Evaporated Hopes

I’ve been debating on whether or not to post this.

Pondered whether or not to allow myself to mull it over, dive into how I feel, and allow myself to talk about it.

I haven’t really told anyone. Except my husband. And my closest friends. We didn’t even tell our families. I’m not sure why, but I guess just because there wasn’t much to tell. When it happened, I spent several hours dealing with it on my own, and then I moved on. And up until today, I hadn’t thought much else about it (thankfully, by the grace of the good Lord).

You might have noticed a tweet a few weeks ago where I was asking for prayers for our family. My tweet mentioned something about not wanting to be disappointed. I had a few close twitter friends message me, knowing what my tweet was about and offering up support and prayers.

I took a pregnancy test.

It was positive. A very faint positive, but still there.

I was over the moon excited. Aunt Flo was three days late, and then entire month I just felt like things were different. I cut out my caffeine, started drinking more water and walking with the little guy. There was a nagging, subconscious feeling that I was pregnant. When my birthday party rolled around, I skipped out on the mixed drinks and opted for lemonade instead, not wanting to risk it.

I showed the test to the husband. He saw the lines, too. We started relishing in the idea of another baby. He was ecstatic. I sat on the couch and rubbed my belly, like I used to do with Little Man before he was born, and imagined life with a second child.

The next morning, for good measure, I took another test.

Big. Fat. Negative.

False positives are rare. So I shook it off, remembering what a hard time I had getting a positive HPT with Little Man (I was almost four months along before I ever got one). The hubs had duty that day, so we just decided that when I went up there to take him lunch, we would draw some blood and do a test (yes, he’s qualified to do that, before anyone gets all weirded out like Laura did. Hehe).

Big. Fat. Negative.

I had an emotional breakdown right there in the clinic. Makeup running, eyes swollen…the husband was freaked out and didn’t know what to do with me. I knew then what had happened and what was going on. I was having a chemical pregnancy. I’d experienced some pretty significant cramps and abdominal pain two days earlier and didn’t think much about it. I had severe cramps and backaches during the earliest stages of my first pregnancy, so I assumed it was normal.

That afternoon was nothing short of an emotional hell. I cried, and cried, and then cried some more. I loved on my baby boy like I haven’t done in a long time. I laid on the couch and took a long nap…rubbing my stomach again and imagining what could have been.

It felt like all of my hopes and my excitement had been flushed down a toilet. And my heart broke for my husband, whose over-the-moon excitement had made my joy and happiness over the positive test pale in comparison. There was relief in the fact that we hadn’t told anyone. Relief that our families didn’t know…that we didn’t get them hyped up about another grandchild only have it come crashing down again.

We still haven’t told them. And I’m sure they’ll probably be annoyed that I’m writing about it here, rather than telling them on the phone.

But, again, what is there to tell? What would there be for them to say, other than”I’m sorry” and “That sucks.” The actuality of it is, I don’t really want or need to hear those things. It won’t change anything. It will just serve to remind me that there is a little angel baby floating around in heaven for me to meet some day.

The husband and I haven’t really talked about it. And up until tonight, I really haven’t thought too much about it. It’s hard to wrap my mind around…that there was a baby, and now there isn’t. Especially since we never heard a heartbeat, never saw a sonogram. All we had of this little baby was two lines, and those evaporated…just like our hopes did.

Aunt Flo showed up at the end of last week…12 days late. So we’re onto another month. Feeling optimistic and trusting that the timing for everything is so much better when I’m not in charge of it. My best friend texted me yesterday to tell me that her and her husband are getting ready to try for a second baby. We’re hoping we get pregnant around the same time so we can share the experience of chasing toddlers and being pregnant together.

Thank you to those of you who offered up support and prayers for me during this. You know who you are, and you know how much I love you guys! And to our family reading this, don’t take offense that we didn’t blow up the phones to tell you guys that I was pregnant and then I wasn’t. We’re over it. We’re okay. We’re still trying. And, of course, we love you guys.