I didn't want this place to go quiet, but I let it happen. The truth is, there are only so many ways to be vague about life before you run out of ways to only sort of say what you want to say. So, I guess I'll just say it then. It's tough blogging when everyone else is writing posts about their third or fourth (or fifth!) baby, and I'm like, "Hey! We went out for ice cream again!" So, I decided I needed a break.
A couple of months ago, I felt like it was almost time for my triumphant return to blogging. We were in the process of preparing for Dan's graduation, which meant a new job and a big move, and I was pregnant. Was. Was can sometimes be a really sad word. At the beginning of April, just short of the end of my first trimester, I suffered a miscarriage.
I had done a lot to guard myself from disappointment and heartache over the past several years, including telling myself that I didn't really want to have children that much and avoiding going to a reproductive endocrinologist. Despite my best efforts, I was still pretty heartbroken. Last August Dan and I decided it was time to go to the doctor, and I wasn't allowed to change my mind. So, we did. It was hard and I was terrified it would not work. After going through all of that super fun lab work, imaging, and tests (and lots of waiting in between), it was procedure time. I was afraid to be hopeful, but even just a few days after, I knew I was pregnant. A couple of weeks later, it was confirmed. A first time success is pretty amazing, so slowly but surely, I let hope and excitement in.
The time that followed brought more happiness than I had ever felt in the past few years, and just when it finally felt all the way good, right, and real, it was over. Now, almost two months later, I am sort of OK. Sometimes more OK, and sometimes less OK. I've got this weird mixture of hope, determination, desperation, and devastation going on.
I know this loss does not mean it is over, but moving forward is a challenge.
We don't always get the answers for why things happen, and that is okay. Part of life is growing and learning, and I am grateful that I am starting to see the ways I have been lifted when I needed help. I have such wonderful friends and family, and I would not have made it through those first terrible days as well as I did without them. I am seeing the things that I have learned about myself and the Atonement. God is good. He knows my wants and my needs and I know that in His time, I will be whole again.
PS. I mentioned a new job and a big move earlier. Big is probably an understatement here... but I think I'll save that for another post.