Like, alot. Mainly, I had a baby. No big deal.

Turns out that last post from our August beach trip… well, let’s just say that’s the last time I’ve had tequila.

Shortly after we returned from our vacation, I found out I was pregnant – exciting and scary news. And not just scary because “OMG, we are having a baby and am I mature enough to raise a child? Am I selfless enough to put them before myself? Can I actually become a morning person?”  It was scary because I had been in this exact spot before. Just earlier that year… and I didn’t have a baby.

Miscarriage is a horrible, horrible thing.  Learning that you are pregnant, immediately falling in love with and simultaneously fearing your baby, imagining what the holidays will be like with a sweet newborn for the entire family to spoil.  And then finding out that that isn’t going to happen.

It seems as though people are sharing their experiences with miscarriage more freely now than in years past but I was shocked at the number of friends (and I mean CLOSE friends) and acquaintances that had experienced this before…. and I’d had no idea. Even strangers to me who heard through mutual friends were reaching out. And to be honest, I’m not sure I reacted to them all in the best way. Knowing that this had happened to someone else before didn’t exactly make me feel better. How awful for them. And, still, how awful for me. I got flowers that I never sent thank you notes for.  We got meals and the best I could do was a thank you text.  I can’t even go into how difficult it must have been for my husband… who had equally suffered a loss but was having to deal with my grief in addition to his own.

Some days I was fine. Other days, a load of dishes would put me over the edge. Some days I could talk about it and other days, I just needed to pretend it hadn’t happened.  Even now, almost two years later, it’s an emotional thing to think about. I guess it always will be. And I don’t do well with uncomfortable emotions.

But here I am. Mom to an incredibly adorable 5 month old. A sweet, precious, tiny human who wouldn’t be here if my life had gone any differently. I don’t really know why I’m telling this story to the internet (I’m not even sure anyone is reading this) but if my experience is true to the norm, there are so many others out there going through the same thing who might need just a little bit of hope…hope that this doesn’t define you. That is doesn’t mean you will never be a mother. That is something you will survive.  And this is what hope looks like.