Sitting here, in a place that is all too familiar. A place of complete hopelessness. I blame my body for not doing what its suppose to do. I know its life but I also never really spent a moment celebrate the life that might have been.
Since realizing I was late, I have been trying to stay in the mindset of expecting to be disappointed, I hunted that tissue every wipe looking for the start of a miscarriage. Every time I would hold my breathe with butterflies in my stomach hoping to see no signs of anything going wrong. During my doctor appointment, i was unable to thank him for the congratulations because deep down I knew it wouldn’t last. But after our last loss, this was something I wanted so badly, I just want to grow our family.
7 weeks… Just long enough for the excitement to kick in. Just long enough for you to start planning the future. Just long enough that you want to scream it to the world. But I know better than that. I know better than to get my hopes up.
The devastation on my husband’s face when I told him bout how I was beginning to miscarry. Knowing that he too wanted this as badly as I did. Hearing him explain how he cant bare the emotional rollercoaster of this ever again. My overwhelming feeling of being a failure. Feeling broken and incapable of fulfilling our next chapter.
We are beyond thankful for the beautiful boys that we have. Beyond blessed! Yet I feel guilty being sad over things I can not control, feeling guilty for spending a day in bed mourning this loss when I have to beautiful babies right in front of me. Feeling guilty that a couple days have passed and we are back to business as usual because life goes on. Sitting here wondering if I can do this again? Is it worth the pain, the disappointment?