I was absolutely certain that she was a girl and I had her name all picked out. She would have my grandmother’s coloring, my mother’s dimples and my large slanted eyes. She would have an infectious laugh that made everyone stop and laugh right along with her. She would be mine and I would be hers. Initially, I was scared out of my mind- crying at the thought that my plans were derailed because of a stupid mistake with an even more ridiculously stupid boy. I worried that I would be a terrible mother; that I wouldn't be able to help her with her homework; that she would be ashamed that I didn't have a husband when I became pregnant with her. And then…I heard her heartbeat. It was a rapid, light, clicking sound coming from the ultrasound machines. At that moment, she stopped being something that I was afraid of and became someone for whom I would give my entire life. For a while, in the beginning, I called her “Amoeba” but after I heard her heart ticking away, she was upgraded to “Whipper-Snapper” although I was already pretty sure what her actual name would be. I was so used to naming my possessions (computers, cars, sewing machines, knives, hammers) that naming my child wasn't so hard. I was excited and was positive that I would be one of those adorable pregnant women who wore huge overalls and cute pigtail braids. Anyway…
I knew that stress made my body do weird things, but I had no idea that it would make me miscarry. I was angry that day, to the point that I wanted to scream. That day, I found out that a friend of mine was engaged to a guy that I used to like and now loathed. I was upset that she would betray me and that he could see our relationship as so meaningless as to ask her to marry him so soon after trying to pursue me. I was livid and refused to calm down. I thought my Whipper-Snapper couldn't possibly be affected by a few hours of frustrated crying and a few cuss words. I was wrong.
Later that night, there was blood- so much blood. As Daddy took me to the hospital, I hoped the doctor would tell me that the pressure I felt between my legs was normal and that I was overreacting. As soon as I got into the ER, I told the woman at the triage desk that I thought I might be having a miscarriage. She told me that I would be seen right away but I informed her that I needed to go to the restroom first. I walked slowly across the ER waiting room towards the restroom, sure that if I went any faster, whatever was trying to push itself between my legs would surely gush onto the floor. So instead of my baby being handed to me in a mass of blankets, she was delivered into an ER toilet. When I came out of the restroom, I was immediately ushered into an examination room. The doctor informed me that I had miscarried and that my body had already flushed most of her out already. I cried… and cried… and cried. Then came the numbness, a complete lack of emotion. To this day, I have no idea how I carried on- how I was able to just keep living, keep eating, keep breathing, keep…being, without her.
Now, almost 5 years later, I still think of her. Not as often now- so its no longer as painful as it used to be. I keep my ultrasound pictures tucked into my scriptures. Whenever I have dreams about her, I stay in bed for the rest of the day trying to remember ever aspect of the dream, every moment that I got to spend with her. When I finally get myself out of bed with the realization that I’m not going to get to be with her in this life, the numbness returns- but I keep going because I hope that one day, I’ll get to hold her brothers and sisters- and laugh with them and play peek-a-boo with them. I've never met my wonderful baby girl who would turn 5yrs old in December. Her name is Sophia Nicole.
