At this point in my life, I was working in a nursing home as a CNA full time while going to school. It was my senior year and I was trying to be everywhere at once. I'd noticed I was sleeping a lot, and according to mom I was "shoveling down food", but I didn't really think about it.
That day, I woke up feeling cramps. These weren't just cramps. This felt like I was being stabbed multiple times in the uterus. I remember at one point I actually gasped because it hurt so much. I was so sore I could hardly walk. My mom took pity on me and gave me half of a Vicodin.
We were all curled up on cots reading or sleeping, trying to stay warm. It was then that I started bleeding. At first I was really confused. Yeah, I was cramping, but usually when I was on my period I didn't bleed until a day later. It wasn't until I'd gone through two pads in an hour that my mom laid me on my back and pushed on my lower stomach and very shakily asked me when my last period was. It was early December. She asked me if I was pregnant. I responded with "No. Not that I know of."
She didn't have a reaction. She went outside to the grill (that's how we were making our food), returned with a cup of coffee and told me to stay laying down, while she got more pads and bottles of water. She looked at me sadly "Deebug...I think you're having a miscarriage."
My mind spun. No way. Not possible. I couldn't be pregnant. Not me. We're careful. We use condoms, I'm on birth control.... Oh my god, I'm on birth control. I've been taking it this whole time. This is my fault. Curtis will never forgive me.
The bleeding eventually lessened and then stopped all together. My mom told me she'd take me to the doctor when weather wa permitting. Almost two weeks after, we went to our family doctor. She confirmed that I did in fact have a miscarriage. She estimated that I had been between seven to eight weeks pregnant.
Honestly, I don't remember anything she said after that. I was in a fog. This was real. This was my fault. I didn't tell Curtis. I was so ashamed. I didn't want him to hate me- I hated me enough for the both of us. I didn't want to tell him at all. I didn't know I was pregnant. Had I actually carried to term, I could've tried out for that reality show on TLC. I kept it to myself for a month. My mental and emotional health went downhill, and Curtis reached his breaking point. He knew something was wrong, but having a girlfriend that won't express anything is impossible to communicate with. After a few explosive fights, he told me he was done unless I explained. I broke down. I cried and cried and cried some more. He told me he loved me, he didn't blame me, it was okay.
He will occasionally bring it up in arguments. It stings like he'd slapped me in the face. But I understand why. It was a slap for him too. I should've told him about it.
It's been two years, and we are in the midst of a baby boom. I act excited for all of the expectant mothers around me, but I still feel a sliver of jealousy. Whether we were ready or not, we would be parents right now if I'd paid more attention and was more careful.
And, readers...the strangest thing happened.
Two days after we moved into our house, I dreamt I was visiting my mom at her house. I walk into her lime green kitchen, I can smell the lavender oil she loves to smell, and on the floor, there's a little boy I've never seen before in my life. I look at my mother, "Mom, who is that?"
She just smiles and softly says "Baby, just talk to him."
Hesitantly, I walk over and sit down. This boy is small, probably still a toddler. As I sit down, I'm stricken with awe. He looks just like Curtis. Defined cheeks, light freckles, black hair and blue/green eyes. I asked "Hi there. What's your name?" "Micah. Micah Reed."
Micah Reed. "That's a nice name."
"Daddy picked it."
At that point, I got chills. And then, the impulse to ask came...and I couldn't stop it.
"Who are you?"
"You know who I am, Mommy."
Oh my god. It's him. It's him. It's the baby.
"You're here. "
"I'm here. I thought it was time we talk. "
"Oh."
"It's not your fault, Mommy. I wasn't ready. You weren't ready."
"Oh my god."
"I love you Mommy. It's time to wake up."
I woke up to my alarm, tears rolling down my face. That was my baby. He was beautiful, healthy. He was perfect. I may not be able to hold him now, but I can hold him in Heaven. My Micah Reed.
That's about all I can handle with this entry. I honestly had to stop and restart at a later time. Thank you for reading. I'll write again soon.
Sincerely yours,
D
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