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December 03, 2004

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Your son's prayer brought tears of sadness for the baby I miscarried but truly never dealt with although I am subtly aware that I would not have my amazing 9 month old daughter had things been different. Very hard to come to terms with all that. But also your son's words brought such joy thinking of what a child is able to feel and express. My almost 8 year old has the uncanny ability to say what I need to hear in times where I think there is nothing anyone can say to improve a situation. Thank you for the thought provoking post so early on Saturay morning that I read when my house is quiet and everything is at peace and I have that oh so rare time to read and reflect.

Rub your happy belly for me. I miss that baby growing inside feeling. My daughter turned 9 months this week and I was reminded of getting to know her the first nine months.

My son has a project this week to do on St Ruth. I think we will learn also about St Francis Xavier.

I'm sorry you're missing your little Dominic so much right now. The baby's due-date is so hard after a miscarriage. It was supposed to be a time of joy and instead it's just another day on the calendar to everyone around you. :-(

I know the shape of my family would have been different if Emily had not died. I probably wouldn't even have been able to conceive Caroline five months afterward (breastfeeding amenorrhea) and that means Thomas wouldn't be here when he arrived either. And I can't imagine life without Caroline and Thomas, but that doesn't mean I still can't miss Emily. Just the same way you have every right to miss Dominic right now. Babies are not interchangeable any more than adults are. When my husband's father died, no one took his hand and said, "Don't worry, you're young--you can have another father."

I'll light a candle for Dominic today, just so you know that somewhere in New England, someone is thinking about your little guy. *hugs*

I finally figured out why I've been so blue the last two weeks.
Earlier this year, I had a miscarriage. It was a very early one, it was a very short pregnancy and one that I hadn't expected at all - I'm close to menopause as far as I can tell. I haven't blogged about it and I probably won't because I didn't even tell my older children - it never even got to that point.
February 23 2004 was our 30th wedding anniversary. We had a grand party, renewal of the vows, and all that (which I did blog about). That cycle I had exactly one day of peak type mucous - on February 23. We had a wonderful private 'renewal of our vows' as well as the public one, and I honestly didn't think that anything would happen. I really thought that I was going to have a double peak cycle because of all the stress. Well, when it didn't happen, I finally decided to do a pregnancy test early on a saturday morning while on call. It was +, I asked a doc I know and love to order me some labs, (HCG and Progesterone) - the HCG was low-normal for my EGA, the progesterone was way low, I started on Progesterone that day. My redraw HCG on Monday was half the level of Saturday's, meaning that the pregnancy was not viable and that the baby was dead or dying. I stopped the progesterone, and on Wednesday I started bleeding and had what, to most people, would have been just a very heavy period.
That baby would have been due the week before Thanksgiving.
I guess that I've been grieving deep in my body without even being aware of it.
Grieveing for that baby, and for the reality that there will probably not be another one for me. Grieving that I was not more generous with God when I was younger and more fertile.
Grieving that social pressure is so strong that I was not able to share both my joy and my sorrow over what was probably the last baby I would ever concieve.
I am so glad that you have this current baby to love - and I do know what you mean about the bittersweet pregnancy when, by rights, you should still be pregnant with Dom.
my love and prayers to you all.

I saw this one coming.

When you wrote on my blog about your friend, I could tell that you were feeling her pain deeply. It reminded me of the feelings I had a few weeks ago when my friend had her "too early to count" miscarriage, when all my sorrow for my first, lost baby welled up to the surface. And I've walked the hard road of being pregnant again hard on the heels of a loss, never knowing if the next rising bubble of emotion would be joy or grief.

Watching my son grow, the wound opens again and again. As my son blossoms into a distinct individual, I wonder who the first child would have been, and grieve that lost potential. Somehow that grief isn't lessened by the conviction that Dorian -- the child who couldn't have been, if the first child had lived -- is the best kid in the world and clearly the one God meant for me to raise. Mother love is large enough to encompass many contradictions.

Jamie, I pray that the joy of this new child will be greater than the ache for the one who came before, and that you will have the strength and grace to comfort your friend.

I just wanted you to know I wrote in your baby Dominic and Alicia's baby into our community prayer book at our church. *hugs*

Thanks to you all for your kind words and your prayers and your understanding -- thank you.

Jamie, your words sound so familiar. This time two years ago I should have been full term, but was instead early in a new pregnancy. Advent came and all I could think of was that I was supposed to be big as a house and getting ready for a baby too. Well, I was, but not in the same way I had envisioned. It's amazing how as soon as you see those two lines on the test, you have the next eight months mapped out in your heart....and when you miscarry they're not automatically un-mapped.

My sweet pea (weep bee!), the baby that came after my loss, is truly the light of my life. Summer put it so beautifully -- may the joy of your new little one be greater than the ache for the one who came before. So it has been for me, thanks be to God. Peace to you.

Your son is a wise one. His prayer brought tears to my eyes. I pray for peace for you tonight, Jamie, and for all of you fellow readers who suffer the same pain.

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