He would have been three years old today. Or last week, or next week. I'm pretty sure he was a he, based solely on how different the pregnancies were. For example, in the first pregnancy I had no interest whatsoever in chocolate, which is drastically different from my usual life and definitely different from my pregnancy with Gwen, wherein eating Kit-Kat bars every morning was the only thing that prevented me from violently vomiting at precisely 9:30am every damn day.
Anyway. I have my amazing daughter, and to wish that I'd never miscarried would mean to wish that I didn't have Gwen. I can't possibly wish that. I wouldn't change any of what I've been through, with the exception of wishing to be more informed, before the fact, about what miscarriage could entail. And that's why I post this story; not out of a desire to be maudlin or overdramatic, but because miscarriage is far more common than we think, and we're subtly pressured not to talk about it for fear of scaring other would-be mothers. To me, what is more terrifying than the possibility of miscarriage is facing the reality of it and feeling alone, not knowing that what you're experiencing is normal, and that millions of women before you have gone through it too. I post this so that anyone out there who's going through the same thing, at any time, will know that she is not alone. (Warning: post linked is very graphic.)
I am at peace. I wish the same for all of you.