Sorry for not having any cute photos of Valentine today; I’m afraid I have some bad news.
Unless there is somehow a miracle at my final ultrasound tomorrow, I am having a miscarriage and we have lost the baby. We received the bad news at last week’s ultrasound and things began to get worse from there.
For the most part, those I’ve told have been understanding and kind. But oftentimes, no one quite knows what to say to someone who is grieving a loved one, even more so when that loved one was not even born yet. It led to some very painful remarks and questions in which I know the other person wasn’t trying to be insensitive, but at the same time I had to keep reminding myself of that very fact because on the surface the comments seemed almost cruel.
Some are confused as to why I’m even grieving; after all, it wasn’t a baby, right? (It was to me). Others have told me, “At least you have Valentine,” and that they are only trying to think positively.
There are a couple things wrong with that. First off, I know I have Valentine. I’m extremely grateful for her, despite what it might seem from all the humiliating costumes I shove her in. Val was conceived three months after a prior loss, and after five years of infertility issues. But mourning the loss of my baby doesn’t diminish my love for Val, nor does having Val around diminish the loss of my baby. In a way, having already experienced giving birth and that first, raw moment where your newborn is handed to you, making eye contact for the very first time, well, it makes it even more apparent what I’m going to be missing. I won’t be holding this baby. I won’t be looking into his eyes, watching as his involuntary newborn ninja faces progress to gummy smiles, and eventually giggles. I won’t watch him sit up for the first time, discover his toes. I don’t even know for sure that he was a boy; it was far too early to tell. I’m just going by my dreams and mommy’s intuition, since that’s all I have.
”There will be others. You can try again.” I know there will be, and we’re planning to. But that also doesn’t acknowledge the fact that this baby will always be missing. Someone said, “So what are you going to do now?” A couple people online asked why it happened, and one added that they wanted to know so that they could make sure to avoid it happening to them. I had to bite my tongue, hard, both at the mistaken belief that miscarriages are something directly caused by the mother, and the unspoken implication that I had done something to my baby.
Why am I telling you all this, especially since this is normally a blog for nerdy baby pictures? Well, for one, to get it off my chest. It is a blog, after all, and I suppose I might as well use it as such once in awhile. Two, because October 15 is Stillbirth and Infant Loss Awareness Day. A lot of women suffer in silence because other people are afraid to mention that their babies existed. We’re afraid of being met with comments like “Just have another one” and “get over it”, and “it wasn’t even a real baby anyway”. We’re sad because we may be being avoided by our pregnant friends and those who just gave birth, many of whom don’t want to impede on our grief or make it worse, but in truth, the avoidance is what hurts. But that’s the thing. Many of us want to share your joy, even if it’s painful for us on some level. And we want to have it acknowledged that our babies did exist, if only for a too short period of time. So please, if you know someone, anyone, who may have lost a baby, either before or after birth, please just let them know you care. You don’t have to say you’re sorry. “I’m thinking about you,” will work just fine.
Ryan and I agreed a long time ago to choose androgynous online nicknames for our kids so that we could protect their privacy. That’s why our daughter goes by Valentine and not her actual extremely girly and unusual real name. This new baby, we joked, would have been ‘Kamelion’, because how much more androgynous can you get than a shape-changing android? Once the baby arrived, Kamelion would have been shortened to either Milo or Mila Rose, even though his/her real name would have been different. In light of the circumstances, we decided to name him Milo proper. It means “soldier”.
If you’ve read through this far, thanks for sticking with me. I promise more derpy Val pics in the future, but for now, I need to have this time to say goodbye.
