On Loss

It was two years yesterday since I miscarried our first baby.  Just because that sweet life was an unexpected surprise, it didn’t make the pain any less.  Below is what I wrote two months after our loss.  Looking back to those months is painful, I was in a dark place and I wasn’t sure if I would ever see happiness again.  But I’ve come through to the other side, and the crippling pain I felt then has slowly morphed into a dull ache, a hole where that baby should be.  To anyone going through that dark place following a miscarriage remember you aren’t alone.

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Until you have been there, you can’t imagine the depth of true loss. You can’t imagine what it is like to plead with your body to do what it is supposed to and keep your baby safe.  You can’t imagine the utter desperation felt once you know that you are, in fact, miscarrying your child.

Douglas and I found out we were going to be parents on August 26, 2014.   We were scared out of our minds, but excited to experience this new adventure.  From the moment the test turned blue our entire world changed.  We were no longer just two somewhat-newlywedded twentysomethings, but parents to an a precious, unborn child. We began planning, from nurseries to car seats to prenatal diets to child care.  I quit coffee, caffeine and junk food. I had the model prenatal diet, I knew that my choices were not only affecting me, but my child.  I struggled with exhaustion and other less pleasant symptoms of pregnancy and marveled at the fact that I was growing another human being.  We kept our glorious news a secret, waiting until our first doctor’s visit before we told our families.  We shared furtive glances and almost let the news slip multiple times, but we held on to our amazing secret.

Our excitement grew as my first prenatal visit, scheduled for September 11, crept closer. Finally, we were going to tell our families.  Finally, we could express our excitement and trepidation at this huge journey we were taking.  That joy turned to sorrow the morning of September 11.

Something wasn’t right, as evidenced by the spotting.  I spent the morning in bed, hoping to halt the bleeding.  We left for our doctor’s appointment and picked up lunch on the way.  That’s when it was no longer just a little spotting, but full-out bleeding. My heart broke at that point.  The amazing Nurse Practitioner at my then ObGyn tried to assuage my fears, and did an amazing job at that appointment.  She sent us on our way with a bit of hope and instructions for a routine blood test.

However, that night, the bleeding was paired with cramping. Around midnight we lost our first child. Prior to the miscarriage, I cried over the loss. I tried to will my body to keep its precious cargo safe. But my pleas were not to be realized. The physical pain was surpassed only by the emotional pain. I woke the next morning to what could only be described as utter defeat.  That weekend passed in a blur, we told our parents and siblings of our loss and tried to understand the loss we experienced. I cried in physical pain and emotional pain.  My body hurt as sobs wracked my body, there were moments when I couldn’t breath from the emotional toll of the loss or the intensity of my sobs.

The following week I began a new job and I was able to heal.  It hurt like heck and I am lucky to have made it through that first week without breaking down at work. The doctor confirmed the miscarriage on Monday. We spent the week trying to put ourselves back together.

Since that weekend, nearly two months later, I’m not whole.  I’ve learned to accept that a part of my heart will always reside in heaven.  Losing our child has increased my hope in heaven.  I know that one day I can hold my first child in my arms, they can show me around their home. Our child has met my Aunt Suzette and Doug’s grandparents.  Though it’s not a Baptist belief, I’ve prayed that our baby will tell his (or her) siblings about us. I’ve learned that my baby lived its purpose in nine short weeks.  For the seventeen days I knew I was carrying a life inside of me, I felt love like I have never known. I believe harder in the promises of the Lord.  I know I don’t know what purpose the Lord has for my baby, but I know there is one.  I may never know that purpose, and I’m okay with it.  I’ve realized that my loss was not a senseless one but part of a plan.

Like I said before, I’m not whole.  Photos of happy newborns are hard to escape and pregnancy photos are even worse. Social media tests my resolve every single day.  There have been numerous times I’ve simply had to close social media site because it hurt. Every photo of a round belly attached to a smiling mother-to-be makes me feel my loss even more. I feel empty. Every post of feeling the baby’s movement remind me I should be feeling my child move, I would know the sex and possibly have a name picked out. We would be painting a nursery and getting a birth plan together. Right now it seems like everyone is planning on a birth in the spring of 2015.  The estimated due date of our baby was April 14.  I can’t discuss Duchess Kate’s pregnancy style without being reminded I could have that adorable baby belly.

I’ve been through hell and back with this loss.  I’ve questioned why and cried myself to sleep.  I’ve learned to live without my whole heart and have known the peace that passes all understanding.  I’m thankful for the seventeen days I shared with my beloved first child.

When Motherhood is Heavy


When I found out I was pregnant I put on the burden of motherhood.  It was light then, I could go about my day without being weighed down by it.  As Livia grew, so did it, it became heavier, it made it harder for me to move around, both literally and figuratively.

After her birth it was suffocating.  The first weeks with a newborn are hard: little sleep occurs, diaper pails overflow and feedings stretch for hours.  And all of this on top of recovering from what is, at best, equivalent of running a marathon and at its worst major surgery.  I remember feeling trapped by early motherhood.  I remember crying in the shower one day during her first week mourning my pre-baby life.  I desperately loved Livia, but I wasn’t sure if I made a terrible mistake bringing a child into my life.  I cried when the sun went down because I was exhausted but knew I would get maybe an hour or two of sleep between feedings.  There was a heaviness in those early days I couldn’t shake. Continue reading “When Motherhood is Heavy”

An Open Letter to July 2015 Sara,


Dear Pregnant Sara,

Hey there!  I know that the days seem so long and December seems so far away.  But, I promise you the next twenty weeks will go by unimaginably fast.  I remember how scary those last few weeks before viability were – the nightmares, the constant worry when the baby wasn’t moving the same as they had been the day before – especially now that you’ve had the big anatomy ultrasound and everything looked perfectly healthy.  I know you are still questioning if being surprised by the baby’s gender was the right decision, and I want to let you know that is 100% the right decision.  There is nothing like hearing Douglas proclaim, “It’s a girl,” in the delivery room, oh, that’s right, the baby you are carrying in your womb is a spunky red-headed little girl, just like the one you’ve seen in your dreams.

Continue reading “An Open Letter to July 2015 Sara,”