If I am being honest, I have been writing this post for six months. At 38 weeks pregnant, time is of the essence, so I decided it was finally time to write it down. When I started this blog four years ago (this week), my naïve, wide-eyed 25 year-old self would have never anticipated sharing a post like this one. My 29 year-old self sees things a bit differently.
As I waddle around doing last-minute errands, I cannot count the number of times I hear the question: "is this your first?" I kindly look at them, say yes, and get on with my life. Someone in the line at Chick-Fil-A doesn't need to know the full story. When
we announced our pregnancy at the end of May, I dedicated a single paragraph to something which has laid heavy on my heart since last October. This isn't our "first" baby. The baby we lost the day the Red Sox won the World Series?
That was our first baby. Responding to the question "is this your first?" with a yes feels like I'm denying that child ever existed. In reality, we simply had less time with that little one than we have had with this one.
I scoured the internet in efforts to make myself feel better after my miscarriage. I wanted to read the stories of other women who had gone through a similar loss. As a result, it took me even longer to drag myself back out into the real world. I even poured my heart into a blog post that I never published. For a long time, I faulted myself for being too scared to share myself with all of you. I realized recently that I wasn't too timid to share it; there are simply lines which I'm not willing to cross with my personal life. My goal with this post is to give you a window into that time -- without unleashing the fear and worry I felt on someone else.
From my own grief, I recognized a few particular triggers. When I saw a pregnant woman, it stung. Follow-up visits to my OB were particularly difficult because baby bumps were everywhere. Pregnancy announcements suddenly took on a new meaning. The few baby things I had around our apartment quickly found hidden homes. It didn't get any easier once we had the clearance to "try again". Getting pregnant after a loss is a tricky thing. There is an enormous part of you that wants to move on and another part which begs you to hold onto the time you had. I knew acutely how it felt to be in the throes of loss. I worried that sharing our happy news would induce tears for someone else. It wasn't until 20 weeks (around the time of
this photo) that I made a conscious decision to enjoy the journey. I decided this baby deserved to be celebrated and cherished, just as much as I held onto our "first."
When I found out I was pregnant this spring, we moved forward with trepidation but also
hope. As with any pregnancy, there was a risk of loss. {cv} and I made the conscious effort to live in the peace that we could handle anything together. No matter how many books you read, there is nothing that truly prepares you for parenthood. When you become a parent prematurely (either with loss or an early delivery), you face that reality sooner than anticipated. For {cv} and me, our loss simply makes us that much more grateful for our second chance at parenthood. As delivery edges closer and closer, an overwhelming sense of joy has replaced my fear. I cannot wait to see {cv} become a father and see the way our genes wove together to make this special little one.
Thank you for giving me a place where I can share this post and thank you for your support on this pregnancy journey. Most importantly, thank you for reading. xoxo {av}
P.S. I cannot begin to fathom the pain of a loss later in pregnancy, but I know that the pain behind this question would still ring true. I am sharing this post today because I believe every woman deserves the right to privacy. Asking a random woman in Target if it is her first child doesn't change your day, but it could change hers. If you know this pain, share this post and help others avoid it too.
