A Positive After Miscarriage

I bled the blood of three periods. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I bled so hard that I knew it was over. Our baby was gone.

Amelia Freeman

I used to equate pregnancy with becoming a mother. An innocent vision full of ultrasounds, burp cloths and diapers. A period of nine months that resulted in a baby.  An adventure, a new beginning that was ours after one simple test. Pregnancy to me meant pure and utter happiness.

I have been through this before. I have seen the double pink lines. I have bought the onesie. I have taken the announcement picture. I have shared the news with those we love. I have believed it would all be okay.

We celebrated without caution. There was no way anything bad would happen. How could it after all we had been through? That wouldn’t be fair. The universe wouldn’t do that to us.

So I let my mind and body engulf the changes. I trusted my gut that told me everything would be fine. I wrote our due date on calendars. I looked up our future baby’s astrological sign. I pictured him, named him, and loved him far too soon to know if “he” was even a he.

Then one day out of nowhere I bled.

I bled the blood of three periods. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I bled so hard that I knew it was over. Our baby was gone.

Nearly a year has passed and it still hurts as if it were yesterday. The cramping, the stained toilet bowl, the tears, the loss, the knowing there should be a little one in my arms never gets easier. A wound time cannot heal, a hole no space will fill.

So here I am, pregnant again with the help of IVF, a journey that requires a little more time and is a lot more complicated. I knew our efforts could result in this. I hoped and prayed it would result in this. So why did I feel like crying when I saw that positive test? I should be excited. To be jumping for joy like most women when they hear, see, write, text that one miraculous word  - pregnant.

Why can’t I parade around my pleasure with my loved ones who share in our elation? With the ones who were blessed with uncomplicated pregnancies and journeys to conception? Maybe because no sooner than the words left my lips, these people were leaping forward eight months ahead, giving advice and talking motherhood. Leaping forward to things I am worried I won’t ever get to experience. Things that came naturally for them, but for me, still seem impossible. Things that will be hard to believe until I’m holding him in my arms.

It made me wonder how we should feel when we become pregnant after miscarriage? Blindly excited? Confident? Carefree? It’s a nice thought but an unlikely reality for those of us who have experienced it. For me, that privilege of emotions was stripped away the first time I saw red. The time when we felt all those things before - as quickly as they came, they were taken. The time when we allowed ourselves to be happy. Top of a cloud, under a rainbow, happy.

So now, I sit here with worry on my face and eagerness in my heart questioning if happiness will appear this time around? I don’t have the answer but I wish I did. I can only hope that it will, maybe when the morning sickness sets in and the subtle reminders that he’s here inhibit my daily routine. Maybe when my belly grows and I can feel him kick, the sweet sweet movements of new life. Maybe when labor starts and he’s hours from being in my arms. Maybe not until I see his little face and kiss his tiny fingers, will the worries melt like butter for the mother I’ve become.

The only thing I know for sure is that whenever it is, whenever that beautiful moment arrives, I will be grateful. I will love with a gratitude so vast it could move mountains. I will be the mother, the wife, the woman he deserves me to be. I will look into his eyes and tell him he’s who we’ve been waiting for. I will never forget the child lost before, but with that memory comes an appreciation I could have never understood before.

You are who we have been waiting for, baby. You.

Happiness is the light at the end of a long, dark, windy tunnel. Happiness is nine months, labor and delivery. Happiness is a healthy baby in my arms.

Read Amelia’s poem Miscarriage here.

Check Out her website here.