This baby was a honeymoon baby. I got pregnant only a few days after our wedding. In the whirlwind of the wedding, living together as husband and wife, starting our life together, finding out I was pregnant was the icing in the cake. We were ecstatic.
A lot of what bonded my husband and I together was our interest in becoming parents. We were young, but we had been talking about our future children for years. If we had had it our way, we would have already had six little kids running around by now. So getting pregnant right away felt serendipitous. Here we go, I thought. It's finally happening. We told our parents, and there was tears and laughter and planning and name picking. I started to get so excited, that I couldn't help but tell my friends, then my colleagues, then the people standing in line in front of me at the grocery story.
As the weeks went by, I felt so connected to my baby. He or she was all I thought about. My husband and I started planning next steps. Where should we move? What should we do? A miscarriage was the furthest thing from my mind. My mom never miscarried. His mom never miscarried. I never really pictured myself as being someone who risked miscarrying. It simply wasn't on my radar, wasn't on my list of "things that might go wrong." But it did. At 8 weeks, I went in for my ultrasound, and they found no heartbeat.
I'll never really be able to explain what that moment is like. But if you have gone through it yourself, you know. My sobs of deepest despair resonated out of the ultrasound room. My husband rushed over to me and held me like a small child, fighting through his own sadness to desperately try and comfort me. My mom looked on with tears streaming down her face. It was the saddest moment of my life. As the weeks went by, my husband and I had to navigate how to deal with the loss. It was a loss of a family member we loved but never met. It was a terrible change of plans that affected every conversation. We had to be sensitive to each others mourning process, being sure not to push someone too fast, or hold someone back who was healing.
My husband was my rock during this time. The loss somehow brought us closer together. We searched for meaning together as we tried to make sense of what had happened and what it meant for our future. Would we try again? When would we be ready? We decided to have faith. We decided to say goodbye to the baby we thought we were going to have, and understand that it didn't happen because it wasn't supposed to. We moved through to acceptance, slowly and messily and with lots of detours.
My miscarriage was a test unlike anything I had ever experienced. But the silver lining was how it united my husband and I in our quest for a family. It helped us to be grateful for each other, and patient, and accept the crazy and uncontrollable chaos of becoming a parent. These tests are what ultimately bond us together. And though my first pregnancy did not give us a baby, it did make us a family.