Mom just miscarried.
She was two months in and hadn't told anyone but Dad yet, and spent the night and most of today in the hospital. I just got the news.
They're not telling a lot of people because, well people like to make smart ass comments about the size of our family. No really, they see ten kids and the filter just seems to switch off. We've gotten cracks about everything from population growth and how dare you kill the environment, to 'Oh well maybe you could stay off welfare if you didn't have so many. We're not on welfare.
So I get the feeling that just the older kids and their close family knows. Most friends and relatives will proboblsy never know that this happened.
After Dad and I hung up the phone I just kinda sat there. She may drive me crazy but she's my Mom and I love her. I can't stop myself from wondering who we lost. Imagining all the different ways a little baby looks wrapped up in a blanket. Remembering how it feels to have one fall asleep when you hold them, or how they curl up to your chest in the shower, tucking their head under your chin.
I want to go home so I can take care of her. I'm the oldest girl, I should be there. I should be taking care of her, watching kids, cooking, cleaning, doing home repairs. Something.
I'm afraid that one day that will be me. That my PCOS has killed any chance that when Ali and I have/adopt kids that they will be my kids. That I'll be the one in the hospital room, when all Ali can do is hold my hand.
Ali came into the room only a few minuets later and she just held me as I burst into tears and sobbed.
And even now, I still can't stop wondering who we lost.