My heart

Yesterday I found the ultrasound picture of our third child stuck to the bottom of our big blue garbage can. I opened the lid to throw away one of Riley's toxic diapers and that familiar photo of black and white caught my eye.  In shock, I just stared at it for a few seconds.  Knowing that if I looked at it any longer, or worse, dared to retrieve it from the bottom of the garbage can, I would have burst into tears and scared my in-laws who are currently visiting us from Washington.  Even now, sitting here typing this, I'm sad to know that the only picture we have of our lost baby is stuck on the bottom of a nasty, smelly, big blue garbage can.

I don't know how or why that ultrasound picture made it into the garbage.  Perhaps it's because I have enough to fill an entire scrapbook that I thought I would wait to keep the ones that actually showed somewhat of a resemblance of a baby.  Those first glimpses of babies just look like itty-bitty blobs.  Precious blobs, but blobs all the same.

Today was the first time I've cried about the miscarriage in probably a couple of months.  So I give myself a B+ in terms of how I'm doing.  I would have never guessed how painful and emotional a miscarriage is on a person.  To be honest, I think my ability to cope has a lot to do with the antidepressants I am taking.  Antidepressants are a slippery slope for me.  I took them for a very short time after Cale was born and was still in the hospital.  I went off of them quickly thinking I could handle things on my own.  Thankfully, with only a few slip-ups here and there, I was able to get along without them just fine.  This time, however, I NEED the help.  Without help I was choosing very poor ways to cope, and really those ways only made things worse and not better.  With my husband's urging, I decided to talk to my OB/GYN about the things I was feeling and he suggested I go on a mild antidepressant.  After about a month I decided I was all better and stopped taking them.  Not a good idea.  I again slipped back into deep sadness and tried to find ways to cope on my own.  Those ways did not help, and again, just made things worse.  With my husband's pleading I went back on the drugs and seem to be doing pretty well presently.

I think one of the hardest things I face on a daily basis is watching my best friend grow her baby in her belly.  I was so excited when I found out she was pregnant and even more excited to find out that I was due only a week after her.  We have been pregnant with both of kids together and I just knew this third time around would be something special we could share with each other.  I see her growing and see her getting to find out the gender of her baby, and although I am genuinely excited for her, it's just a huge reminder of what I'm not able to experience because of the loss of our baby.  Last week we could have found out if we were having a boy or a girl.

I guess I always thought having a miscarriage was something that happened, was over, and then people moved on.  I never would have guessed I would be thinking about dates and wondering when I should have felt the baby move for the first time, or when they could open and close their eyes.  I miss my baby and still struggle with trying to make sense of why he or she was taken from us.  I know God's plans are perfect and that He does not make mistakes, but even the comfort of that knowledge sometimes can't take the pain away.