And it hurts with every heartbeat.

Today marks 3 weeks since the real miscarriage. Last post was just the preliminary round. I'll start by saying we're fine now; we're okay. Emotionally, I'd say we're back to stable. Physically I'm still dealing, but it's nothing I can't handle.

As I said at the beginning of these preg posts, we didn't want to tell anybody--not even our families--until the news was definite. We'd planned to wait until 12 weeks on the dot before we let the cat out of the bag.

But we happened to have a trip to Wisconsin for a wedding at 10 weeks. It seemed silly not to tell the family, since we'd be there, with them, in person. And since we could feel the joy and the hugs and so much love, in person.

So, right before our trip, at 9 weeks, we went to the doc, got checked out, got the OK that all was well, and off we went to spill the beans in Wisconsin.

There was joy. There were hugs. There was so much love. It was a very happy weekend, filled with excited gabbing about futurebaby. Everyone we told was thrilled, and it finally felt real. Now that everybody knew.

Two weeks later we went to the doc for the big one. The big 12-week checkup. We'd planned to publicly announce the pregnancy (meaning, like, on Facebook) later that day, once we were assured that we, and Poppy, were out of the woods.

But Poppy would never get out of the woods.

Poppy's size was no bigger that it had been on our last visit 3 weeks prior. And the heart that had beat so strongly then had stopped.

So Thayer and I went home together. We cried and hugged and held my belly together. We said goodbye together. I took the miscarriage pills and we sat on the couch all day together. And the next day we did the same.

The guilt was heavy for taking the miscarriage pills. It's not anymore, and it was the best thing to do, for me. But at the time, I wondered: If Poppy had died 3 weeks before and was still just fine staying put, why should I be the one to kick it out? Why shouldn't I be fine with letting it stay? For as long as it needed to.

But ultimately, I am a modern woman, and maybe that means I'm selfish. So I cried some more and apologized for maybe being a horrible person because I wouldn't let it stay until it was ready to leave.

And pretty soon, it left.

And we had to do what we intended not to do. We had to tell everyone.

But as it turned out, it was better that way. So much better. So much better than if we'd never told our families. Because since they knew, now they could be there for us. And they were.

We got sweet daily calls, emails, and texts. Offers from moms to come visit. Edible fruit bouquets and beautiful flower arrangements.

Thanks, mom and dad.

The rally around us made us feel warm, loved, cared for, and just so lucky. We wouldn't have felt all that had we kept it from our families.

So now, we move on. Recover and work and do stuff and have good times. You know, live. It will be a bit before we try again, per doctor's orders, and per the orders of our hearts, which are rather overtaxed just now.

It will happen, though. Someday, and soon. In the meantime, on we go.

Naturally, Robyn's got the words.