Last year, around this time, I was pregnant.
I never expected, or desired pregnancy. It was just something I never thought of or wanted. I never “tried” getting pregnant. I was never one of those women who desperately wished for children. I have never heard the proverbial ‘biological clock’ ticking.
I had no trouble conceiving (four times total, one full-term pregnancy and birth), even with the added complications of being on anti-convulsants-for Epilepsy- for most of my life.
I wouldn’t find out for sure until December 2, but I knew I was pregnant for at least a week before. All the signs were there in full force- sick to my stomach so bad I felt I might puke any second, tenderness all over and the final tell-tale sign I had for all my pregnancies-heartburn that left me burping every other 10 minutes all day long. Despite it all, as I stood there in the library bathroom, I prayed for that little stick to turn up negative.
But, of course, it didn’t. I was pregnant. It was unplanned. I was surprised, sort of.
I was more surprised when, about a week after I officially found out, I started bleeding a bit. Then I started bleeding a little bit more. I was having a miscarriage.
Most women experience grief, sadness, guilt, even shame or blame after a miscarriage. I never had the shame, blame or guilt, but I definitely had some sadness and grief. I also had an overwhelming sense of relief. It even surpassed the grief and sadness.
So now, as this anniversary rolls around, I think of all that has transpired; all that was lost, gained.
I feel immensely thankful every single day that my daughter is healthy and vibrant, that she is part of my life. But, I have to say, one is enough for me.
About Kris Underwood
Kris Underwood is the Social Media Manager at Hunger Mountain (Vermont College of Fine Arts). Poetry has appeared in several publications including MotherVerse, mamazine.com and Poetry Midwest. I read books & write about them on my blog sometimes.