Seven long, exhausting days. So much has happened. It seems like a year.
1. Learning unexpectedly that the baby inside me is dead.
2. Telling my family.
3. Leaving my daughter overnight for the first time ever.
4. Checking in to the hospital to be induced. (Five tries to get that darn IV started…that wonderful, pain-numbing IV.)
5. Waiting for labor and laboring for 25 hours. My body didn’t want to let him go.
6. Delivering that tiny baby boy, taking turns with John holding him, naming him, and handing him off.
7. More waiting for the third stage of labor, delivering the placenta.
8. Taking that ride to the OR for a D&C.
9. Going home.
10. Telling friends.
12. Wondering…what went wrong?…will we get pregnant again?…am I too old?…I think I want a half dozen kids now.
14. Being touched by the kind words, cards, flowers and plants, meals, thoughts and prayers of those around us.
15. Finding comfort…in sleep and in my beautiful daughter. Forget the internet support message boards or grief reading material recommended by the hospital and friends. Those just depress me more, reading about people still mourning years and years later. I just want to play with my big girl and sleep.