Pregnancy after Loss

Pregnancy after loss.  It’s the one thing I truly want, but am truly terrified of getting. Before I got pregnant I would lay awake at night hoping, praying, and wondering when and if I’d ever get my little miracle.  When I found out I was pregnant I laid awake at night hoping and praying that it won’t end in another loss, and also wondering how I will cope if it does.

The pregnancy test was only the tiny word "pregnant" on a stick, but it was enough to induce the strangest fixture of fear and excitement I have ever experienced.  Will I get to bring this baby home?  Please God, let this baby come home with us. 

I feel like going out in public is comparable to a mine field some days.   Will I see someone who asks Thomas “if he’s excited to be a big brother, when he knows he already is?”  Will I see someone who tells me “not to worry, it won’t happen again?” Or maybe, just maybe, I’ll bump into someone who gives me a hug and acknowledges that it’s both a wonderful and scary time.  I never know what to expect, and sometimes the unknown is hard. 

Ultrasounds are a blessing and a curse.  It’s not enough to feel our girl kick all the time.  I need to see the heartbeat before my own pounding heart will slow down.  During my 20 week ultrasound I felt bad asking, but before she even started I asked if she would show me the heartbeat first.  That’s all I cared about.  None of the other measurements would matter if there was no heartbeat.  Also, instead of enjoying seeing Marlowe on the screen, I found that I spent most of my time praying that each measurement is what it was supposed to be, and there were no red flags that something could be wrong. 

Feeling Marlowe move around brings a sense of peace.  But some days she moves so much that it’s slightly annoying, mainly between the hours of midnight and 3 am.  Sometimes it’s painful.  But I dare not admit that to anyone other than Tom, because I know how blessed I am to even be feeling these kicks again.  The same is true for general pregnancy aches and pains.  The pain that I feel as my muscles and ligaments stretch is legitimate, yet I know I need to be grateful for the pain.  It means I have gotten further in pregnancy than some women do.  The bigger the baby, the better chance they have of surviving, right? 

The knowledge that this pregnancy is a gift, a wonderful miracle, is always with me.  But at the same time, I’m tired of being pregnant.  It takes most people nine months of pregnancy to bring home a baby.  By the time Marlowe gets here I’ll have been pregnant for sixteen months before I got to bring mine home.  Pregnancy isn’t a walk in the park, it’s tough on the body, and I don’t have the baby to show for last time’s effort and strain.  My body is weary, and my mind is hesitant to accept that all will be okay this time.  The simple act of typing that out brings huge waves of guilt.  Don’t I know how lucky I am?  How many women would give anything to be in the position I’m in? 

I have so many unanswered questions.  How can people tell me that everything will be okay this time?  They don’t know that.  Why did losing Isaac have to happen to us?  Why do people expect this pregnancy and baby to “fix” me?  Why do people ask if my doctor is watching me closer this time?  There was zero indication that losing Isaac was an option.  They wouldn’t even have known to look for it. 

And finally, why is it so hard to admit all of this?  Why does it feel like admitting all of this somehow means I am not trusting God with this pregnancy?  That I’m not grateful for this little girl?  Because I do trust Him, and I am forever grateful for this baby girl.

Pregnancy after loss is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.  And holding all of these thoughts in isn’t good for me or Marlowe, so as guilty as I feel typing them out, it needs to be done.  I want this baby girl here safely more than anything else in the world right now.  So I’ll continue to lie awake most nights hoping and praying that we won’t lose her as well, and our rainbow baby girl will get to come home with us.