i miss my babies today


I woke up this morning aching. After the failed IUI and then learning I had a cyst that would prevent us from trying again this month, I haven’t felt the same. Even though I’ve resorted to all my usual antics to try and pick back up and stay positive, I feel as if I’m hitting a breaking point, one where the reality of what we’ve been through has finally truly hit me.

They say that after a miscarriage a women not only grieves the loss of her baby, but grieves the loss of her reproductive story.

I never quite knew what that meant. I understood the idea of grieving a reproductive story on an intellectual level, but I hadn’t quite felt that loss in my heart yet. I hadn’t grieved the loss of my reproductive story.

Until now.

I’m finally having that out of body of experience, where I look back at the last two years and I can’t believe what I’m seeing. I can’t believe how this desire to start a family turned into a nightmare, and one I can’t wake up from or claw my way out of. I can’t believe that this is my story. All the heartbreak, stress, tears, and loss is now my reproductive story. And it makes me so sad.

Last night as I laid in bed headed for sleep, my mind was still going and my heart still hurting. I had been feeling depressed all weekend, like I was suddenly struggling through fresh grief. I thought to myself, as I started to drift into twilight sleep, “What am I feeling, really?” And instead of words floating through my mind to answer that question, I saw the answer in images. I say myself in the ocean, in the middle of a violent whirlpool. I was trapped in its torrent. I was flailing my arms above water, towards the side of a boat, trying to lift myself up, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t grasp the edge of the boat to pull myself up. And there was no one there to lift me up. So instead I kept thrashing, trapped, alone, getting pulled deeper and deeper.

When I woke up this morning I mindlessly picked up my phone and opened Facebook, which I often do before getting out of bed. The first picture I saw was a photo of my best friend’s seven month old baby. The friend who shared my due date, before I lost my baby. With time, I’ve healed enough and grown numb enough to see photos of her baby without too much of a stabbing pain. When he was three months old, I even got the courage to go spend the day with him when I was visiting San Francisco where my friend lives. But this morning, I saw that picture and the loss just hit me.

He just looked so….old.

He was growing into a little person. He wasn’t just a little 8 pound nugget anymore, lying helplessly, swaddled in his blanket. He was becoming someone. Something my babies won’t ever get the chance to do. 

With that photo, and with that realization, I closed my eyes and let a tear run down my cheeks. I could feel my losses in a profound way. I could see what I lost. I could see what I lost getting older, growing into someone his mom and dad probably could never imagine their lives without.

I miss my babies today.

I miss the awe and wonder of knowing that they are growing inside of me. I miss the nausea and the fatigue and the changes to my body that assure me that they are in there. I miss imagining the people they would become, and who they would resemble. I miss envisioning the life we would all have together. I miss the promise that they held. I miss the joy I felt knowing they are in my belly, and that my body was busy creating a life.

Although I have faith that I will create life again, I will always miss my babies, always remembering how old they would be, always wondering who they would have been. But someday, I hope that maybe I can make peace with my reproductive story. Instead of feeling loss and sadness, I hope to understand what it’s given me. How it’s made me a better mom. How it’s forced me to never take my children for granted, and hug them just a little tighter knowing how hard I fought for them. How it’s given me more empathy for others who struggle. How in going to these dark places, I will embrace the light in a deeper way.

Today I may grieve, and I may miss my babies. But eventually I hope to understand, and find a deeper meaning into why this had to be my reproductive story.

33 thoughts on “i miss my babies today

  1. I can’t even imagine the pain nor the strength it takes to keep going. You are in my thoughts and I can’t wait until you have a baby in your arms and I can marvel at how fast he or she is growing.


  2. What a beautiful post, such raw emotion. I am so sorry for your loss, I imagine your friends son is a constant reminder, especially because yours would have been about the same age. Such a tough thing to go through. Thinking of you!


  3. I am so sorry you are feeling this way right now. 😦 It is so much better to go through the feelings and emotions rather than keeping them bottled up. Thinking of you and hoping that the pain will be taken over with joy and happiness of new life one day soon. *hugs*


  4. Some days it just hurts more than others. I like that you want to understand and make peace with it. I hope to do that someday too. Hugs all around – xoxo


  5. I completely understand these emotions. Every now and again something happens that makes me think of our lost 5 babies and the absolute heartache that the last 2 years have been for us. It is truly hard to believe the way our lives have gone in the last two years. I too hope to eventually understand the deeper meaning of all of this, should there actually be one.
    I guess if nothing else, what I’m trying to say is that you are not alone in the constant emotional roller-coaster that is RPL. I am sorry you are hurting so much today. I am sorry this has been our reproductive story, and I desperately hope it eventually works out for both of us (ideally sooner, rather then later).


    • It would be hard for anyone to wrap their heads around all that you’ve been through in the last two years. Thank you for reminding me I’m not alone in this RPL journey, although I’m so sorry you’re on this roller-coaster too. Really hoping it works out for both of us, SOON! ❤

      Liked by 1 person

  6. My heart breaks for you sugars! I believe that some days will hurt worse than others and it’s okay to experience those emotions. I believe that while your reproductive story isn’t exactly what you hoped it would be, you will be able to use it to help inspire and give hope to others. Sending you lots of hugs! xo


  7. My heart breaks all over again reading your post. I would give you a gigantic hug if I could. Dealing with loss and reproductive issues is not something you think will happen when you’re young and imagine your future life as a mother. It’s really a hard thing that some (many) of us have to face. I am sorry you’re feeling everything so intensely at the moment. These times are hard. Xx


    • I definitely had no clues that I would ever have such a hard time reproducing. We all just assume it’ll happen for us if we want it. The grief and hard emotions come and go, and this happens to be a down moment…but I know it’ll pick up for me soon. Thank you for kind words ❤


  8. It is all so hard. You’ve been so strong and I hope your rainbow isn’t too far down the road. Tomorrow is the due date for my first angel. Previously the hurt had been softened by DD’s arrival, but now that I’ve had two more losses I understand what you mean about grasping the enormity of it all, and how it has become our story. I try and get through by telling myself that this won’t be my whole story, just a really crappy chapter.


    • I’ll be thinking of you tomorrow ❤ Those dates can be so hard, and can hit us differently each time. I also try to console myself by saying it's just a chapter, we'll get through and it will be balanced out by joyous times in the future. I guess that is how life goes! Sending a big hug your way. xo


  9. I miss my babies too. This sentence hit me the hardest (actually made me cry) because its exactly how I feel. I can’t believe how this desire to start a family turned into a nightmare, and one I can’t wake up from or claw my way out of. I can’t believe that this is my story. All the heartbreak, stress, tears, and loss


  10. What a powerful image hon. RPL and IF really is like drowning with no one to help you. Thinking about you and all your angels hon and sending so many prayers ❤ Hugs…


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