Since it’s anniversary week (even though I have postponed anniversary week due to scanner troubles), I feel compelled to bring up another anniversary. One that I didn’t think would still be on my jock now. Today’s the day that I lost Strudel’s twin two years ago.
Miscarriages are tricky things. I had been feeling like ass for days leading up to the thirteenth. I was feverish and felt bloated, more so than normal early-pregnancy bloat even. When I lost her twin, I felt better instantly. Eventually I slept, and other than insane amounts of bleeding, I was so much better. Companion said I looked noticeably smaller the next day.
I was very sad about the baby’s death and simultaneously felt guilt about the relief of feeling better physically. You start to move on and accept it as a loss and as a could-have-been. You think about maybe trying to have another baby in the future. I started exercising again and trying to take care of myself, and even to look forward to the relative ease of just having one child.
Then I found out that Strudel was still tenaciously hanging onto the sides. I always imagine her, arms and legs spread wide, fingers dug in, like a cartoon cat who doesn’t want to take a bath. I imagine her going NOOOO like she always does now, even to things she wants.
Me: Here, want some peach slices?
Strudel: NOOOOOOO *glomp*
So I found out I was still pregnant, and actually my first thought was that I was pregnant again. Actually, my first thought was OH SHIT. I cannot DEAL with this right now. And I felt guilty about that because this was a new baby and it didn’t have anything to do with the other one. I was not excited about this new baby, which was actually the old baby.
After the ultrasound, and after we figured out exactly what had happened, I felt better. I cautiously allowed myself to become excited again. But it didn’t stop being tricky. Sometimes I am relieved that I have only one insane child to deal with, and then I feel bad about that. Sometimes I feel very sad that Strudel will only be a single, when she had a chance to have a partner-in-crime. Would it have been another girl, or would there have been a boy Strudel and a girl Strudel? I’ll never know.
And I get furious when people say things like, “It was obviously defective, so it’s good you didn’t bring it to term,” and “You’re pretty lucky, you could be chasing after twins right now” and “At least you got one out of it.” I think the best thing to say is, “I’m sorry this happened to you,” and go from there.
Will Strudel ever feel like someone is missing? Will she feel lonely? The questions and the guilt and relief continue to plague me. It’s tricky.