One year ago today, I found out I was pregnant.
I got up early to pee on a stick. Could barely believe my eyes when I saw the result. But at the same time knew in advance what it was going to be.
I went into our bedroom; told D that I'd just taken a pregnancy test. 'Oh well,' he said. (We were that resigned to negatives.)
I asked him if he wanted to know what it said. He was pretty surprised that there was something to know.
We assumed it wasn't going to stick. That it would only last a few days. But getting pregnant at all was a positive sign. But within a few hours we were talking like it was definite.
That pattern continued all the way through, for me at least.
It's hard to understand that this time last year, I was pregnant; this time two years ago, I was pregnant. Even though that baby only had a couple more weeks to live.
I've just spent a long time re-reading the posts from my pregnancy and the time immediately before. It's so hard to really comprehend that the baby lying asleep in the cotbed in my room is the same baby who refused to kick regularly, who repeatedly scared the life out of me by not moving for days on end. He's so kicky now, it's definitely hard to marry the concept of the baby I was pregnant with with the reality of the baby I now have.
In six and a half weeks it will be two years since we found out our first child had died in utero.
I find that sentence nearly impossible to truly comprehend, in all respects. Even down to the fact that J isn't therefore our first child. Because he isn't. But at the same time, he is.
I'm still sad when I remember what happened. I didn't think I was any more. But more than one of my old posts brought tears to my eyes. But I think that now I'm more sad for that baby than for myself. Sad that he or she never got to live. Sad that she or he never got to find out what takeout s/he preferred or who s/he looked like, not sad that I never got to know. It's not fair, that my first child never got to live.
Up till now, all my grief has been for me. But... I think now that I see J experiencing all that a 15 week old baby experiences, I understand more what my snowflake missed out on him or herself.
It raises a wry smile to read this post. Sometimes we really do have to hit rock bottom before things start to improve. I must have written that about the same time as J was starting to implant.
And... it seems right to link this post. After being so, so desperate to be pregnant, I was so ambivalent for those first few days. But now I cannot imagine my life without J.
My life is so filled with love, these days.
I'm not sure how I will deal with the anniversary. Generally speaking, the sadness and the anxiety have gone... but I don't know how I'll manage when the anniversary is actually here. Especially given that it's supposed to start snowing soon; given the fact that soon it's going to be dark and cold and undeniably winter. Having J will help - of course it will. But it will still be hard.
I said I wasn't going to post more pics. But.... I can't resist. This is of J sleeping a couple of nights ago.
Plenty of space added in for those who need to look away.....