Recently, a close friend of mine shared her wonderful news—she’s expecting her first child. Although she is still in the early stages of pregnancy, she was too excited to keep it to herself. As she recounted the details of how she discovered her pregnancy, described her morning sickness, shared her unusual cravings, and recounted the experience of her first ultrasound, I felt a mix of emotions.
For the first time in quite a while, I didn’t feel the familiar pang of sadness associated with my own pregnancy losses. I didn’t rush home to cry over my own experiences. Instead, a realization washed over me: I will never again feel the unfiltered joy she embodies during her pregnancy.
I yearn to regain that sense of pregnancy innocence.
Reflecting on My First Pregnancy
My first pregnancy, when I welcomed my son, was a blissful experience. We conceived on our first attempt, and I cherished every moment of being pregnant. Despite the discomfort and fatigue, I reveled in showcasing my baby bump. I felt empowered and proud, eager to share my news with everyone. I announced my pregnancy to friends at just eight weeks, frequently posted updates on social media, and constantly checked the What to Expect app, eagerly awaiting the weekly fruit comparison updates. My main concern then was simply choosing a color for the nursery.
But I realize now that I’ll never have that experience again. It’s another loss I must come to terms with.
Shifting Perspectives
Now, as I scroll through social media, I see announcements of pregnancies shared as soon as friends reach their second trimester—even before their 20-week anatomy scan. I witness children proudly wearing “Big Brother” or “Big Sister” shirts while holding ultrasound pictures, grinning from ear to ear. What will these families say to their children if they face loss? I’ve seen moms bring their kids to ultrasound appointments, and I can’t help but wonder what they’ll do if the visit ends in heartbreak.
My perspective has shifted. After experiencing a miscarriage at 10 weeks and making the difficult choice to terminate a pregnancy at 18 weeks due to a fatal diagnosis, I now understand that there is no guaranteed safety in pregnancy.
My therapist has reassured me that fear will always accompany future pregnancies, and I will have to learn to coexist with that fear if we choose to try again. While I appreciate the sentiment, it feels profoundly unfair to have this as my new reality.
Longing for Joy
I long to feel that rush of joy again. I want to light up with excitement. I want my innocence back.
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Conclusion
In summary, the experience of miscarriage has profoundly altered my outlook on pregnancy. While I once embraced the joy and anticipation of expecting a child, I now find myself grappling with fear and loss. Yet, I continue to hope for a future where I might reclaim that sense of innocence and excitement.