I expected that a pregnancy following a miscarriage would be a bit different; a little less blithe optimism, a little more caution in the first 3 months with words, and feelings.
What I wasn't ready for was lying in bed at the end of a good day, a day that feels more normal than pregnant, and wondering if it's because my child is dead. I didn't expect to cling to every whiff of nausea and heartburn as a sign of hope.
I wasn't ready for those conversations where people ask me how I'm feeling. I'm hesitate to say, "I feel pretty good right now." I know they will say, "That's great."
Is it great? I'm not so sure. Maybe it's a sign something is wrong.
Really, I'm not ready for this baby to die.
I beg it to live. I plead, "Let it live."
Yet there is nothing I can do but go through the days as normally as possible, and wait impatiently until the 12 week mark to listen for a heartbeat, to know for sure.
Two more weeks. How will I ever make it?