Halfway up the hill, and ten steps backward
Tuesday, 18 August 2015 Every day, at some given point, sometimes multiple times, I react to no longer being pregnant. I know precisely, without calculating, that my miscarriage began 11 weeks ago this Thursday. I know, exactly, that I would be 22 weeks by now, able to discover our baby's gender if we had elected the option. I know my womb is empty every time I can order a glass of wine. I know my womb is a barren wasteland every time I don't have to consider the food in front of me. I know that I hate this. With a passion. A passion unbecoming the person I used to be before. Before. What I wouldn't give for before. I rarely talk about my experience, or my grief, any more, not even with my husband. I know he hurts. I know that he finds some days more testing than others. I know he doesn't want to hurt me by showing his pain. I know he misses our little dot, and can't help but think about what would have been. But I don't want to bring down his e