Then Came a Baby who Would Never Use a Carriage

I said in my last post that I wouldn't be announcing that I'm pregnant, and I'm not. But I guess that's only part of the story because I was. I've debated for a while as to whether or not I should share this story, but it might be the most significant thing that's ever happened to either of us and I don't want our baby to be a secret.

We never hid the fact that we would start trying to get pregnant as soon as we got hitched. Um, we're old by the fertility world's standards, right? We knew that we wanted a family and we also knew that we needed to jump right in cause the clock is ticking. 

On a run of the mill Wednesday morning in early September it happened--I took a test and saw the second pink line. It was pretty faint and M wasn't so sure that he saw it, so I tested with a digital and that beautiful word popped right up: Pregnant. I screamed and he ran back into the room and I jumped up and down and we laughed and cried all at the same time. 

Then we went to spin class. (Cause we're uber romantic like that).

We fell in love that day with the little life inside me that we called Beanie. Over the next weeks we talked to "him" and told him stories about how excited we were to meet him and all the plans we had for playing and learning and all the things we wanted to do together as a family. I had no idea how quickly and completely you could love someone you've never met and was no larger than a raspberry. I started having symptoms and looking at maternity clothes. We talked about names and what we might want to do for a nursery. They were the happiest weeks of my life.

Then the symptoms went away. If you know me in real life, you know that I'm a realist (and maybe a little neurotic?). I spend way too much time on the internet and I don't do much that I haven't already researched. Unlike a lot of first time moms, I wasn't really that naive. I knew the stats on miscarriage and have a painfully long list of friends who have experienced loss. When the symptoms subsided I knew something was wrong.

Two days shy of 9 weeks we had our first appointment including an ultrasound where we desperately hoped that my instincts were wrong and that we'd see a heartbeat. We didn't. We saw a beautiful little baby on that screen who looked perfect. But he measured a week behind and was no longer alive.

There are no words to describe that moment. I was initially in disbelief and made them bring in another doctor to take a second look. The outcome was the same. In an instant I was both numb and experiencing the most intense pain I could imagine. There is no question that it was the worst day of our lives, and it was one drawn out nightmare until I actually miscarried a week later at 10 weeks.

It's been almost 3 months now since we said goodbye to Beanie. And yet, I know that in many ways I haven't been able to say goodbye. I've learned a lot in these painful weeks. I've learned that I had no idea what it was like when my friends were experiencing their losses. I've learned that I said all the wrong things to them when I was trying to say the right things. I learned that unless you've been through it, you can't understand this pain (and I'm so glad that most people in my life have never had to experience this).

But I also learned that I have an amazing support system. The few people who knew we were pregnant jumped in and just loved on us. The people that I opened up to and told about the loss jumped in and loved us, too. I learned that I married the absolute perfect man for me. He has been amazing and we are so much closer and stronger as a result. I also found an amazing group of women through an online support group and in our shared experience they have helped buoy me along on some of the darkest days.

Pregnancy loss is, unfortunately, still a very taboo topic in our society. I think most couples don't share because so many people don't understand, and therefore don't legitimize, an early loss. It is a silent grief that affects 1 out of 4 pregnancies and there are, undoubtedly, men and women all around you going through the motions of work and life and play keeping their pain inside. Maybe we're afraid of what people will say (as I mentioned before, many people with the best of intentions still say things that sting). It's a loss that you don't just "get over."

So I write this post for them. For me. For the many who will experience loss in the future. And I most of all, I write it for Beanie. 

We love you, sweet angel baby and can't wait to meet you in heaven some day. You will always be our first baby, and while we hope we'll have another chance at a successful pregnancy, it will never replace you or mean that we wouldn't give anything to have you back.