It occurred to me last week that every single day, all around the world, there are women in bathrooms thinking, worrying, crying over babies. Women who want to be pregnant but aren’t; women who are pregnant but wish they weren’t; women who weren’t pregnant for long enough. It was a sad yet strangely comforting thought: For that one second I bonded with thousands of unknown sisters. I wasn’t alone. Although these bathroom moments are intensely private and rarely shared, knowing for that small while that there was at least one other woman somewhere who could relate completely to mine eased my anxiety, if only briefly.
I was pregnant. I am pregnant, though it was confirmed yesterday that the little life ended a few weeks ago. While my body slowly catches up on the news, I’m essentially a walking coffin. Waiting. Dreading. Desperately wanting for this rollercoaster ride to be over, but equally desperately not wanting to face the final fall before it can be. Struggling to find words to paint this painful picture but feeling compelled to try, as if this painting will somehow help me to heal.
I feel like I’ve unintentionally taken part in something wrong, like lending a precious necklace to a friend and finding out later she used it to strangle her kitten. I’m so sorry, little embryo; if I’d have known what my womb was going to do... I was expecting to respond to the sonographer’s news with a teary acceptance: The pregnancy was a surprise, we’d told few people, it still didn’t seem completely real. I wasn’t expecting to feel crushed, or disbelieving. Maybe it’s just asleep, I thought as I stared at the screen. The rational me spoke up, gently: Even sleeping things have heartbeats, Belle.
Though I understand and respect the natural process my body’s been divinely programmed to perform when things aren't progressing normally in early pregnancy, and though I trust God’s loving sovereignty in this situation; though everything in my head thinks, This must have been right - there’s a heaviness in my heart now, which I assume is what grief feels like. Though 9 weeks ago I knew nothing of this life, I’m mourning its loss as if it was a part of my story for far longer. I feel like I’ve aged 10 years in the last 3 days.