Numbers are starting to haunt me. It’s weird to think that an inanimate object can have such an affect on you. July 22nd would have marked an occasion that was supposed to be so different for us. We were supposed to reveal the gender of Baby B today. I was going to wear a beautiful, pink lace dress. I was team girl all the way. Brian, of course, was team boy. We will never get to know what you were going to be, Baby B.
I was in the bank yesterday with my mom, and the bank teller was pregnant. She looked pretty far along. My first thought was how envious I was of her. I imagined if she had private conversations with her baby, and what she spoke about. I wondered if her baby was kicking while she helped my mom and I. That must be such an intimate moment between mom and child. Each and every day, a reminder from your little miracle that he or she is there growing inside of you. Like a special secret only you and baby share together. I remember thinking of what it must feel like to reach down, and rest your hands on your stomach and feel your big bump. I never got to do that. I remember saying in my head “Why did God decide your baby could be on this Earth, but not mine?” The anger that comes from having a miscarriage can feel a little frightening at times. You think “Wow, did I really just say that?” You hope these thoughts don’t escape your lips, but you can’t promise anything. Maybe it isn’t even anger, but heartache.
Something else my mind keeps wrestling with is why did God feel like it was okay to let us create a life, but that it wasn’t okay to let Baby B keep her life. When you find out you are pregnant, your child’s entire life flashes before your eyes. I didn’t just lose my child. I lost watching Baby B opening presents on Christmas morning. I lost watching her blow out candles on her birthday. I lost the first day of school. I lost running around in her jammies with her crazy, curly hair spilling over her shoulders. You didn’t give her a chance. Why didn’t you give her a chance? You didn’t know who she could’ve been.
Another hard thing to grasp is that I couldn’t save her. I went an entire week not knowing that my my baby’s heart stopped. I went around celebrating her, talking to her, and running errands with her. Little did I know, she was already gone. There were no warning signs. Nothing happened to make me think that something could be wrong. I feel like I failed her. I feel like I was her mom, and I couldn’t protect her. Mothers are supposed to protect their children, and I couldn’t do that for Baby B. My sweet angel, I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you.
As the days come and go, the more I start to feel like time is slipping away from me. The people around you are starting to forget. Your life doesn’t get put on pause and you have to resume your daily activities. Its only been a month since our miscarriage, but it feels like it was years ago, but it also feels like it happened just yesterday. Your mind starts to play games with you. I feel like the memory of being pregnant with Baby B is being ripped from me. She was starting to feel out of reach.
A few days ago, I was having an emotional day, and I really needed a sign. I was alone in my car, and I whispered to Baby B “Please give me a sign that you’re watching over us.” I live in South Florida, and it has been raining every day for what seems like months. I asked her if she could please let me see a rainbow after one of our afternoon storms. A few hours later, I returned home, and it had just stopped raining. I got out of my car and looked up into the sky, searching for a rainbow. I wandered to the back of my house to see if maybe I looked in a different direction, I would see one. No luck. The day went on, and it just got more and more emotional. I was a wreck. I started to vent to my husband. At first I was just talking, but before I knew it I was choking on my sobs, getting angrier and angrier. Here’s a little humor…I recall kicking a dog toy and being angry that it was soft and just landed up against the wall with no thud. I then picked up a plastic bag to throw across the room, I don’t know why that would make me feel any better, because that didn’t really go anywhere either. As I got louder and louder, a storm started to brew outside, and before I knew it, it was pouring rain. I finally settled down, tired from my wailing, and laid down in my husbands arms and fell asleep for a bit. We got up to make some dinner, and as we sat down to eat, my husband noticed how strange it looked outside. He opened up our curtains wider, and in tone expecting him to say no I asked, “Is there a rainbow?” He told me yes. I threw my food on to the table, and ran out our sliding glass door on to our patio, and sure enough, there was the most beautiful rainbow we had ever seen. The rainbow was right outside our house, and over the lake. It seemed like it stretched over the entire sky. Brian and I wept happy tears and thanked our Baby B. Our sweet baby, I know you were there watching over your dad and me. We can never thank you enough for what you did. Since then, each day has gotten a little bit easier. I know now I could never be without you.
I have faith. I do, because that’s the only thing I can hold on to right now. Its something that helps me get through each and every day. Having a miscarriage is the worst thing that has ever happened to me. I am not foolish to think I won’t go through other hard times, but I also know, there are also incredible things to happen. Maybe they are right around the corner. I can hold on to that.