In case you missed the news, we’re expecting a new family member in December! We’re SO excited, and also a little bit terrified of tackling two children at once, if I’m being honest. But we’re so happy and truly grateful for this sweet babe.
It’s easy to talk about the good things, isn’t it? Those are the things we like to post on social media. We like to tell our friends. We like to add them to our highlight reel, so to speak, and make sure we’re giving the impression that everything is just perfect.
The bad stuff? The things that sometimes make people uncomfortable to talk about it? Sweeping it under the rug is easier, isn’t it? And sometimes that’s the right thing to do. Sometimes it’s best not to put it all out there. No one likes the negative nancy on social media anyway.
I feel that if I’m going to share this joyful news, I have a responsibility to share the not so pretty that came before it, though. I can’t pretend it didn’t happen. It’s not fair to me. It’s not fair to other women who have been through the same thing or who are struggling with something similar right now. And it’s not fair to the child we lost.
I miscarried. Before we were blessed with the baby I’m now carrying, we lost our second child. I’ll be really honest with you. It. was. AWFUL. It still is awful if I let myself think about it too much. The tears well up in my eyes at this very moment as I type these words out.
I’ve known other people who have miscarried, but having now experienced it myself, I don’t think you can truly grasp the pain unless you go through it. I didn’t anyway.
I think what many people don’t understand is that this was a baby that we lost. It wasn’t the idea of a baby or an embryo or a fetus of whatever you want to call it to downplay the severity of it. It was our child. Our son or daughter. Beckett’s sibling. It was a person we loved deeply from the moment we read the words “Pregnant” on that test. We lost our second baby.
We don’t get to hold that baby in our arms, feel its soft skin and hear its first newborn cry. We aren’t able to hear that baby say “mama” or “dada” or feel the pride that only a parent feels when he or she takes their first step. We don’t get to experience that bittersweet moment when our little one boards the bus for their first day of school. These, among many other moments, are things we lost we when lost our baby.
Nothing or no one will ever replace that child. If we wouldn’t have lost that baby, then no, I wouldn’t be carrying the child I’m carrying right now. And so I guess that softens the blow a little bit. But “having another one” doesn’t make it ok. It doesn’t take the place of our baby. They are each their own individual people.
Anyone who has miscarried has their own story and their own struggle. Some sound more or less painful than others, and depending on the exact circumstances, they probably each carry their own amounts of suffering.
Regardless, every miscarriage is a loss. It leaves a gaping hole in your life. It leaves questions – a huge unknown blank space of what could have been. It leaves you with days of feeling numb; feeling like it will never be ok. It leaves you with unexpected moments of breaking down in tears. It leaves you asking yourself “why?”.
And the unsettling truth is that we may never know why. What I do know, though, is that that sweet baby is in a better place. She’s up in Heaven with her Maker, and she’s watching over us. She’s watching over me as I carry her sibling right now. She’s our angel. And yes, I thought it was a girl.
The only other thing I know for sure is that God’s plans are so much bigger and better than anything I could ever dream up here on this earth. He will use my suffering for His greater good, and so I trust that there’s a bigger purpose behind all of this. He truly does make all things beautiful in their time.