You hear a lot about miscarriage. How painful it is. How we don’t talk about it enough.
How your whole world suddenly shatters and you find yourself trying to pick up the pieces and put them together to form a new normal.
We talk about the pain and the heartache, but we don’t often talk about practical things.
Here’s what they don’t tell you:
They don’t tell you that when you’re pregnant you get excited and download apps to track the baby’s progress.
When your child dies these apps keep going even when your life comes to a crashing halt.
When Your Baby Stops Breathing, Sometimes You Do Too
I deleted the apps in hopes to delete some of the pain, but they don’t tell you that you’ll still get e-mails from app developers.
I unsubscribed from the emails, but they don’t tell you that you’ll still get coupon offers from diaper companies.
When you’re pregnant you hop on Pinterest and browse cute nursery ideas. We chose “The Very Hungry Caterpillar.” I had a secret board as if somehow I was not only keeping it a secret from others, but also a secret from myself.
I read pins about how to be a “waste-free mom.” I read about how to make baby food in my Vitamix. I read about how to avoid helicopter parenting.
All of this felt safe.
They don’t tell you that when your baby dies your Pinterest still thinks you’re pregnant.
They don’t tell you that you can log on and delete the secret baby board and yet all of the “things that might interest you” are now like daggers to the soul.
They don’t tell you that it will take weeks and weeks of logging on searching for anything but baby-related items to finally start to see recipes and pallet furniture again.
And yet still, 15 weeks after we found our child had passed, I log on and see “11 must do’s if you’re pregnant this fall.”
They don’t tell you the way people pause and hesitate around you.
The way going to a family function is never the same.
They don’t tell you that though people are kinder than ever, there is still a looming cloud around you as they, too, figure out the way your relationship will progress.
You’ll show up to family weddings and leave before the bride even walks down the aisle.
You’ll go to a young child’s birthday party and cry all the way home.
I’m Happy for You, But I’ll Still Cry
You’ll wonder at what point putting yourself in these situations should be considered self-injurious behavior.
The main thing I’ve learned is that they don’t tell you how you’ll feel left out.
How you can’t be happy for anyone else.
How seeing other people happy makes you insanely jealous.
They don’t tell you how you’ll start to hate yourself for dwelling in sadness instead of celebrating your dearest friends and family.
They don’t tell you that every day is a mystery and time doesn’t stop.
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{Your Thoughts}