It's here!

Some years I can make it as far as December or January without feeling completely depressed. This year, it's come before Halloween, and has made my life completely and utterly gray...at least for today. What is it? Snow. 14-24 inches south of Denver. At last check, we had 8, with 22 hours to go. *Sigh*

Today, Hunter and I slept in, cuddled until 9AM watching "Kittycat and Mouse" (aka Tom and Jerry), then I edited the mountain of pictures I had building on my hard drive while Hunter colored and played in his room. Every hour, we stopped to trudge outside and measure the snowfall. Every hour Hunter yelled from the porch "It's snowing Mommy! Snowing Mommy! Look, SNOW!" Please forgive me Hunter for my lack of enthusiasm and lack of motivation to put on your snow clothes and let you play in it. That's what Daddy is for. Mommy wishes she was in Arizona.

It's sad for me to come onto the blog and see that I haven't updated since the beginning of September, and before that, June. I love writing, and always use writing as my emotional release. I love my blog because it's captured what we do everyday, and how I am feeling, and what our family is going through -- I feel secure knowing that someday, if Hunter wants those memories back, he'll be able to have them. But then I look, and see that my blogging has taken a backseat, and I wonder why that is. The only thing that I can conceive as a possible answer is that my emotionalness this past few months has been reserved to sleepless nights laying in bed, letting the tears steam down my face in solitude, knowing that I could keep a secret, could deal with it in ways other than writing, and could move on.

I realize now that I was lying to myself.

I don't really think I have many readers of this blog anymore, especially since I totally put it on the back burner all summer. But for anyone who's out there...beware...I'm emotional tonight, and I know that once and for all, I need to write this down, document it so I know that it happened and I can look back if I ever feel the need to remember, and then, maybe finally, I'll be able to put this behind me.

Over the summer, I had a miscarriage. It shouldn't have been traumatic. It shouldn't have been devastating. I shouldn't have even ever KNOWN about it. But I did, and it was. And today, three months later, I'm still grieving. A conversation with a good friend the other day led me to the point where I know I need to get my feelings out. So here it goes...

My baby would have been a honeymoon baby. I smile thinking about that because I would have loved that...even if I want a summer baby, and this baby would not have been. I would have been 4 months pregnant now...close enough to find out whether my baby would have been the girl I've dreamt about, or the boy I know I need. I don't even think I WANT to know the sex of our next baby beforehand...but today, I dream about being close to the day where I would have been able to. I dream about feeling the baby kick for the first time...I think I was 16 weeks when I first felt Hunter. And I cry because I know that that baby is gone, and I'll never be able to get those things.

I found out in a weird, round about way. I hadn't been feeling well. I didn't think I was pregnant, and even took a pregnancy test to confirm it, but, I felt like I was pregnant. I finally scheduled an appointment to my doctor, the day before we left on our big Missouri trip. I remember sitting on the low stone wall outside the beautiful lake house is Missouri as the doctor told me. She said I was either pregnant - but just barely...or, I had already miscarried. I cried. I could hear my doctor's heart breaking for me, even though I'm sure she's been down this road before, even as a general practitioner. Maybe I just needed to feel that she felt sorry for me. Maybe I just needed someone to be sorry.

I think deep down, I knew I wasn't pregnant. I had been feeling this way for way too long, and a coincidence just didn't make sense. But I think the hope took over so strongly that I allowed myself to push that thought out of my head. At least for the next week - until I could take another pregnant test - until I could be back in my own home - until I could cry and not feel like the world was judging me. Don't get me wrong - I cried plenty that week. I hid my emotions to the best of my ability, but then I would escape to our room and cry until the hope pushed through again.

During our ride back, we stopped to get lunch. Chase wanted Qdoba, but I started feeling sick at the mention of it. I got a sandwich instead, but when I walked into Qdoba, the smell was so potent that I immediately had the urge to throw up. I didn't...but, I stayed nauseous for the better part of an hour, until the smell had finally escaped our car. It gave me that glimmer of hope again. That maybe, just maybe, I was nauseous because I had the dreaded all-day sickness. For just that moment, I was perfectly content with being nauseous because maybe it meant that my baby was okay.

It wasn't okay, and I found out the morning after we got back from our trip. I took a pregnancy test, and it came back negative, just like all the others. All glimmers were gone, and I sunk into a depression that only lifted when Hunter was around. I could pull myself easily out of it when I needed to, to protect my secret from everyone I thought would judge me. What did she do? Did she drink? Smoke? Drugs? Too much activity? Too little activity? Not enough nutrients? Not healthy enough? It plagued me with the most guilt I think I've ever felt. For Mandy's birthday, a month into my pregnancy, the very weekend I miscarried according to my doctor, I took her to BJ's and I had a margarita. Is that what did it? Because I didn't have the ability to refuse a drink, I killed my baby! Because I wanted a little liquor, I was selfish enough to destroy what hadn't even had the chance to be?? The guilt ran through every fiber of my being for weeks. I did it. It was my fault. I killed my baby. At some point in time, I talked myself out of the guilt, although it still lies dormant in me. This happens all the time. 1 in 3 woman...my doctor had told me...most won't even know because the miscarriage will happen at the time of your period. I wouldn't have known had I not gone in. God...wouldn't that have been such a great alternative. I was so close to being completely oblivious to the war my body fought with my baby...the baby who had no choice but to surrender.

Day by day, I'm getting better. Stronger. I cry less. I have conversations in my head about what to say when someone asks "When are you guys going to have another baby?" I have the answer all planned out. But sometimes...like my good friend Amy discovered last week...I'm not strong enough to blurt out my built in answer and instead, I go into a world of shock, grief, and guilt.

So for anyone out there who wants to know, my built in answer is "We will have another baby when we're ready. It's not right now. Probably not soon. But when we're ready, we will." And inside...I think to myself..."and that baby will be perfect."

And for the record. I was on birth control. We were not trying, although, everyone knows we'd welcome another baby with nothing but open arms. I was on birth control with Hunter. Evidently, my body and birth control don't always get along.

So for tonight, that's my story. Tonight, I hope I grieve for the last time in a long time. I hope I really can put this behind me now that I feel like I've told my story. I hope that I don't lay awake thinking about it anymore. If I ever need to remember...it's right here.

Thank you for anyone who took the time to read all of this.