Last night, I had a bad dream. I dreamt that I was miscarrying again. Red blood was everywhere.
I woke up in a panic. I went to the bathroom to check and make sure that the red blood was only in my dreams. It was. The toilet paper was blessedly free of any red.
It was only a dream. I know that.
But it brought everything back.
I try to distance myself from the pain of miscarriage. I don't want to forget my lost babies. Not now, not ever. But in order to keep some amount of my sanity, I've had to turn away from the pain. I have had to stop looking through my miscarriage basket, finding new miscarriage blogs, and reading through old posts and journals. It is a way to survive.
This one dream, horrific and so "real," reminded me why I run away. It is just too awful to think about how many times that I went through this, that others go through this, that many of you have gone through worse. It's a nightmare and one that you can't wake up from. The fear that something will happen to this baby still lingers, even as his kicks get stronger everyday.
Each morning, I find myself holding my breath, waiting for his first stirrings. This morning, I am especially aware that I haven't felt him yet, which is completely normal. He is active for awhile each morning, then quiet except for a few bumps here and there, and then active again in the evening. I know his schedule now and if he deviates, my mind goes down a scary path. I poke and prod at my stomach until he responds with a firm "Leave Me Alone, Would Ya?" punch. Even then, I am not satisfied, wondering why he is not moving as much today.
I try to stuff these feelings away, down deep inside, where they cannot hurt me.
But then I have a dream, with blood and loss, a reflection of the reality that I lived for too long.
And I remember. And I am still scared.