As I've mentioned before, life has a way of throwing curveballs at us. Anyone who has been on this planet for more than a day and has an elevated sense of self-consciousness knows this. As a Catholic, I was raised to believe that these curveballs come at us for a reason. They aren't out of spite or anger but rather a way of teaching us to stand tall, work though problems, keep swinging when we are down, etc.
Our family has had it's fair share of curveballs lately. The two most difficult ones to maneuver through have been my two miscarriages. Six months apart. The first right before Thanksgiving and the second the weekend (ironically) of International Bereaved Mother's Day.
The first was hard. Well both were hard but the first was hardest. We had shared our joyful news with family and friends and, most tragically, our kids. We had given them a sibling that they nicknamed Roo and were already fighting over who got to have Roo in their room. Little did we know that at this time we had decided it was "safe" to share the news, we had already lost him. I went in for my 10 week appointment. When I was weighed, I noticed I hadn't gained much weight. My gut started to turn slightly, but I tried to stay upbeat. Then my midwife couldn't find a heartbeat. My gut turned more into itself. Then we went to ultrasound and the technician could instantly tell we had lost Roo. She was the first to share her empathy. She, too, had miscarried a couple times. Now she was eight months pregnant. As empathetic and sweet as she was, it was hard to take from someone who would have their baby soon. She took some pictures then went to get my midwife. They both talked at me about what could happen and what to watch for. I say "at" because I barely took it in. All I could think was "I have to tell Dear Husband and Little Man and Little Miss."
I blankly walked out and drove straight to the school. I tried finding him in his classroom but it was empty. I headed to the library but he had just left. I couldn't believe this! How could he not know I was looking for him. I went back to his classroom. The moment I stepped in and looked at him I burst into tears. He asked what was wrong even though he probably knew. He shut the door and I said we lost the baby. We cried. We sobbed. In the middle of it all, some poor kid came in to grab his stuff he had left. I felt bad for him.
I decided I needed to go back to work but would probably leave early. I told my boss I wasn't feeling well. Dear Husband picked up the kids. He also called my boss and told him what had happened. My boss then had the unpleasant job of telling the rest of the office.
When my family got home, I broke down again and we were left no choice but to tell Little Man and Little Miss what had happened. We sat them down and told them that God needed Roo in heaven as an angel more than we needed him on earth. Both cried. Then they asked if they could watch cartoons. Kids have a way of moving on much quicker than us adults.
They settled back into their routines and we tried to. Once in awhile they would mention Roo and talk about how it wasn't fair, especially when they saw a little baby.
I couldn't have agreed more...
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