This Little Housewife has been neglectful, but for good reason.
First, I found out I was pregnant. After the initial shock came delight, and lots of knitting.
Then came weeks of intense nausea and fatigue.
And excitement. Lots of excitement.
The Commander dubbed the critter growing inside me “Wilbur” and was ready to run out for ice cream at all hours if “Wilbur” required it.
I love that man.
Then, two and a half weeks ago, The Commander and I went for an ultrasound. We were supposed to see our baby’s heart beat for the first time.
I had begun to bleed a few days earlier. I was hoping for the best, but I knew in my heart what the doctor would say.
A heavy blanket of grief enveloped me. For three days I waited while my body did what it needed to do. I walked for miles on the beach, everyday, trying to help my body along. Still feeling pregnant.
Those days were agony.
When the cramping finally began, I felt a mix of relief and devastation. When the cramps turned into contractions, I was angry. I’m not sure at whom or what I was angry, I was just angry. I was going into full on labor, but there would be no baby at the end of it.
Twelve horrific hours later, it was over.
Everyday since has been a roller-coaster of emotions, and a battle to not let that blanket of grief overcome me. I try to remember that this happened to my Commander too, and to be extra good to him. Most days I do pretty well. Other days…
Other days are harder.