I was 6 weeks and 4 days pregnant when I began to miscarry last week.
Even before I’d missed my period last month, I took a pregnancy test. But I didn’t need to, I could feel it almost instantly that I was pregnant again. It was pure joy. I couldn’t contain the news. Every millisecond with this baby felt so sweet. It was my rainbow baby after a gutting loss. It was my final one, arriving at last to complete our family. It was one more round of life in my belly, and my entire being felt elevated, whole, and deeply feminine trying to savor every moment of closing this creation season of my life.
And then I lost it. Quickly, on one horrifying morning. And then slowly. Over several days. That new life left my body until it was just me left inside. My belly is still swollen from doing its job in life and in loss. I look at it and don’t feel angry with it. Just sorry that we’re both here again, empty.
I’m moving through the motions of my day, strangely. Walking to the mailbox, and bleeding a life out of me at the same time. I’m trying to find rest. Here in this polarity my life is showing me. I accept it. I know how to swim in this deep, which is all too familiar now. And I know there is still joy to be found. I am not hopeless. But I am tired. I am lonely. I’m being held by my sweet children and my loveliest husband and my dearest family and friends and still I am alone.
Thank you baby for your joy. For your hope. For your life. For being with me and letting me hold you for a short time and showing me that I could get pregnant again with my one wonderful tube. I will love you forever for the gift that you were.
