Unplanning a Life

When I miscarried in April, the most difficult part for me was unplanning the year that I had unknowingly planned out. I had to unravel thoughts of what the immediate future would be like for Eva as a big sister; what the obstacles would be and the joys; plans to potty train so as not to have two in diapers, double strollers and space for toddler and infant toys and gear. Every day that passed for months turned into another realization of things that wouldn't be the way I had planned. It was devastating.

There is a difference between the experience of that unraveling and this current one. Having one miscarriage is heartbreaking without question, but it is also rationally explained as a glitch; a one-time occurrence probably resulting from a chromosomal anomaly.  1 in 5 pregnancies end in miscarriage. It is common. You have one and you can tell yourself, this was your "one". You can give yourself time to grieve and you will find strength to try again and you will get pregnant and have a healthy baby to hold and raise and love. There is no reason not to believe.

Then you get there. You have grieved the loss and found the strength to try again. You get pregnant and all signs tell you this baby is healthy and your typically spot-on intuition tells you that you will hold and raise and love this baby. But it's all a lie.

I didn't do much to plan for the upcoming year this time, partly out of caution, but mostly because all those obstacles and thoughts from last year no longer apply. We have moved to a bigger home so we have the space for bouncers and swings and bottles and boppys to go right alongside a play kitchen, train set and dollhouse. I have a bigger car to fit two car seats and a golden retriever. Eva has long since refused to sit in a stroller so no doubles would be needed.  There were no plans to place in motion. There was only love.

And now I am bleeding. The cramping was so bad last night it woke me up and kept me from sleeping most of the night even after 600mgs of Advil. My love is gone. There is only achingly open space.

So now I am faced with, not unplanning a year, but possibly unplanning a life.

Originally, we wanted three children. Eva was born and we contemplated having four. We had so much love to give and we knew there were children missing. When we lost our 11/11/11 baby, we shifted our reality back to three (if we were lucky), but we had our eye on the prize of even having two. When we conceived in September, we made a decision. If our June bug arrived without issue, then three was still on the table. If we lost it, we would fight like hell for two but could not put ourselves through this again and again.

Now we have lost June bug and although I am still blindingly aware that someone is missing from our family (that it's not meant to be the Shire Three; that Eva must have a sibling to walk with her through life), I am faced with a new reality. This may never happen for us. We may never have another child. It may be just us three. Eva may be alone in this. There may never be a need for these extra bedrooms or the bigger car. The big tub may never hold two splashing little bodies. There may never be another stocking on our mantle, two little bikes in the garage, two birthday parties to plan and make equal. There may never be "big sister" t-shirts to wear proudly or pictures to take of Eva kissing her baby when she meets him/her for the first time. There may be no use of the phrase "my children" in our lives.

We will see a specialist. We will fill out the forms and answer the questions. We will listen to suggestions and follow advice. I will do anything I have to to make this happen for us. But I cannot control it.

The life we had planned may have been unplanned for us. This is the cross I bear.