If you want to hear the story. . . .

While at my parents' house at Christmas, I became very suspicious. I was nauseated, nothing tasted right, and I had no desire to eat fudge. I had the creeping thought that perhaps I was pregnant.
The first day of Spring semester I decided that it was time to take the test and the two red lines told us that we were indeed pregnant.
I was a little shook up at first- we hadn't planned on having a baby until I graduated. A baby would put a big monkey wrench in our plans! After a moment of panic I felt peace. Yes, it wasn't what we had planned - it was better.
So we made our new plans. I dropped some classes that I thought would be too stressful on a pregnant body and exchanged them for more prego-friendly ones. I ate food regularly. Patrick started making me a lunch every day. Knowing that I was not going to be full time in school in the fall changed my perspective on life. Things that seemed so important a semester ago were not that prevalent in my priorities anymore. I was happy. Well, as happy as a hormonally-crazed pregnant woman can be.
The Monday before Valentines Day I made an appointment with my midwife because I had started spotting Sunday night. It really freaked me out because I have never had any spotting with my previous pregnancies. Patrick gave me a blessing. It said that I shouldn't blame myself for anything that happens and that whether it was now or later, I would get to raise this baby. Patrick came with me to the appointment. My midwife looked for the baby's heartbeat with the sonogram and thought she had found it but couldn't pin it down. SO she got out their dinosaur ultrasound and tried to find it- again saying that she thought she had seen it but this machine is so old- and sent us to their new ultrasound. The technician measured various parts of my anatomy and then turned to the baby. She found and measured one and then moved to another one. I was so excited- twins! I have always wanted twins. In fact, it was my evil plan to have twins next- I thought it was amazing and I said so out loud to Patrick. The technician doing the ultrasound said yes there are two- but unfortunately neither one has a heartbeat.
I don't know what I felt at that moment because there was too much to feel. All I could do is cry. The midwife asked me questions about what I wanted to do. Your babies are dead- how should we dispose of their remains? I couldn't answer her beyond saying I don't know. When we got home it started to snow furiously. The weather and I were in complete agreement- the heavens were weeping just like me.
Tuesday came and though I did not attend classes, I felt compelled to go to a required dance lab the attendance of which is a huge chunk of my grade. Yes, my drive to maintain my GPA was stronger than my fragile mental and physical condition. Hindsight has 20/20 vision and I know now that I should have stayed home. I started miscarrying in that room full of happy dancing people. I drove home somehow and spent the next few hours in a lot of pain. The midwife said that a miscarriage was "a few hours of cramping and bleeding"- HAH! What I experienced was almost exactly like giving birth- but without the happy ending. Cramping is not true- I had contractions just like the ones that pushed Isaac, Eve, and Esther into the world. Every contraction was a stab to my heart.
Now it has been two weeks. I hate all pregnant women and babies.
I don't care so much about my GPA. I was gone a lot from class and I dropped two classes that were stressing me out way too much- and if I get B's in the others, I won't hate myself too much.
I know this whole post seems a bit cynical and maybe it is but there are bright spots. The monkies have been a great comfort to me. They, thankfully, didn't know I was pregnant and were asleep during the miscarriage. They just know that Mommy is sick and they snuggle me. The fact that they exist is very comforting to me. The blessing that Patrick gave me that day also said that my body is a good place for babies to grow. I can only guess from this that it just wasn't my babies' time to come to earth. I don't know why but I am not despairing. It is hard and I cry a few times a day and, as I mentioned above, I hate the sight of pregnant women and babies, but I know I am ok. Or I will be eventually.
Patrick, too has been a great comfort. He feels very helpless to help but his presence and his solidarity help a lot.
If he put his pictures out- he shaved his head. I have always said that I would buzz my hair off when I have my fourth child. I was going to do it this summer some time so it would be grown in nicely in the fall. Technically, I never would have had four- I would have skipped straight to five- but his hair shaving was a nice comic relief and tangible sign of his love.
Patrick thinks I am morbid but I decided that I wanted the pictures of the babies from the ultrasound so I had the midwife made copies and they gave them to me today at my "follow-up" appointment. They checked my iron levels and I am ok physically. Yea.
So, here they are. According to the measurements, they died at 8 weeks and one day.
I don't know if they are girls or boys or one of each. Either way, I'll be very happy to see them again.