Yourenot supposed to tell peopleright away, but we did.
We looked up our childs birth sign (an Aries/Taurus cusp, a force to be reckoned with).
We downloaded all of the apps that compare the size of our baby to fruits.
Philippe Roy/Getty Images
During work meetings, I snuck rubs of my belly, feeling the blueberry growing inside of me.
That is what I’m thinking about while sitting in the obstetrician’s office at my nine-and-a-half-week appointment.
The room is dark with a glowing blue light coming from the ultrasound monitor.
Courtesy of Rachel Christensen
In one breath, Dan and I are watching our little cherry on the screen, oohing and ahhing.
In this moment, I know something is off.
I can feel it.
I can see myself in Dans arms, screaming.
That part isnt going away, I assure us.
I knew I came from strong women.
I just never thought Id actually have to put that particular part of my DNA to practical use.
I knew the moment I became pregnant, too.
It was our first time trying, but I swear I felt it.
It was unmistakable, even if not entirely backed up by science.
Then, at the nine-and-a-half-week appointment to see the baby’s heartbeat, there is none detected.
My reproductive organs will need time to heal before they give the signal to release another egg.
I just need to have this mass sucked out of my body first.
And not in a metaphorical, dreamy sense.
An actual, physical being.
My doctor is still talking.
And when I do get my period, I cry hysterically on the subway as I commute to work.
Another two weeks later, its October 29, four days before my next high-fertility day.
Its also the Saturday before Halloween.
Dan and I are out to dinner with friendsand were the only two people in the restaurant wearing costumes.
Dan is David S. Pumpkins fromSaturday Night Livebecause this is 2016, after all.
Six weeks earlier, I was on Etsy looking at pregnancy Halloween costumes.
There was a skeleton dress just like this one, but with a little baby skeleton inside of it.
You could even get one with a bow if you were having a girl.
We leave dinner early and go home.
Finally, its November 2.
We can loop back and try.
Chicago and Cleveland are playing game seven in a historic World Series.
At least during this two-week wait, I have the election to distract me.
FiveThirtyEighthas Hillary Clintons odds of winning at 71 percent.
Ive lived it already.The Huffington Posthas Clinton at 98 percent.
But there I am that evening, watching the unlikely thing happen.
Watching and happen are understatements, actually.
Its more that Im standing there, submerging back into my living nightmare.
Except nothing is following the script.
Im in a crowded room thats silent save the sound of CNN on the TV.
Someone starts asking loud questions.
I dont get it, why are they already calling California?
The polls are still open there, arent they?
When the doctor confirmed I was having a miscarriage, she didnt say, Youre having a miscarriage.
Instead, she explained that what was happening in my body was consistent with having a miscarriage.
No other details given, and I didnt ask for any elaboration.
She knew what the words on the ultrasound screen meant, even though I didn’t.
New York City feels like Purgatory.
The subways are silent.
I watch complete strangers cry and know the exact reason.
There is no going backbut also, going forward isnt quite what it should be, either.
The worst is yet to come.
And it will come, but for now, everyone is in the waiting area.
Its not a new place for me, but its the first time Ive noticed other people here.
When did everything become so fragile?
The loss of something that you only held briefly brings with it a certain kind of grief.
There was a room in your house that you never knew existed.
You started to decorate it.
You were looking at paint samples when Bad News hit.
And suddenly, youre locked out.
You research every long-shot technicality that could possibly reverse it.
What if the ultrasound machine wasnt working and the baby was fine?
What if Jill Steins recount swings Michigan?
A few weeks later, Dan and I fly to Seattle for Christmas to visit his family.
The first morning were there, I get my period.
My mother died March 2001.
The world was over for them.
She begins to cry.
Mine had been over for 6 months.
On the last day of 2016, its another high-fertility day.
Two and a half weeks later, its Trumps inauguration.
Theres a TV on at my office and a crowd watching.
Its a dreary afternoon in D.C. while Three Doors Down plays to Trumps family.
Maybe someone will run in and stop the proceedings, finally proving Clinton won after all.
Maybe Trump will have a heart attack as hes sworn in.
Maybe an asteroid will hit the Earth.
I turn away from the TV, put on headphones, and get back to work.
Eight months later, I give birth to my daughter.
I didnt want fear to hold themusback.
Dan told me that worrying about future us wasnt something I had to spend my energy on.
So we kept trying.
Rachel Christensenlives in Brooklyn with her daughter and husband.
Her work has appeared in BuzzFeed, Real Simple magazine, and New York magazine.
