As of yesterday, and for the rest of my life, my medical history will always say G3P2. That's obstetrics lingo for "I've been pregnant three times, but have two living children." Three times I've seen those two beautiful pink lines on a home pregnancy test, but just two blond hair, blue eyed babies to hold. And please don't get me wrong. When I say "just", I am not discounting the blessing having Ethan and Allison is in my life. I thank God every day for those two. I will just forever know that there was a glimmer of a chance that there would be three.
I'll start at the beginning-ish. Jay and I weren't trying. I always rolled my eyes when people would say they had an "oops!" while on birth control, but now I get it. It can happen. It does happen. It happened to me. Granted, when it happened, just a short 7 days ago, it took me over by surprise and complete shock. It took me a day before it finally sunk in that I was pregnant. As we tried to figure out due dates and bedroom arrangements, the reality REALLY took hold and we allowed ourselves to be excited at this new, unexpected reality our lives were about to endure.
Just as I was finishing up the touches on how I wanted to announce our blessing to the world, I saw what every pregnant woman fears. Blood.
After a trip to the ER, which was the absolute worse experience of my life and I will do everything in my power to erase it from my memory for forever, it was confirmed via blood work that my pregnancy hormones were declining instead of rising. A miscarriage was in process.
The first 24 hours were horrible. Crying like I have never cried before. Deep, anguishing cries. Pain, both physically and emotionally. It's not like a miscarriage is something that happens and it's done. Each twinge of a cramp, each movement I made was another stab in the heart: my body was rejecting this tiny bundle of cells that would soon turn into a sweet baby. I've taken more Motrin and Aleve than recommended, but it is all I can do to attempt to get through this with the smallest amount of pain I could manage. It's just a mask, though, as regardless of what I feel, I know what is happening and, to put it quite frankly, it sucks.
Last year at the street fair, I bought a silver necklace with two tiny charms. One has an E, for my Ethan. One has an A, for my Allison. I no longer have the business card of the woman who designed it, but I so wish I did as it is one of my very favorite pieces of jewelry. Regardless, this afternoon, I purchased a tiny, delicate silver heart to add to my necklace.
It won't mean anything to others, as most already think my "AE" necklace is from American Eagle. But to me it will represent that third beautiful pregnancy test that never really went much further. That had the potential to be, but just couldn't, for reasons only God will ever know.
G3P2, but my heart will forever wish it was P3.