Two years ago a friend of mine found out she was pregnant. And then found out she was miscarrying. Days later, I found I was pregnant...due to have my first baby in March of 2009. Almost a month after that I found out it was over and had to have my baby surgically removed.
My life would never be the same.
I was (nearly) 36.
I was sure I'd never become a mommy.
I was also sure that more than anything in this world, becoming a parent is what I wanted to do, who I wanted to become.
I started looking into adoption.
I wanted to be a mommy so bad and didn't need to become pregnant to do so.
My husband didn't feel my passion. He was saddened by our loss but he was optimistic that I would get pregnant again and still have a baby "of our own". I tried to absorb some of his positivity but nothing helped. I became an angry, bitter bitch. Life was never so dark.
Every month that passed brought reminders of what happened. The surgery left me with burning cramps. And clotting. And heavier periods. And the worst PMS. I tried to mask it all by eating. And eating.
I even cut off all of my hair.
Nothing seemed to help. Blogging about it helped a little because I was able to get all the ugliness out of my head, but being able to read through it whenever wasn't so great.
I never got over my loss.
Even today I still think about it... it's one of the reasons I've been more quiet this week (in addition to the fact that another friend of mine is going through the same fucking thing today). Because tomorrow will be the 2 year anniversary from the BFP. And Lovie's 7 monthday will be the 2 year anniversary of learning about it ending.
July is just not a fun month for me. I'd much rather hibernate in a dark, cool cave for the month.