Keep breathing. That’s what I would say.
One breath at a time.
And then, rather incessantly… It’s okay, I’m okay, Baby is okay. It’s okay, I’m okay, Baby is okay. It’s okay, I’m okay, Baby is okay.
I have a baby.
I am pregnant.
At least according to the non-existent period, and the 6 different pregnancy tests.
5 weeks, yesterday.
and I am scared!
I know that miscarriages happen.
I know that they happen without warning or reason or purpose.
I know that they suck.
I don’t know where miscarriages fit into my understanding about the world. And because I cannot slot them in somewhere, I cannot be sure it will not happen.
How are things different this time? I have no idea.
And there is no deservedness or merit in this. Because I see you, survivors. There is no past actions or sins or deeds that could ever have amounted to anyone deserving the pain you are feeling, or impossibility of grappling with the enormity of what you have lost.
It is out of my hands, nonetheless.
Unless I believe the mother-shaming I’ve already received “you need to calm down, I’ve seen babies not develop properly due to mother stress”.
I just desperately want you to be okay, my baby. And to join me in this world. With your gorgeous daddy.
All of you. As your daddy would correct me. He’s sure there is almost definitely twins. Or triplets. Or probably quadruplets. He is a gorgeous type of dag!
Whoever you are, however many of you there are, I love you.
With my whole heart.
It’s okay. I’m okay. Baby is okay.
We got this.