Bloody Sunday

This is supposed to be my blog about miscarriage. And the fact that noone talks about it - or tells you about it. Well, I guess I am just about ready to explain what I went through - am still going through - and what it feels like.

In addition, I want this blog to be about other things. Life, moving from one country to another, to another and so on. The way that being pregnant feels. The way that feeling different feels. All of these things are part of my life. I work, I do stuff, I enjoy stuff. I have two dogs. I have a husband. I thought I was going to have a child, but I guess that was just the beginning.

So, I got pregnant and found out in September. On September 11 to be precise. "Finally, a good thing to remember on this worst of days", I thought, as I hugged the striped stick toward me in the ladies' bathroom at work. I breathed it all in - the sink, the smell of the posh oily-stuff they put in there to make it smell nice, the wooden doors. "This is the best thing ever, ever, ever", I was literally thinking that way, like a little kid. And I never think that way. I told Z and he was all "Far OUT". I felt like I could do something right.

Then we were planning. We bought the books. We read the chapters. I swooned over images of six-week fetuses (feti? fetum?) and thought about how clever we were - just one try, just ONE try. We were super-humans and we had created something on just one try. How I pitied the poor people who couldn't do it as easily as us. How I felt so sorry for those who had been trying for months. How I had no clue how gods were laughing their asses off at us.

Six weeks. We saw the heartbeat. There was our little dot. Dot was our name for the girl, Spot was our name for the boy. Somehow Dot got more traction. Dot was on my lips all the time. I couldn't help myself, I told people. A lot of people. I grinned at pregnant women. I confided in clothing stores: "Oh, I'm not buying right now, I'm pregnant". Ha ha ha...