After transferring our second embryo, Flo’s sibling, I was so sure it was going to work. When I flipped over the pregnancy test, the gut punch of one line brought back all the memories back.
Only one line. How could this be?
Can you believe I even hired a photographer to capture our excited reaction? It’s not the happy moment we hoped to capture for the baby book, but you know what? I’m still glad we have them. The love in these photos speaks volumes, I actually think they are quite beautiful. I wasn’t the only one who loved this baby. Infertility affects the whole family, and I’m so grateful I got to be surrounded by this kind of love in such a devastating moment.
I did everything in my power to make it two. I did everything I was supposed to do. Mama tried. Mama tried. Mama tried.
We don’t know why it didn’t work. A perfectly graded, genetically normal embryo and a thick endometrium lining. Just like with Flo. It should have worked, and I believed with my whole heart that it did, but it didn’t. We are all in shock and heart broken.
I was never technically “pregnant”, I should just look at this as a failed attempt to be pregnant, right?
I’m sorry but that is not at all what this feels like. I did lose my pregnancy.
Actually no, I lost my baby.
I saw its picture, I saw it placed inside of me on a tv screen, it was moving, it was alive, it had a gender (which I can’t bring myself to ask about). Heartbeat or no heartbeat, that was my baby. I saw the life inside of me.
My strong, beautiful baby.
I went from a feeling of fullness, happiness, and warmth in my belly to complete emptiness inside. I went from feeling happy and pregnant, planning the future to feeling like something actually died inside of me - a piece of me, now missing.
This loss may look invisible, but let me tell you, it is so real. This baby filled me with so much love and optimism. A beautiful vision of a family of four, maybe five. A sibling for Flo.
That was my baby, and now he/she is gone.
In all my years of infertility I have never grieved this hard. I don’t know if it’s because I have done it once before and conquered, or because I see the beautiful human that came from our first embryo. And you know what’s crazy? None of my babies have any part of my genetics, yet it feels like an actual part of my insides was ripped out and thrown away. Let these tears be proof that you don’t need DNA to have immense love. Let my tears be proof that you can be madly in love with a bunch of tiny cells in a Petri dish and want to protect them at all costs. I am their mother. I will always be their mother.
I had created a vision in my head of who my baby would have been. I pictured a tan little boy - kind and patient like his daddy, emotional and bold like his mama. That wasn’t just our baby, it was Flo’s sibling - someone I wanted for her so badly. I pictured her teaching him volleyball and how to steal snacks. I pictured Christmas as a family of 4.
There will be no funeral, or bereavement leave. We just have to pick up the pieces and live on.
But, I will never forget.
Dear Sweet Baby,
I am so grateful I got to experience holding you in my belly, even if it didn’t last - I got to hold you! You were due to arrive in November, a scorpio like mama. We had names planned for you too. Special names. I loved every second of being your mama, I hope you know how much love surrounded you. Flo Baby gave you kisses and your daddy told you he loved you every day. I hope you heard my voice, my gentle touch, my immense love. You will always be a part of me, little love. I will always remember how you made me feel. I will always remember.
Love, mama.
For those of you experiencing a failed transfer or pregnancy loss, I see you. Please know that it’s okay to not be okay. It’s okay to be mad at the world. It’s okay to cry and scream. It’s okay to drink ALL the wine. I will be doing all of the above this evening, and I’m not gonna feel bad about it.
This is grief and there is no right or wrong way to process grief. You can’t rush it. Like the ocean, it comes in waves, we just gotta keep swimming.
