It’s National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. For those of you who don’t know our history, you can read this post and this post to catch up. I feel like I need to acknowledge this day with a post again, because even though we can’t celebrate a birthday we can at least dedicate a candle to them.
To be honest, I really didn’t want to write today. I am just…tired. Tired of imagining alternate timelines. Tired of the due-dates-that-never-were swirling around in my brain, impossible to forget. I am tired of the anxiety surrounding all things pregnancy related. Tired of no answers. Tired of tests and research that went nowhere. Tired of people feeling sad for us. Tired of being sad. Tired of hoping only to be let down again.
I’ve been pregnant 5 times. 5 times of symptom spotting, peeing on every stick in sight, and finally getting those two lines, only to break my heart in all but one instance.
I am thankful every day for my little girl. Still, though, I feel like I was robbed of enjoyment with her. I lived 9 months terrified that something would go wrong. I wish I could have been one of those happy, glowing pregnant women filled with excitement and celebrating the whole time, doing the pregnancy reveal and gender party. I can’t even imagine getting a positive test and automatically assuming that it leads to a baby.
So, where does this leave us? I don’t know. Each loss has changed us in a different way. My recent loss with twins in June felt like a different blow. Not only did it affect me and Conor, but W as well. Moving forward we need to consider what is best for her, too, and how long we are willing to leave this door of possibility open for. For my health, sanity, and well being of our family, at some point we will have to close it and be thankful for what we have.
If you know someone who has suffered a loss, reach out today. Let moms and dads know you’re thinking about them. It goes a long way.
Taylor, Conor, and W
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