Yesterday I started my period. The first one since the miscarriage. On Holloween. How frightening is that. I expected to have my period, because my husband and I have not had unprotected intercourse since the miscarriage. Actually we had sex only once. That’s how sad I am–for as much as I love this man of mine, I have not been able to lift my head above the tears and snots to enjoy the company of oneness with him. So why should I be surprised to see my period arrive. It was bound to come sooner or later.
Pregnant people don’t get periods. The period reminds me of the fact that I’m no longer pregnant, that there is no baby in utero, that s/he is gone.
Some would say this is a fresh start. Let’s get on with the show! It means you’re ovulating and cycling fine and that your body is working! It’s time to try (to conceive) again! Woohoo! All that excitement–I can’t understand…
Whilst this is how some people view it, I have not reached that point yet. Last cycle when I had the fertile mucous stuff midway through, I had a very difficult time dealing with it emotionally. On one hand, I want to have another child. On the other hand, I’m still grieving the loss of the previous baby.
I will forever grieve for the loss of our 2nd baby. But how does one just know when to move on?
Some have told me, getting pregnant again is what got them through the pain of the previous loss(es). I venture to say that might be true for me, too. However, I’m having a hard time convincing myself to take the “leap of faith” again just yet. What if this happens again? I don’t dare to think of the answer.