Today is the due date of my baby that I lost in June. I had five wonderful weeks with my little one – five weeks from the time I got my BFP to the time I had the ultrasound and there no longer was a heartbeat. My baby died at 8 ½ weeks, and there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t remember him.
I wish I could go back, I wish I could relive that time. I’m afraid that I never will have a time of pure and complete joy in another pregnancy. Because now I know what can happen. After I knew it wasn’t ectopic like my first, I was thrilled beyond belief. I thought I was going to have a baby in January. I was so happy, and couldn’t wait to meet my little one.
It’s been hard watching my bloggy friends have their babies. I have quite a few bloggy friends that have had their babies in the last month, and a couple more to go, all of which were my early pregnancy buddies. They are still my friends, and I’m thrilled that they are now (or soon will be) mothers. But I can’t help but think about the times we had when I was also pregnant right alongside them.
As I embark on my first FET cycle, I’m feel… I don’t know. I thought I would be pregnant by now. I thought there wouldn’t be any way that I would have this due date come and pass without succeeding at one of our treatments since. But here I am. And I don’t have a lot of hope for the upcoming FET, I just feel like it’s something I must do. All I feel today is sadness and longing for my baby that I lost in June. He was the one – he was supposed to be my child. And for some reason my body rejected him. But I will always remember him, as he taught me what it feels like to be a mother.