Driving to our 12 week ultrasound I was zoned out, focusing only on the road ahead of me. We drove in silence for 45 minutes. Both of us afraid to jinx it. I prepared myself for another loss. I had convinced myself that if there was nothing on the screen, I’d be ok. I was expecting it this time. We told no one except close family that we were pregnant again.
After suffering two miscarriages in the previous year, I was no stranger to the feelings of loss. We lost one right around the 6 week mark and another at 10 weeks. I had two healthy babies before so I was angry at my body for not being able to do what it was supposed to do.
I found that I didn’t like talking about it and rather internalized my grief. I pretended it didn’t bother me and that it was just ‘meant to be’. It wasn’t until multiple friends (more than I ever knew) admitted that they also had miscarriages. So why did I feel so alone?
When I thought I was pregnant again, I hesitantly peed on that stick and when the second line appeared, I wasn’t sure if I should feel happy or anxious.
At 12 weeks, I still couldn’t hear a heartbeat on a doppler and you can’t feel the baby move so I had no idea if there was even a baby in there. Every time I went to the bathroom, I feared there would be blood.
But, there he was…happy as could be dancing on the big screen in front of me. I sobbed. I’ll admit, seeing a healthy baby on the ultrasound provided a big sense of relief but it didn’t seem to cure all my worries.
Each appointment, I mentally prepared myself to hear “I’m sorry, there’s no heartbeat”. Of course, I let out a sigh of relief after he was deemed perfectly healthy week after week.
Miscarriage stole my joy. There weren’t as many blissful pregnant updates with this baby. Not nearly as many belly shots. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to celebrate him, but rather I was worried that the loss would hurt even more if I fell TOO much in love with our baby. I spent too much time researching everything that could go wrong. I didn’t even want to wash his clothes or set up his crib at first ‘just in case’. I think in many ways I was disconnected.
Maverick was born at 41 weeks in a precipitous late night labor and I think I was in shock for the first few moments until I realized he was finally here. I think my face in this photo above really encompasses that feeling.
Maverick is now 4 months old and he’s the smiliest, squishiest, and joyful baby we’ve had yet. He truly is our rainbow after the storm.
