may be nothing left to bury, and my endurance for burying my children has come to an end. Selfishly, this is the easiest way; but I think this decision will haunt me for the rest of my life.
I don’t know when this little light flickered and went out. It seems impossible to me that my child could die inside me and I didn’t know. How long was I talking like I was pregnant, stroking my belly, wearing maternity pants and making half-hopeful plans, with my poor baby dead inside me? What a farce; what a cruel joke. What a sham I’ve turned out to be.
I’m so sorry, baby.
Joys Are Coming Fast 