Walking into my Ob/Gyn's office, I breathed a sigh of relief. There was no one else in the office. I sat down and filled out all the insurance paperwork. Then the door opened and a woman walked in. Then other. And then another.
Within ten minutes there were six women in the waiting room. All of them noticeable pregnant.
Then there was me. I am not pregnant.
This week is hard. The Boy will be seven years old on Sunday. The 20th.
January 20th was also the due date of the baby that would have been born had I not had a missed miscarriage. The baby would have been two years old.
I may have moved on but there's no getting over my loss. I will always love and long for the baby I never held, whose heartbeat I only heard.
So this week I celebrate in company. This week I mourn alone.
Once someone asked me:
Do you think your miscarriage was a blessing - considering all the things you have to go through with your son?Without even blinking, I said "No, it wasn't a blessing."
And I meant it when I said it. But I would be lying if I said, that person's question wasn't something I've wrestled with over the last two years. Especially on days, when things are really hard and I'm not feeling so lucky about raising a kid with autism. And some days I have to stop myself from wondering about how another baby would have altered our lives.
Sitting in the waiting room, was a painful reminder. Yesterday there was no wrestling. Yesterday I allowed myself to wonder. Yesterday I felt the emptiness of my womb. Yesterday, it definitely didn't feel like a blessing.
photo credit: notsogoodphotography via photopin cc
