Sundays Are Hard

I find going to church one of the hardest things to do, post-miscarriages. First of all, our congregation is full of young families with their cute little babies and kids. And we are friendly with a lot of these couples, so they're not just random nameless people with babies--I've found that I have a completely different reaction to a stranger walking down the street pushing a stroller, and to a friend who is having a baby. Maybe this is normal.

But second of all, I have found my faith to really be challenged during the last 9 months. I wonder if God hears me--if he hears my pain, if he hears my desperate prayers for a baby. It's not like I'm asking to be rich or to be famous; I'm asking for a child, the privilege to bring a new life into this world. Something that I always took for granted as a woman. I feel sometimes like he's forgotten me, and I struggle with maintaining hope and faith.

A Meditative State

What a crazy society we live in, where the only way we are able to relax is when we pay someone $20 an hour to tell us we can. Otherwise known as yoga, which was the best way to start my weekend this morning. Maybe it was the extended shavasana that the instructor gifted us with today ("What a tense lot you all are this morning," she exclaimed near the end of class), but while coffee-ing with my 6 month pregnant friend afterwards, I really felt a peace that I haven't felt much since the second miscarriage. This will happen for me, I found myself thinking. Of course it will. So things haven't gone according to plan so far. Life is unpredictable, and I am certainly not the first woman of child-bearing age to stress and worry about having a baby. My friend's grandma had six miscarriages. Can you imagine it? Six. Then she had two healthy babies. I am trying so hard to put this in perspective. Life goes on, and I will have a baby someday.

The Cycle Begins Again

Today was a pretty decent day. That is, I only cried once, and I didn't have any episodes of total devastation. It's been four months, almost to the day, since my 2nd D&C following the hellish two weeks of blood tests and ultrasounds. I really felt like I grieved more efficiently and healed more completely after the first miscarriage + D&C...this time, I am still having those Bad Days (you know the stock phrase when people ask how you are doing: "Oh, there are good days and bad days") and they just don't seem to be going away. Having the two miscarriages back-to-back (three months apart exactly) really took its toll on my ability to be resilient.

But it's the first half of my cycle, and these two weeks are always better than the second two; in spite of everything, I'm still miraculously able to have hope that this will be the cycle where I'll conceive and have a normal pregnancy. The second two weeks will predictably be filled with anxiety and counting down the days until I can do the hpt...these two weeks are my respite.

And that Riesling with dinner tonight--that was really great.

I Might Have To Get Drunk to Make It Through Coffee With Her

I just made plans to get together with a close friend on Saturday--who is 6 months pregnant. I haven't seen her since she was about 15 weeks, and she thoughtfully was donning a bulky sweater that hid any emerging bump. She and I got pregnant (me for the second time, her for the first) the same month, and were thrilled to be due just days apart. Now the thought of seeing her makes my heart ache with the unfairness of it all, but I can't alienate all my pregnant friends. Can I? I'd be pretty much left with my college roommate who thinks having babies is lame, and my best gay guy friend.

It's that stage of life, I guess--everywhere I turn I'm reminded over and over again about my own failure to sustain a pregnancy, and I feel so, so alone.

I Want to Heal

I've been writing in a journal since I was 14, and I've been enjoying the world of blogging now for about two years. But after my second miscarriage in November, every ounce of creativity was sucked out of my body to make room for the grief and utter despair. My old blog was funny and--I like to think--kind of clever. I have missed writing, but I can't find anything inside me anymore that sees life in the silly, innocent way that I used to.

Last night, while obsessively searching for the answers as to why my body has miscarried twice in the last 9 months, I came across a fabulous blog by a woman who has miscarried four times. She had links to dozens of other blogs by women who have also had heart-wrenching journeys toward conception and who are finding an outlet through blogging.

I finally think I know how I'm going to deal with my grief and attempt to move beyond it so that I'm at a more peaceful place: by doing the thing that I love more than anything. Writing.