Not very happy-go-lucky

I was talking to a worker at the gymnastics gym where the kids play on Monday mornings, and she asked how old my kids are.  I told her just under 21 months, and then I told her that I would be almost 38 weeks pregnant right now, had we not miscarried in March, and Seth and that baby would be just over 25 months apart.  I'd have had 3 under 4. We talked awhile.  I think Hannah overheard a lot of that conversation because tonight she asked me if I had a baby in my belly.  I told her no, and she asked the question she used to ask frequently, "Did it die?"  Well, that's what we told her when I miscarried because it's important to be upfront with that kind of situation with small children.  They don't understand euphemisms, or weird phrases people use, like "lost the baby" or "passed away" or even miscarriage.  The "lost the baby" one is what most people say, and to a literal child, a child that only understands concrete situations, they wonder if they also will be lost, so blunt was it.  The baby died.

I was due October 14.  Just 2 1/2 weeks away.  I have a friend who is pregnant and due October 15.  She's pregnant with twin girls.  One of those girls has anencephaly.  Very likely that baby will not live longer than a couple of hours, but they'll be lucky to even get minutes.  They'll have one baby left and have very strong memories of the baby that died.  They'll meet her, they named her, they've seen her in ultrasounds, they've felt her move.  I had none of that.  I'm thankful for that.  I can't imagine the pain she's going through even now, with the wonder of how long she'll live, and how the emotional pain will feel watching that baby die.  Yeah, I'm thankful I don't have to endure that. 

Even without those tragic conditions, it made me cry to think about this baby that we lost.  Moses.  That's what Hannah said she wanted to name it when we told her we were pregnant.  I asked, "But what if it's a girl."  Moses.  Moses it was.  Tonight I put Seth in the bath, and watched Hannah get in the bath knowing how much she wanted to have that baby brother or sister.  How excited she was when she looked through and read what she could of my pregnancy books, even though she'd only been reading a couple of months.  Dusty offered to bathe the kids for me, just so I could have a break because I've had a bad day (I hate Mondays).  He didn't know my emotions.  We've been grateful for the miscarriage because I don't know how I could've handle the added stress.  I don't handle stress.  I don't handle it well, I don't handle it poorly; I just don't handle it.  I spontaneously combust.  I know I could've done it though, adding another one.  Not saying I want another one. 

I just wonder if it was a girl or a boy.  I wonder whose characteristics this baby would've had.  Hannah's obviously mine, and Seth is obviously Dusty's.  Would this one have been a mixture?  How in the world could the two of us be mixed?  I think about how Hannah would act with that baby, and how much she'd love it and kiss it, and want to hold it, and bring me diapers, and anything I'd need.  I think about that new baby feeling.  The sleep deprivation that borders on not being worth it, but winds up being worth it every time.  Nursing the baby and the roller coaster of emotions that come with that.  All the firsts for the third time.  Rounding out the grandchildren with Number 14, instead of the "unlucky" 13.  Just some tough thoughts for a crappy Monday.