i know too much, and not enough.
i know that i'm not guaranteed a free pass next time. just because i've lost one baby, that doesn't protect me from losing another. statistics don't work like that.
i know that even if i get to 40 weeks of pregnancy with everything ok, it's still not guaranteed that i will get to take home a living baby.
i know how fragile life can be. i know how much of a miracle it is, that any single one of us lives.
i know that i will never be able to blindly assume that everything will be ok again.
i know that my husband will not believe that any baby we conceive is real until we get to take it home. alive. this, from the man who said we had to buy a new and safer car for the baby within weeks of finding out i was pregnant, that bought one when i was just ten weeks pregnant. that makes me so indescribably sad.
i know that every month i don't get pregnant, my chance of walking through this hell again increases, just a little.
i know that it doesn't matter if your birth plan comes true if you get a healthy living child at the end of it. that if you planned a natural birth and get a section, but it saves your baby's life and means you get to take home a living child, then that's cause for celebration. not despair that your dream of a perfect birth was taken away.
i know that it's possible (not likely, but possible) that right now, any child we conceive is guaranteed to die. it's possible that because of our combination of genes, we might not be able to conceive a child who will live without some kind of treatment. and i know that if that's the case, we may have to lose another two children - babies we might see living on a scan who go on to die - before our losses are investigated.
i don't know whether i will be strong enough to keep trying if that is what happens.
i don't know whether i will ever be the girl who's the first to ask to hold a newborn (or, indeed, any baby) again.
i don't know if i will ever be able to look at a pregnant woman without my heart breaking, just a little. without wondering if she knows that her heart could still be broken.
i don't know whether i will ever be able to ask a pregnant woman about her pregnancy, about her plans for her baby, about whether she can feel the baby move, again.
i don't know if i will be able to see my best friend before the summer. i don't know if i will be able to sit and talk to her, knowing that by this stage of her pregnancy, she will be feeling her baby moving around inside her. i don't know if i will be able to sit with her, knowing that. not knowing whether i will ever experience that myself.
i don't know if holding someone else's child will ever be a pleasant, uncomplicated experience again.
i don't know whether a loss at before 12 weeks would hurt less. or whether it would hurt more, on top of a wound that may never really heal.
i don't know why our baby died. i might never know.
i don't know whether i am capable of giving birth to a child who is destined to survive.
i don't know whether i will ever get to take a baby home.
i don't know whether i will ever stop crying for the baby i lost.
i don't know whether i want to.