LaLune

"I can't wait anymore, I am going to pee on a stick." I told my husband at about 4 am when we both were awake in a peaceful house. But my nerves were strung so tightly I was sure I'd wake the boys just by being in the same room as them.

Walking to the bathroom I relived the last time I did this three short months ago. Even though since then I feel like years have passed. It was another middle of the night adventure.

While Hubs was gone training and I was sure I was having the fifth migraine in a week. Fed up I decided to just pee on a stick to see if that was what was making my hormones rage and flare enough to make me this sick. 

Even though the odds were against me, I decided to test. I hadn't had a cycle since before Pancake was born, and beyond that Hubs had been gone so often chances of actually being home on a day I was fertile were slim to none. I was sure this couldn't be it. So when I dropped the three drops on the test and it began to move across the window showing only one line I wasn't surprised at all. Instead I sat down hard on the ground and cried. Not because we had been trying to conceive, but because this just meant that my hormones were nuts and I'd just have to tough it out. 

I only got a few good ugly sobs out before I heard rustling in the bedroom, so when I stood up my eye immediately fell on the pregnancy test. I made to grab the test and toss it when the whole world kind of slowed and my heart jumped, it was positive. 

Two lines. Two dark purple lines.

The next three weeks were blissful after the initial shock Hubs and I were getting excited to welcome a new child. I enjoyed testing each morning watching the lines immediately pop up on the test window.

Until while visiting our home town for the holidays, Driving to Hubs parents house on our first night home I glanced at the sky, a full red moon hung high in the sky. It felt a little like an omen, a clear warning. 

I had lost our tiny 10 week babe by the time we returned home.

Now three months later the idea of testing has me jumpy and skittish. I decide that I'm going to perform the test then just leave. I walked straight back to the bed snuggled into Hub and surprisingly passed back out. It wasn't until later when we had cartoons blaring and breakfast going that I remembered that I had left it out.
"WHAT DID IT SAY?!" I shouted to Hubs.
I didn't wait for him to respond I walked to the bathroom and picked up the test I left on the window seal.
Two lines. The second was so faint though.
Faint positive or evaporation line?
Dammit! Why did I think not looking within the testing time would be a good idea?!

I walked back to David who by this time was pretty amused at what a weirdo he decided to reproduce with. I showed him the test, of course he shook his head after I explained evaporation lines. "You can't count that one Babe, try again in the morning."
The next 24 hours was difficult but the next test came up positive immediately. Hubs still wouldn't take that as a positive. "You still haven't even missed your period, lets wait until that then see what these tests say."

I remember being frustrated he was so quick to dismiss these clear positives, but now I think he might have been looking for certainty after we had just said good bye to our tiny babe.

Finally, our last test in my stash a dark positive two days past my period. Just days before Hubs left on his fourth deployment.

When I kissed him at the airport, I laughed (refusing to cry) and told him to get ready because the next time he saw me I'd either be gigantic or with a brand new squish. We smiled, both knowing what he would miss, but hoping against hope he could make it home in time to welcome this child.

Eight months later

I anxiously waited as the third and last possible flight switched from a blinking delayed to landed. I decided I would just wait right were he could see us in front of the door to the security clearance. I wanted the boys to be able to sprint to him, squealing and laughing like I knew they would.

Finally after so many prayers and thoughts my husband stepped on home soil, and a weight fell from my heart. I felt our baby girl shift casually in my womb, knowing she felt the anxiety lift too. Waddling after our squealing and running boys I put a hand on my impressive belly thinking, " I know LaLune, I'm ready too."

Materialistic Items

This is a trigger warning for loss, if you are unfamiliar with them it is used to alert people when an internet post, book, article, picture, video, audio clip, or some other media could potentially cause extremely negative reactions (such as post-traumatic flashbacks) due to its content (Urban Dictionary).

Just don't look and pretend its not there. Just don't look and pretend its not there. Just don't look and pretend its not there. Just don't look and pretend its not there…

This happened to be my mantra the first day we returned home after a trip to see family over the holidays. A trip I won't every forget. I rode on the airplane down to the SouthWest pregnant elated to share the news with our loved ones. I rode the airplane back up to the East Coast desperately trying to distract my brain from the pain of the miscarriage so I wouldn't be openly crying in public.

Walking into our home was bitter sweet, I was very ready to be able to be in a private sanctuary where I could deal with my emotions. I also was dreading the small reminders of our lost babe every where.  A tiny stocking, a ornament, and then of course the three posative pee sticks I still had were like bombs randomly placed throughout the house.

Less than twenty four hours into being home and I was acting like a nut avoiding my sight from those bombs. I avoided them like they might detonate if I thought about them. Of course when the boys fell asleep and I was alone with them and realized I was acting ridiculous. I also realized that I wasn't looking forward to Theo asking about the baby when he saw them.

Placing his hand on my belly, "Why isn't she in there any more Mama? Why did she leave? Where did our baby go?"
Tears streaming from my eyes, "I don't really know and I don't understand either. But I know that her body is back in the earth and her soul is with God. Maybe the baby will come back to us when it is ready this time."
Wiping my tears, "I miss her too."

We had that conversation, or something like it, almost everyday since I started bleeding. I just wasn't ready to discuss it again with him, especially without David home to help me.

Swallowing my crazy I gathered the only materialistic items I had left that represented our lost baby. Once I had them I realized I wasn't really crazy I was just still grieving.

I couldn't throw any of it away, so I hid it in a drawer. Maybe one day I will be able to look at them and not cry but today or tomorrow aren't those days.

Labyrinth

This is a trigger warning for loss, if you are unfamiliar with them it is used to alert people when an internet post, book, article, picture, video, audio clip, or some other media could potentially cause extremely negative reactions (such as post-traumatic flashbacks) due to its content (Urban Dictionary).

Two weeks of knowing I was pregnant, I thought that it still hadn’t sunk in yet. I assumed that my mind hadn’t had enough time to adjust to the knowledge I was carrying life. That was until I started bleeding, then I realized just how acutely aware I was of the life I was losing.

I have started and restarted this post about ten times. I always get tripped up on the simplest things. What point of view should I write this from? Should I mention that I think my oldest knew all along and was worried? Should I share in depth details, the things that haunt me when I’m alone in my head? Or do I just simply write it out and hope that the bare bones of a story will help heal me?

The words of grief are beyond me right now. I guess the real question is am I ready to write about this? I am hoping that by putting my story of loss into words will help ease my pain. I tend to internalize most of the negative emotions I feel. I bundle those bad boys up and shove them in a drawer in the back of my mind like I would with candy I was hiding from my kids. I realize that this isn’t the healthiest way to handle things I don’t want to face.

I also have realized that grief makes me crazy. Not the kind of crazy you might be thinking about with rolling eyeballs and asylum worthy actions. I mean I was doing things that I never thought I would. I would get up get dressed make sure my kids were safe with someone and crawl back in bed fully clothed. There I would either sleep, or stare off into oblivion for god knows how long and then not even remember why or what I was thinking about.  Those first horrible days I felt stuck in my head, I couldn’t really cry and all I wanted to do was just cry until the tears washed me out of the labyrinth I made in my mind.

One day at a time I am working my way thru this maze, and I realized that hacking thru the walls is more damaging then navigating around them. And I still have moments where I am suddenly drowning in pain, overwhelmed by the reality of loosing a baby.

But if I am trying to show my children everyday the natural cycle of life then I have to be able to accept it myself too. Death and loss are the same thing is this situation. They also are a normal part of life. I trust in my body, I know that for whatever reason this baby wasn’t meant to be, and with that I am inching towards healing.