When Making a Baby Goes Wrong

   Pregnancy is something that most girls grow up believing will come naturally, be exciting, and will result in a sweet little one that will give you a title that is considered to be "the most important" to a majority of people in our society.  The title of "Mother".  The tricky thing about all this is that, for many of us, it isn't at all what we imagined.  Most things aren't, but this dream so many of us have can become a nightmare for as many as 1 in 4.   Yep.  That's how many pregnancies result in miscarriage.  While the chances of later losses, stillbirths, and infant losses are lower,  they certainly happen more than I ever imagined.   Lots of people are as oblivious as I once was, and I believe that's because there is a strange stigma that surrounds miscarriage.  The unspoken assumptions are that if you talk about it, you must want pity or attention.  Or if you had a miscarriage or a stillbirth, you must have done something wrong.  Something must be wrong with you.  I've never met anyone who felt ashamed to talk openly about the loss of a parent or a spouse.  Nor would we ever even consider insinuating that the person grieving that loss is to blame.  So, why does society do this to a woman who is grieving the loss of her child?  Why must we act as though those lives weren't to be or didn't exist at all?  So as not to make someone else uncomfortable?  Why must we explain it away by presuming we know God's plan or by saying there was "something wrong with it"?   When will we start allowing people to feel the emotions they feel without shame?

    I can't speak about the experience of a mother with living children who has experienced the loss of a baby, though I can only imagine it is nothing short of life altering, as it is for those of us without living children.  However, I've found that because I have no living children, I'm spoken to as though that kind of maternal love is beyond my comprehension.  The truth is, from the day we open our hearts to the possibility of a child, pray for a child, do things we never thought we could or would do for the smallest chance of being a parent, we know that kind of love.   From the moment we see a positive pregnancy test, we know the fear of having everything to lose.  We know both the overwhelming joy and incredible worry that just about every parent has.  Our instinct to protect our baby kicks in.  The secret is that, for most of us, those things do not go away when our baby dies. We will live the rest of our lives thinking about our babies just like you do your living children.  We will love them and cherish every memory of them.  We will imagine who they would have been.  Can you imagine living in a world where you couldn't talk about your children?  I know few parents of living children who could make it through the day without a word about their child.  So, when someone brings up the baby they lost, please know that they don't want your pity, your help, or your opinion.  You don't have to bring it up, and if you don't know what to say, it's ok.  They don't expect you to fix it, and they know that if you haven't experienced yourself, you can't fully understand.  Often just acknowledging that grief and/or acknowledging their child is more than enough.  They just want to have a moment of "normalcy" where they can be open about loving a child whom they will never have the chance to hug or kiss or rock to sleep.  They just want to stop hiding the "mother heart" they gained the day they created a life.

    Finally, take it easy on those who have experienced such a loss when it comes to expecting them to watch your ultrasound video, go to baby showers, attend baby birthday parties, etc.  Each of us is different.  Some find comfort in these things, while for others it is an intensely painful reminder of what will never be.  Please do not take offense or assume that person is not happy for you or supportive of you.  If someone had lost their spouse, would you be surprised if they had trouble attending weddings?  I'll share this personal tidbit about my first miscarriage.  We'd wanted that baby a long time, and because it had taken us a long time to conceive but they hadn't identified a problem, the specialist  recommended earlier monitoring with both bloodwork and ultrasounds.  After seeing our baby three times and seeing what was said to be "a nice, strong heartbeat" two weeks in a row, we were released to a regular OB.  Two days after our last ultrasound with the specialist, by myself in a room with a stranger who performed the ultrasound that was supposed to give me the "OK" to go home for Christmas, I found out my baby had died.  After that experience, I could not go into a doctor's office without having a panic attack.  It was humiliating, but I couldn't help it.  When people would post ultrasound pictures on Facebook, I'd have to hide them.  I am lucky enough to have some friends who have been truly understanding of this.  That means the world to me and has allowed me to come a long way from the days of panic attacks in the doctor's office or hiding Facebook posts, though it still stirs up memories and emotions sometimes.  Maybe it always will, and that's ok.

    I hope even one person will read this and have a better understanding of how common this is, how much differently our society needs to treat this, and how much more compassion and patience we could show to one another.   My babies in heaven may very well be the only ones I'll ever have, so I can't pretend for the sake of others' comfort that they didn't exist.  You didn't know them, I had no pictures to post or cute stories to share, but before they were even conceived, I lived everyday in hopes of being their mother.  My experience is not unique, and I can guarantee someone close to you has had many of these same experiences and feelings.  So, please remember that being a mommy to  children in heaven comes with its own struggles, and let's not continue to allow shame and guilt and awkwardness to silence those who are trying to find their way through the complicated cycle of grief.