I’ve just had another miscarriage. This is number 5 or 6 . . . hard to keep track. It followed the usual course: late period, positive test, but low hormone levels, followed by a quiet week of me getting my hopes up, and then bleeding, cramping, confirmation, and tears.
This is my first miscarriage since adopting Jafta. I was able to carry India to term (this latest miscarriage is just another reminder of what a miracle that was). I am still devastated, but I am finding the experience very different. First of all, it’s hard to grieve with two kids running around demandng your attention all day. Previously, I would spend a week or two on the couch, moping and wallowing and shaking my fist at the sky. Now, I don’t really have time to think about it. It catches me off guard, especially at bedtime, and I feel the slow, sinking feeling of dread and sadness come over me. But during the day, I am distracted by playdates and board books and all things kids.
But I also think the experience of miscarriage is very different as a parent. My arms are full now. They felt so empty before. Last night, as I lay in bed singing with my two kid, I just felt the fullness of being a mom and let that be a balm for my loss. My arms are not empty. My spirit grieves, and yet my heart is full.