I am 1 in 4.

1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage.

1 in 4.

1 out of 4.

I never thought I would be the 1 in 4. I never thought I would go through the pain of losing a child albeit a very small one.

July 27, 2017- I had the positive test. My husband and I were pretty excited. We were looking to finish out our family. We had always wanted a larger family but not so large that it was unreasonable. We wanted to be able to give each child a special time and place and make sure they had enough love.

I hadn’t told anyone except for a small group of women whom I love dearly. They are my tribe. They complete me in every single way possible.

#scrunchiesforever

I didn’t have any morning sickness which is very weird for me but I took it as a sign that this would be the easiest pregnancy yet. My boobs hurt like a mother and I was super tired and hungry. We went through our day to day.  We talked about names and settled on Tyler for a girl and Jack for a boy. We had discussed how we were going to tell our other children. I panicked at the idea of telling my family because they don’t really like that I have so many kids already.

August 31, 2017- I went to the bathroom and there was some blood when I wiped. I started to get upset. My husband and children were all asleep. I decided to watch it and see what happened. There were no cramps so I didn’t see the need to rush to the ER at 10PM.  The next morning, I woke up and told my husband and he told me to go to the ER. I went to our local hospital. I tend to avoid this hospital because they are notoriously terrible. I got there at 8AM. The doctor ordered a urine test. I had to wait an hour to get the results. Then an hour later, they sent me for an ultrasound. The US tech was quiet and rude. She didn’t particularly seem the nicest. She wouldn’t let me see the screen and said nothing besides, “You can get dressed again and I’ll take you back to your room.” Okay.

Nearly two hours later, the doctor comes in and says, “5%. That’s the number of women who have healthy, full term babies. The US showed a fetus measuring 6 weeks and 1 day and no cardiac activity. I can’t say for sure that its a miscarriage but go home and we’ll test your HCG in a few days.”

I got home and told my husband. He doesn’t respond well to sad news. My birthday is just around the corner. I end up taking it easy for a few days and on my birthday, I start bleeding heavily. For the next four days, I bleed heavily and have the most painful cramps cascading while I pass clots over and over again. Some felt as large as softballs. It felt a lot like my post partum hemorrhage with Ollie— the sliding out of clots that you can’t control.

On the fourth day, I get on all fours in my shower because the pain is constant and I just let the waves take me over and then as quickly as they came, they stopped. I sobbed and sat in my own blood. I made a joke to myself that I felt like Madame Bathory.

The bleeding stayed pretty heavy for the next few weeks. I ended up needed to take iron. I made an appointment with my OB/GYN out in Cleveland and he did an US just to verify that everything had passed. I had done it all on my own.

Many people don’t know this but I have never felt so proud of my body and uterus. I have had four cesareans. One was a failed induction. One was a repeat. One was an emergency and the other was a failed VBA3C. Failure runs rampant in my reproductive systems. I thought for sure I was going to need a D&C to finish this out but I had done this all on my own. I couldn’t give birth naturally in the water but I could birth death naturally in the water.

Such a macabre thing to say but when you’ve lost a pregnancy that was so very wanted, you have to find the positivity.

We were given the go ahead from the OB/GYN to try again as soon as we feel ready. How do you decide when you’re ready? I guess we’ll find out.

To help myself heal, I decided to create digital art of how I felt. To check out my other works, visit my business page on Facebook.

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It is 11:51 am and I’ve yelled 12 times.

For the last four years or so, I’ve been practicing gentle parenting. I don’t normally yell. I don’t spank. We use our words but the last few weeks have been hell.

My patience is wearing thin. My oldest is 9. She tests my patience to a point where I want to cry. I am so defeated that a 9 year old is getting the best of me. We start bed time routine at 8PM. They’re still fucking around at 9PM and 10Pm and occasionally even 11PM. They don’t even try. I’ve asked. I’ve pleaded. I’ve been nice about it and now the only thing left is being not nice about it.

My four year old laughs at me when I tell him to do something. He legitimately falls on the floor laughing at me. He cries and screams and tantrums to no end and then when its all over, he laughs.

My two year old doesn’t speak. She doesn’t listen. She doesn’t care. You try to talk to her and she just pokes you in the eye and says “Mama Eyes” and proceeds to point out everyone’s eyes.

So I’ve yelled and yelled and yelled and threatened to take away all of their toys. I’ve tried scaring them into submission. I’ve tried saying, “I’m calling dad!” Nothing works. They’re still not listening.

I’ve come to a simple conclusion:

My children escaped from my womb to make me want to run away. They elicit this fight or flight response every time.

So if you need me, I’ll be binge watching ID while eating giant Reese’s because #adultingsucks.