In the car, driving to the grocery store:
Bowie: Mama, do you have a new baby?
Me: uuuummmm, what?
Bowie: Do you have a new baby? The baby in your belly?
I did tell him a few times that there was a “baby in my belly”. But that was it. And I haven’t said a word since the miscarriage.
Me: Uh, there’s not a baby in my belly.
Bowie: Yes, there is a baby in your belly!
Me: Well…that baby got a boo boo and had to go away.
Bowie: Oh. [pause] I can get it back!
Me: I wish we could, but that baby is gone forever. We will have to work really hard to make a new one.
Bowie: Yes. Because I want to have a baby in my family.
Never thought I’d have to have that conversation. Poor kid. It must be hard to comprehend stuff like that. Lord knows it’s tough for adults.
The first thing out of my mouth when my doctor had told me what happened was, “But, I told so many people.”
In those first moments, that was my biggest source of stress and fear and sadness: having to turn around and tell everyone the terrible news.
And I went over it and over it in my head for days before figuring out what to say and how to say it. WHY had I told everyone? WHAT had come over me? WHO did I think I was?
I knew I had to just say it, to get it out there in the open. Like ripping off a band-aid. It would be painful, it would be awkward, but it just had to be done.
When I did start letting people know, I got the hugest heaping helping of love and support from so many people, some of which I have never even met in real life. Many of them had suffered similar losses in the past, and had gone on to have a full brood, and I found that really helpful to hear.
It helps me deal with things to have all that support and understanding, which is helping me cope with the whole “telling people too soon” thing. I thank you all for your kindness, love and understanding as I tread these very murky waters.