Faking smiles as my friends around me announce details about their pregnancies. Inside I want to cry. This was supposed to be something we can share in together, yet I’m envious of the months they still have. 9 long months they gripe. I laugh it off, inside screaming I wish I had this empty womb filled with uncomfortable kicks, pokes, and pain I could cherish. With every picture and video of their sweet babies I break a little inside. The look of joy on their faces wishing I could share in these moments of my own.

When you have a miscarriage, ectopic pregnancy, early pregnancy loss you feel the obligation to keep it hush hush. Don’t make anyone feel uncomfortable I tell myself. It’s taboo to speak about. You start to feel alone. While everyone is speaking about the baby they will have soon, you’re mourning the one you lost. The idea of closure seems so unobtainable. How can you move on when you never got to know your baby? The social norm for talks of being a mother to a baby you have no proof ever existed is no existent. You don’t see posts on social media about it because to most mothers who have heald and swaddled their babies we are not mothers is the full sense of the word. I feel I needed validation in the beginning that I am indeed a mother. Not because I needed to be a part of some exclusive club, but because I wanted to make sure I preserved my babies existence. My baby was real. On mothers day I had an overwhelming amount of friends tell me Happy Mothers Day. It made my whole day. It was like they were sending little hugs to my baby in heaven with their kind words and support.

A couple nights ago I dreamt everything all over again. Every excruciating detail. Instead this time I got to see you. I just remember thinking God she’s beautiful! You had my nose and lips. It was only a ultrasound picture, but in my dream I treasured it dearly. When I awoke I felt empty. I begged my brain to hush and allow me to sleep and dream of you once again, but the pain kept me awake. The whole day I felt lost. I longed for that picture.

I don’t know when this is going to get easier. I try to trick myself with a cocktail of Prozac and wine that I’m okay. The depression sets in and I feel lost. Caressing an empty womb as if you were there once again. I can’t express the pain I feel in verbal sentences. It gets distorted and I attempt to laugh it off while inside I feel like I’m dying. I’m physically and emotionally exhausted these days. The doctor told me to give it some time for the wounds to heal and the Prozac to take over. I feel every laugh forced and every smile smeared across is so easily read as a fake. I’m not a hugger, I’ve never been into hugs unless I’m the one initiating them, but lately I find myself wishing for them. Just that embrace makes the pain hurt a little less, even if just for a moment. I’m taking it day by day, praying for a miracle. My heart just feels broken these days. I’m looking for the light at the end of this storm.

When I started this blog, the original reason was to track my spiritual journey. I titled it “Manifesting a Little Mess” it was a play on the nickname my family had given me when I was a little girl. “Mess” my uncle coined me. Now this blog has grown into something much deeper. I’ve really been able to find myself along this past year leading me up to the point where I literally was Manifesting a little mess…. a little me. A baby. I’m now embarking on healing from all this chaos and trying to produce another Mess, not a replacement, just another.