One year ago. One year later.

So here it is. If you've read it before, feel free to move on. I'm going to stay right here for today, and then tomorrow I'll move on again too. Taking my little one with me in my heart when I go.

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At 12 weeks yesterday, I gave in and bought baby clothes. Sil and I were at Old Navy and she helped me pick out the most precious "Baby's First Christmas" onesie and a pile of other gender neutral clothes. Mostly gender neutral. I threw in a onesie with a bulldog on it because a) I just knew my baby was a boy and b) It was possible to put pink pants with it and thereby qualified as either or to me.

We left Old Navy, picked up 36 Krystal burgers for the crew, and headed back to Sil's house. We had gotten new pj's and matching shirts for Lovely and my little Clone niece, and a pile of 50% Christmas randomness to show off and gloat about their cheapness. However, as I was standing in the kitchen serving drinks to the kids, I felt blood began to run down my leg.

Eighteen hours later, I am in my parents guestroom, being not pregnant.

Cleatus died at 9 weeks, 2 days according to the ultrasound. That was the day of the concert - the first day I needed maternity clothes. The D&C was last night here in Jackson. He was with me exactly 12 weeks. 12 weeks and you are supposed to be so much safer. Less risk. Everything is supposed to be alright.

They gave me plenty of prescriptions for pain, but none of them can touch where it really hurts.

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It was just a precaution. Sil called her OB yesterday to see if they could work me in just to check things out. The spotting had gone on for about 24 hours, but I wasn't concerned. I had spotted after the doctor's visit and a few times after sex. Standing in the kitchen though, I became quickly aware that it was more than just spotting.

Still, I was thinking positively. Guy and I drove to the clinic and talked about how this was just a little nerve rattling scare. I told him, and believed with all my heart, that everything was going to be fine. I was not going to lose our baby.

The tech tried an abdominal ultrasound first. She said that she couldn't see what she needed to see from there. My palms started to sweat and Guy held my hand a little tighter. The vaginal ultrasound was confusing to me at first. Cleatus was bigger, and I thought he was moving, but later realized that it was the tech moving the instrument, not my little guy moving. The tech went to measure him and it came up on the screen as "9 weeks, 2 days."

That is when I turned my head away and started to sob.

She went to get the doctor. I asked him to try again. Please look again. Please try once more to find my baby's heartbeat. We looked again, and there was nothing.

I don't really remember from there. We moved from office to office filling out paperwork for the D&C. I was there and people were talking to me, but I wasn't there.

On the way out of the clinic, we passed by the pregnant woman who had been sitting across from me in the waiting room. She was smiling and saying goodbye. I didn't mean to look at her, and I'm sure she wished she hadn't looked at me. I know that look. It's like seeing the people coming from the back of the vet's office holding just a leash, an empty collar, and a used Kleenex. I pull my own leash in and lean down to whisper in my own pup's ear as they go by.

She looked at me as I walked by clutching Guy's arm and ignoring the tears streaming down my face, and she took a step back. She took a step back into the safety of her own pregnancy and away from the, "Thank God that isn't me."

I would have done the same thing in her shoes. I would have done anything to be in her shoes.

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I lay strapped down in the OR like I was on a crucifix. Both arms extended, I was left to soak myself in the tears I couldn't reach to wipe away. My terrible vision left everyone looking exactly alike in their green scrubs and caps. They would flutter in front of me, introducing themselves, telling me what their role was. I just wanted someone to dry my face.

Guy walked down to the OR with me so that I could wear my glasses as long as possible. I hate not being able to see. As soon as he left me, the tears came and wouldn't stop.

I knew my baby was dead, but I didn't want them to take him. I didn't want to stop being pregnant with him.

The lights above me were big and looked like flowers through my nearsightedness. They were purple and green and I was trying to focus on them and ignore all else.

The anesthesiologist (I think) leaned over and said something about that I appeared to be healthy except for the smoking. I squinted at him and said, "What?". He was confused I guess and asked if I smoked. I said no and he said, "Then you are in good health." I replied in my best smart ass while practically drowning in my own tears, "Right. Good health except for the baby losing and all. Thanks."

It is probably wise not to smart off to the man in charge of putting you to sleep and waking you up, but I couldn't help being pissed because that same man couldn't seem to read my chart properly and messed up the focusing I was trying to do.

They put me out rather quickly after that, and the next thing I remember is a new voice asking me if I'm alright. The only thing I could say was, "Where is my husband?" Apparently I was pretty adamant about it, because they let him into recovery with me against the rules. I think though, that it was also very late at night.

Guy stood next to me and fed me ice chips. My throat was dry and hurt from the tube that was in it during the surgery. He rubbed my head and talked to me, but I don't remember what he said.

In the room, I slept. Guy slept on the chair that turns into a slab. Kim took care of me all night as though she were an angel. I don't know how nurses are as kind and open as she was and yet are able to work their way through so many different patients every shift. It has to be draining.

I woke up around 3:30 and needed to go home. The tears started again, and I couldn't stop them. After a successful trip to the bathroom, Guy helped me into my maternity clothes and we left. There were prescriptions to fill, and I had to buy pads. I haven't bought pads in years.

We stood in the aisle of Walgreens, staring at pads and wondering which ones to get until a stock girl rolled a cart of pregnancy tests behind us to restock the shelves. Tears again, grab any pads, and head home.

I have never in my life wished so badly for something to not have happened. If there is any possible way to go back and make this not happen, to have my baby back, just please, let it be. I've turned to the typing today. Trying to work this thing out. Trying to find the pain and then find a way for the pain to stop.

I am now open to suggestions because nothing I am doing is working.

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There is another reason for reprinting this. I think all of about 4 people read this blog when this happened. Suddenly though, someone found it, and commented. Shana, Jen, Sarah, you all know who you are. I realized that I wasn't alone. It changed the whole idea of blogging and community for me.

This year, as I have grieved for one life, created another one, and more, I have made new friends along the way. Friends that came together to be the ones that helped me celebrate Bird's pending arrival. Friends that put up with me as a roommate in Chicago. Friends that let me into their lives and who I'm glad I've let into mine. And I get to stay better connected with some IRL friends who are separated by too many miles.

A public blog is a strange thing. You know that there are people here that you would prefer there not be. You know that Google brings some creepiness your way (hello all you ginormous boob searchers). You know that the idea of online stalking is not just an idea (thank you, Sitemeter). But yet, the good far outweighs the bad.

You - my friends - are the good. Your comments and your friendship mean so much to me. So I hope you don't mind indulging me this day of remembering Cleatus the Fetus. The truth is, I'm doing just fine.

Like Guy said, "You will be sad forever at the loss of our baby. You just won't be sad every moment of forever."

And it's true. Today I'm going to allow myself a little sad. Tempered with packing a bag for the hospital.

It's all in the balance of things.