relief

I still remember the empty sadness that I felt when I had my first miscarriage. I was sixteen weeks pregnant, which was far enough along that miscarriage was the farthest thing from my mind. I remember relaxing after the first trimester. I remember reading all the pregnancy books and dreaming about names and falling in love with the potential of that baby. I remember when my due date came and went and it was just another day. I remember the dreams that I had about impossible to save babies. And I remember when it didn't hurt so bad anymore.

I remember how shocked I was when I found out I was having a second miscarriage. I was using a supposedly fool proof method of birth control, and I didn't even know I was pregnant until I started losing that baby. I didn't have the same kind of sadness or emptiness or despair. I didn't mourn the potential of that child.

And I remember thinking how strange it all was when I lost my third pregnancy. It was so early that everything just felt clinical.

I needed something tangible to show me that this baby is fine. That it is growing and developing and tumbling through life. I needed to see the flutter of its heart and watch its body move inside of me. Now I believe that everything will be alright.