I felt like it was my fault.
I still do.
Even though I “know better.” I do. I know I didn’t cause it to happen; it’s ridiculous to think I did.
But I still do. I do.
I didn’t want that baby. Not even a little bit.
I cried desperately to God over and over for it to go away–not to die–just to be a….mistake.
It wasn’t the right time. It was unexpected. I don’t deal well with surprises at all…and I was on birth control.
It shouldn’t be.
Everyone was over the moon excited.
Everyone except us.
Then the bleeding started around 6 weeks.
And then the doctor told me there was no baby.
It was a blighted ovum.
Sperm and egg had met and my body–the smart cookie it is–got the memo to start building a nest for a baby. To create a lovely apartment.
But nature stopped everything due to something being wrong–but my body? did not get that memo…and kept preparing for what would not be.
Those preparations? Caused positive pregnancy tests.
But there never was a baby.
That is what I tell myself.
But it doesn’t help.
After the ultrasound, I went to the bathroom. The doctor explained all this to my husband.
“That is what you have to tell her, doc. That there was never a baby. That is the only way she will be able to deal with it.”
So it’s what I told myself.
And I pushed the feelings in and away.
The nurse called. My husband answered.
“When will it happen? How can I help her through it?”
“Soon. She will need lots of ibuprofen and the biggest pads available.”
I came home from work to find a huge tub of pills and a huge box of pads.
I love my husband.
We joked about the mattress I would have to cram in my underwear.
We laughed at him buying what seemed to be an unfortunate weekend’s worth of supplies.
We admitted only to each other that we were glad to NOT be becoming parents…yet.
And since there never was a baby? That was ok.
It started on a Monday night.
“Do you want some pills?”
“no. It’s not that bad. I had period cramps like this as a teenager.”
Bathroom trips became frequent.
And there was so much blood.
I started to shake and cry every time I needed to use the bathroom.
Most of the night I labored.
And before dawn I passed the “apartment” that had been lovingly knit by my body for someone long gone.
I slept the next day.
It was over.
Instead of relief, I felt pitied.
I felt that everyone looked at me as if I was “that poor, baby-less woman”.
Holding a baby couldn’t be done with out stares and whispers.
When friends and family became pregnant they apologized to me.
I couldn’t stand it.
THERE WAS NEVER A BABY (and I didn’t want one anyway)! STOP PITYING ME!!!
But that was the thing.
I did. I wanted it.
More than I would let myself believe….
And that love for that blob of cells that was so microscopic…that love for what might have been?
Still comes back to my heart and mind.
The Chinese Baby Calendar says it was a girl.
I never let myself mourn.
And from that day? I have not been the same. Part of my heart and soul was flushed down the toilet that day.
I just wouldn’t admit.
Because I didn’t want that baby…so maybe I didn’t deserve her.
Author’s Note: This post first appeared on Band Back Together. It is the story of the first of three pregnancies. Only the last of those three resulted in a healthy baby.