from two lines to one

I don’t know if it’s because it’s been a year on Saturday, or if it’s because we should have a three month old in this house, or if it’s because my mind is quiet and the sadness of our miscarriage is seeping back in.

Most days I go about my life fairly normally. I don’t burst into tears randomly much anymore, and I can even be 98% happy for my friends who have announced their pregnancies since our loss (okay,  maybe 95%). I only listen to depressing songs on repeat every couple of weeks.

But some days, like a sucker punch out of left field, I crumble. Maybe because it’s been a year and we still aren’t parents.

I despise the fact that even if we do get pregnant again, that it will never be a joyous, ignorant pregnancy. That I will hold my breath, knowing that at any moment it could all slip away. Just like it did for several women who write blogs that I read. At 20 weeks, 28 weeks, full term. It’s too fragile. And it can be fine one moment, and gone the next.

But I won’t be quiet about this. Even though society says I should be. Even though sometimes I feel like smacking myself and saying GET OVER IT, ALREADY! Which is sort of ridiculous because I would never say that to a client, or to a friend, or to any other human being. So why can’t I afford myself the same space? I’m not superhuman. And it still hurts.

One year later, it still hurts. 

Positive to negative.

Two lines, to one.

Baby, to no baby.

Hello, to goodbye.