With Beebo's pregnancy I never once had any negative signs that the pregnancy might be over.  But three times before Beebo's pregnancy I did.  Those dreaded signs that sit in my brain and clutter my heart and I almost expected to happen with Beebo but never did.  Those signs that I check for about a million times a day and that make me wonder when it is okay to stop worrying.  The same signs that began again last night and became stronger about an hour ago.  And I am sad.  I did not  tell Husband about Beebo until I had an early ultrasound to confirm the tiny life of a healthy baby.  I did not tell him about her precious possibility for a long 8 1/2 weeks.  I choose to tell him  earlier this time because of Father's Day and because there were no signs of anything other than a really healthy pregnancy.  Until just now. 

And as I went to lay back down in bed behind a sleeping Husband I made a silent wager with the world, with God, with angels, with fairies, with ghosts.  A prayer that no mother who wants to be a mother should ever make.  A prayer that begins with "If it is healthy we want it more than the world wants to spin and  if it is not healthy than take it now, tonight, right now, damn-it, before my heart explodes."  And ends with,"I will not complain about the crappy financial timing and the nausea and the tiredness and the weight gain and the swollen ankles if you let me keep it."  And then you realize that the tears are rolling down your face and there is no way you are going back to sleep. And you get up out of bed and Bailey comes with you.  And you know that she just wanted to pee outside but secretly hope she also wants to lay beside you and offer warmth and comfort.  

Then I realized that I would  have to tell Husband.  I will have to break his heart, too.  And the family, they will need to know.  And the blogisphere.  How stupid for spilling the beans before it was time.  Should have waited for that 8 week mark.  Should have waited for that first appointment.  Stupid Father's Day.  Should have waited for a heartbeat. That's what I did with Beebo.  I  wonder why there are so many babies abused to death and left to die in dumpsters when I am waiting to hold one in my arms. 

I realize that after tonight  it might not matter about a due date and take-home outfit.  It might not matter if it was a girl or boy.  It might not matter about any one of the "when's" because there might not be any.  It might be over.  And just as the three before, I do not know if I should grieve for a life that was and now is not, or if I should push it aside and assume that there was never life.  No heartbeat.  Does that make it better?  And it could be so much worse.  What if I were farther along?  What if  the life were snatched from me at the birth of a baby who I had already grown to love for 9 months?  It could be so much worse. 

And I curse my body.  My body that should be able to do this.  A body that just gives up on me.    I hate to think that there is a tiny heartbeat that is trying to survive despite my body pushing it away.  I hate that thought.  I want you tiny heartbeat.  I want you to not go.  I am so sorry, little one.  So very sorry that my body can not do this.  So sorry. It is not your fault but my own. 

Maybe I will go back to bed and it will all be okay in the morning. Maybe it was just a "scare."  Maybe it is nothing.  Maybe I will go touch Beebo's tiny chest and be so very grateful that I have her.  So very grateful that she is here with us.  And call the doctor in the morning.