Grief is a funny thing. You can be doing great, surrounded by positives, feeling upbeat and moving right along when the silliest thing can burst your bubble. It's been almost 2 months since I miscarried our baby and the realization that things don't just magically return to order is a hard one.
I should be 20 weeks pregnant. Feeling baby move, finding out the gender, buying cute little clothes. Instead, our baby's tiny little life is memorialized in a planter on our front porch and my belly is empty.
I never really understood until the miscarriage. Going in at 9 and a half weeks and expecting another glimpse of the heartbeat but seeing nothing; the dreaded confirmation of no heartbeat and no growth a few days later. The endless, torturous waiting two long weeks for my body to recognize the reality of the situation. Hearing the unfeeling words, "spontaneous abortion." I get it now.