This isn’t a pregnancy announcement.
It’s infant loss awareness month.
I’m writing this from the waiting room of the hospital.
Two days ago, on our fourth wedding anniversary, I was 11 weeks and two days pregnant. I had spent the week preparing little video clips to work into our announcement. Chloe and Mia, my little princesses, preparing excitedly for the arrival of our new addition.
We were so close to the safe zone, I was constantly sick, I had every reason to believe we were OK. I’m sharing our announcement incomplete, as it was when the baby’s heart stopped beating. I’m sharing this because right now, I don’t know what else to do. This baby’s life had to mean something.
I don’t know what to say in quiet conversation, because I don’t know how to fix things, so all I want to do is cry.
So I’m writing.
I feel like the difference between Chloe’s words in this video and right now is everything I didn’t understand before about loss. That feeling, the moment the baby is no longer a baby, but “the retained product of conception”.
When the doctor tells you that the risk of PTSD is huge, but you want so desperately to be OK, so you spend seven hours in the waiting room staring at a TV and refusing to talk to anyone about how sad you are.