Monday one of my co-workers brought in his 4-month old. She was so sweet to hold, so...compliant. So different than the squirmy and sometimes brutal 10.5 month old that I'm used to holding. I was thinking how sweet it will be to have a little bitty one again. And it will be. But not this one.
On Tuesday, I started miscarrying. I'm OK. I was only 6 weeks along so physically it really hasn't been any worse than a period. Emotionally, I'm OK too. While I'm disappointed that there won't be a baby in July and I grieve a little for that vision of the future. I'm not one to consider the embryo (if there was even one, could have been a blighted ovum), a baby. So I don't mourn as though it was the death of my child. I understand people who do, and I don't dismiss or diminish their grief at all. But that's not me and there won't be any angel baby badges gracing my message boards.
Nor am I discouraged or worry about the next pregnancy. Had this happened on my first pregnancy I would feel a lot differently but I don't have that fear that I'll never be a mother and that makes trying to conceive number 2 very different that number 1. I don't want to diminish the importance of a second child. I am a second child myself, so they have a special place in my heart, but it just doesn't carry the same angst.
I am sad. I was looking forward to being pregnant again and having a summer baby. But I'm not devastated. We will be trying again as soon as possible and hopefully next time will turn out differently.