Thank you so much for all the kind comments, emails and supportive messages you sent after I shared the news of my recent miscarriage. I was very hesitant to post it. Down right scared to do it actually. There is a strange code of silence associated with miscarriage. Yet I have found once women know someone has had one they open up, in a way that is healing for them as well, no mater how long ago it was. The wonderful response of women sharing their own stories with me was just the virtual hugs I needed.
I feared sharing that post was too raw, and would leave me feeling too vulnerable and awkward around the real people I see and talk to. But the opposite happened. One friend (struggling with infertility) read the post and we met for coffee. We had a much-needed catch up session with each other. Another friend saw us having coffee (it’s a small town) whose wife reads this blog and he knew we were in a quiet place together. And he just smiled gently at us.
In my mind I had felt like people were getting a hunch I was pregnant. I was looking pregnant. (It doesn’t take much the forth time around.) I felt the belly stares. Whether it was all in my head or not, I needed to put that post out there for my own peace of mind. Even if no one noticed, I needed to put it out there and say I am sad and just let me be.
Today is the first day of spring, marking nearly three weeks since this I turned down this road. There are still so many hard days. It’s not just going to take time to get over the hurt. It will always be there with me. Like so many other things we experience that define us in life.
After a long talk with a birth center friend last week, I woke up Friday morning knowing I needed to tell the girls about the pregnancy and the loss. I needed them to feel like they are on this journey with me – because they are SUCH a huge part of me. We are a bunch of girls here, mind you.
They didn’t know I was pregnant. I was waiting until March 1, the day I was officially 12 weeks, to tell people. I never did that with my other three pregnancies. But this time I felt a strange need to play it “safe,” guarding the news. Deep within my mother’s intuition, I knew something was different this time.
I needed to tell the girls more for me, in my healing journey, than for them. I wanted them to know mom had been sad because there was a baby in my belly, and I was really excited about telling them they would have another sibling. But I didn’t get my chance to do that.
In December my middle girl had been asking Santa Claus for a baby brother for Christmas. I wanted to remind her that’s not where babies come from, and that I really did want to give her a baby brother. I wanted to tell my oldest girl I was worried about telling her there would be another sibling, because my mommy guilt tells me I don’t get enough time with her as it is. I wanted my youngest girl to know I really wanted to see her wear the same “I’m a big sister shirt” that her older sisters got to wear.
I told them each separately. When the moment was right and we had some one-on-one time. They all had responses that were appropriate to their ages, showing their resilience as kids, in their own quirky sincere ways.
“Mom I really wish you still had that baby in your belly,” said my middle girl after I told her. And in her next breath she asked, “Why do you have two pockets on your robe?”
I had a little insight as to how this would go the day before as I tried to gather some clues about where the girls were mentally. I was curious if they found it odd that Dad was packing lunches, mommy was sleeping later than usual, there were frozen pizzas for dinner and too many afternoons watching TV.
I had been absent to them and I needed to know if it was affecting them.
During this time, my three-year-old fired this set of questions at me, based on her own intuition: “Mom what did you have to get fixed in your belly? Why did you have to go to the doctor? Did they have to cut you? How did they get it out? What was in your belly? Was it a baby doll?”
I had never told her I was pregnant. She just knew something was up! I was floored, unable to respond. Frozen by emotion.
And then she gave a big goofy laugh and asked, “Was it bubble gum? Was bubble gum stuck in your belly?” And I knew, this was where she was at mentally. I didn’t have to expect her to understand much. And she was JUST FINE eating too much pizza, watching too much TV and having Dad pack strange cheese in her lunch.
The next day I hugged my three-year-old and told her I really wanted her to be a big sister.
“Did you want to be a big sister?” I asked her. Her answer in a big you-silly mommy voice was: “NO I don’t want to be a big sister. I want to be a baby again!” And that was all I needed to tell her. I was relieved by that sweet little three-year-old conversation.
The conversation was more mature with my oldest girl. My hunch that she knew I was pregnant in the first place was validated. And she was relieved to know that her hunch was true. She was also very open and asked freely if the baby “died.” I was trying to use words that strayed away from that definition of what happened. But I realized it’s us that are hesitant to have these tough discussions. Not them.
I’m keeping most of that conversation and what followed between her and I. But I will share: When I was most concerned about her noticing things had been of sync at home, I snuggled up with her and sincerely asked if there was anything she wanted to talk about. I braced myself for what might follow.
“Yes,” she said relieved that I asked the question. “Are you going to do the Easter Bunny in Norway?”
We are going to be in Norway on Easter and that was the biggest thing that had been on her mind. So yes, she too was just fine eating pizza for dinner in front of the TV for the third time last week.
That was the reality check that I needed. My kids are just fine. And talking to them about it made me feel MUCH better.
These little seeds and baits of conversations that I needed to start, and throw out to there to see what would happen, put things into a healthy perspective for me.
I’m still taking long walks, taking time to feel and think about what all it means to me. Protecting my thoughts every step of the way. Yet when I bump into a friend who knows, who offers time to talk and an understanding hug, I’m glad I shared here. I feel like women want to talk about this. I feel like they need to talk about this – yet it’s such a silent issue.
There are so many hard hurdles and difficult conversations to have. Monday I went back to my yoga class for the first time since the miscarriage. I knew it would be hard. I knew it would be emotional. Yoga can have that affect. I knew that. But I have never felt it like I did on Monday. I cried the whole entire class, on my mat, with a mound of tissues next to me. I needed to do that. It felt good after I did it. And I was thankful for the friendship I have with the teacher, who brewed me a cup of tea after class and told me to sit on the sofa, and stay for a while. It was raining outside. It was quiet. It was perfect. I needed that.
In a few days we’ll leave for Norway. Which I feel like needs a bit of explaining. The trip was planned when I was in my OMG we are going to have FOUR kids shock and surprise state of mind.
Before we had kids, or were even married, my husband and I traveled a lot. We spent two summers in Europe together through school programs (he has a masters in International Affairs) living with host families in France and Belgium. We hopped trains to Budapest, stayed in mountain hostels in Switzerland only accessible by gondolas, created our own pup crawls in Ireland and picnicked in Prague.
We said we would never be those people who didn’t travel with our kids. And of course, we became those people who never traveled with our kids.
In 2010 we got them all passports and vowed to change that. But we never did. Realizing we couldn’t put it off any longer, we decided to seize the opportunity to visit our friends living in Oslo, Norway, bought five plane tickets, new snow boots and will soon be on our way.
In a strange bittersweet way, the timing seems right. Because I feel like I am in a foreign place right now, figuring out what comes next and how to I jump back into the normal world. And for a few more weeks I get to physically be in a foreign place, avoid the normal world, and be with my family for 12 straight days while visiting some wonderful friends with some really great kids.
Our contractors (who we would trust with our own kids) will be residing in our house, finishing up jobs that we left off during last year’s renovations. Like refinishing hardwood floors, putting flooring down in attic storage spaces, and giving our bedroom a makeover after sharing it with babies and toddlers for the last eight years.
These fresh starts will be a good thing. Hard things. But the right things.
