A few weeks ago, when I attended the quinceañera and was surrounded by all that immigrant energy and fecundity, I wondered about the optimism required to bring another child into the world. What I didn’t know at the time was that I was pregnant myself.
As of this weekend, however, I am not.
This explains my recent fatigue. The combination of a flu shot and early pregnancy last week had me velcroed to the mattress. I could hardly get out of bed, and as soon as I did, I wanted to get right back in. When I found out I was expecting, I was happy to nap the day away. All the rest and fresh air and pure water and good food I gave myself was for the child. I may have been alternately too exhausted and too serene to blog.
The only good thing about a miscarriage at six weeks is that the fatigue goes away instantaneously. And the experience, at least in my case, has not been very traumatic, physically. Emotionally, there is a rough moment when you realize what is happening. It is true that I never heard a heartbeat, never felt a kick, never saw an actual image. I hardly had time to realize this pregnancy, but the imagination can travel far in a short time. (He or she would have been, quite possibly, a summer solstice baby.)
I grieved gently in the way I’m sure a lot of women who already have children grieve. I went into my child’s room, and tended to the neglect caused by my recent lethargy. I thinned out his books and toys; I changed his bed linens; and I organized his drawers, taking stock of what he had and what he needed. Then this afternoon I went out and bought him some warm things. It was instinctually comforting.
Now I am blogging, and waiting for the first round of trick or treaters to arrive. Friends have rallied 'round me, and my family has been kind & supportive. I feel pretty serene once again.
6:23:03 PM 
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