I expected this Mother’s Day to be challenging for me given my miscarriage just a week before. I was correct; I found myself overwhelmingly sad at a few points during the day. In the shower I thought about how excited I was for this to be my “first” Mother’s Day. In the car on my way to my in-laws I thought about how the last time I was there I was pregnant. That thought is probably the one that sneaks through most often. Two weeks ago I was… but now I’m not.
And it most often hits me when I’m in the car alone. That is occasionally problematic for my 35-minute morning and evening commutes. A few evenings ago when I was driving home from work and I thought about how I wasn’t excited about the rest of the year because I wouldn’t meet my baby at the end of it. Those are the thoughts that floor me and cause a waterfall of tears, wherever I am. Those are the thoughts that pop up, me having no control. Those are the thoughts when a simple distraction doesn’t cut it. I suppose I’m fairly lucky in that those thoughts haven’t come too frequently. Those that are debilitating are pretty few and far between.
That’s not to say that I don’t think about where I am now every day. It’s not erased. I’m just working on moving forward. For us, that means that we plan to try to conceive again when we’re given the all clear from the doctor. Trying again will hopefully mean another success, this time with a much better outcome. Moving forward means something different for everyone.
But I’m weary. Will I be afraid to acknowledge another pregnancy until I’m in the safe zone? Maybe. Will I be anxious through my first ultrasound, terrified that the conversation will be the same? Maybe. I will want to embrace the joy and excitement that conceiving a child brought me just two months ago. I want that, but am unsure right now if that can reasonably be my reaction the second time around. I just don’t know right now. And I suppose that’s okay. What I do know is that holding off longer than necessary isn’t what’s best for us.
Just keep swimming.