Mother to Quail (July 2011),
Bluebird (March 2012),
Owlet (November 2012)
San Luis Obispo, CA
It was a bright spring morning. The sky was blue, the air was warm. My partner and I sat on our front porch. I read our horoscopes. That’s when it happened. He looked at me and said, “I want to have a baby with you.” And so our journey began…
I was pregnant. At eight weeks I went to my first prenatal appointment. The midwife checked for a heartbeat, found nothing, and explained that baby was still too small. My next appointment was four grueling weeks away. The days crept by. We shared our news with close family. I watched my body slowly change. I was a mother!
Then, around eleven weeks, that first spot of brown showed on the t.p. Frantic, I called my midwife. She asked a few questions and decided it was probably just normal. The next day there was more. The next day it was bright red. My heart stopped. I sobbed as I sat on the toilet, unable to get the words out or stand up. I just knew our baby was gone.
Still we suffered through an eerily quiet ultrasound. The tech was cold. She shielded the screen and revealed nothing. We stopped at the store to pick up pads on the way home because I already knew our fate. My phone rang. On the other end was my midwife, “There’s no heartbeat.” She proceeded to tell me what was to come, but I couldn’t hear her anymore. My entire world was crashing down as I stood in the aisle of feminine hygiene products.
Denial, anger, sadness- our precious baby was still in my body, but no longer living. It was all a dream. It was a nightmare. How could it be? I was twenty-two years old and healthy. That’s when I learned that miscarriage was normal. It happens. It was happening to me. I miscarried naturally at home at twelve weeks. We buried our first baby on top of the mountain where we fell in love.
Months went by. We grieved. Everyone around me seemed to be pregnant. I hated going into town. I hated pregnant women. I couldn’t even look at them. I was broken. My body failed me. All I thought about was being a mother. Terrified, we tried again.
That cycle I got pregnant. Hope! The odds were in my favor. No way would I lose another baby. Who was I kidding? I was nervous. Every day I had my doubts. I was scared to love my baby. I was scared my heart would be ripped from my chest again. At my eleven week appointment, the OB brought in his hokey ultrasound machine. I held my breath waiting to hear that steady gallop. It never came. There was no heartbeat.
Yet again I suffered through an ultrasound. I got to see my lifeless baby inside my womb. She only measured eight weeks. She had stopped growing when my morning sickness came to a halt. I had been in denial. I didn’t want to know. I wanted to hold on. Inevitably, my tiny baby left my body after sixteen hours of contractions.
Months went by. We grieved. I blamed myself. It was my fault for not loving that baby enough. It was my fault for my body failing to do what it was made to do. God was punishing me. Was I even a mother? Would I ever be? I craved answers, but my OB refused testing. He chalked it up to bad luck. We buried our second child next to our first. Our special mountaintop became a place of sorrow. Life continued.
I got pregnant for a third time. The tests were so faint. I cried every morning as I watched the lines fade away to nothing. Stark white. Just like that another baby came and went. My OB didn’t believe I was even pregnant. “False positives,” he called my seven tests from different brands. My third loss was dismissed. I was told to expect my PERIOD. Jerk. I packed my things and left the office with puffy eyes and wet tissues.
At twenty-three years old I suffered from recurrent pregnancy loss. My first three pregnancies ended in miscarriage. My first three babies went to Heaven. I never got to hear their hearts. I never got to touch their smooth skin. I never got to breathe in their warmth. They died inside of me. Somehow I survived my darkest days. Now I’m mama to two perfect earth baby boys with three angels watching over us. Today I am a mother of five.