We had been here before… the exciting and dreadful week 8. Our past two were lost around this time, and the possibility of another miscarriage was too painful for me to contemplate. Our first ultrasound appointment was filled with hushed fearful tears as I prayed that I would hear this heartbeat again next week. Our pregnancy like too many others before us is considered high risk due to a pattern of prior miscarriages. My doctors told me that I am not typically a candidate for a high-risk pregnancy; decent age, no major existing health conditions, no risky environmental issues, overall, a healthy woman on her way to motherhood. For those of you who have suffered miscarriages before, you know all too well the incredible loneliness that a woman must go through by herself, especially if it happens naturally or unexpectedly. Partners, families, and friends can only support so much as the physical pain is overwhelming but the emotional one of grief, embarrassment, and confusion far outweighs the physical trauma. The weeks in the aftermath are so heartbreaking as you question why these things have to happen and simultaneously keep yourself together, so the outside world doesn’t wonder why you grieve an imaginary dream that was just a flutter in your stomach. And then slowly, but surely, it seems like maybe your family members may have forgotten too and your once reality turns into a hidden scar only you can see. 

It was Labor Day Weekend when I started really feeling terrible. Our friends from NY were in town and we had prepared a fun weekend of outdoor activities. Prior to their arrival I was so excited and couldn’t wait to get started with our plans, however throughout the weekend I kept feeling more sluggish, nauseous, and overall, down. I escaped to our bedroom early in the evenings and woke up with a negative attitude and plans for the couch. It was not like me at all. Marlon suggested that I should take a test, to which I strongly replied “there’s no way” as we had been trying earlier in the year to no success. I halfheartedly peed on that stick and waited the approximate time so I could prove my point to my husband. Little did I know I was already carrying our child.  Two pink lines stared back at me, and I was paralyzed with feelings of fear. Fear of losing another baby, fear of the pain, fear of hope and the unknown. Fear turned to a spark of joy as I shared the good news with Marlon. He squeezed my hand to let me know that he too understood the cautious journey we had ahead.

In the early weeks, I tried to distract myself with work and hanging out with my step kids, but any hope of my putting the pregnancy to the side was thrown out the window with all day nausea and sickness. Some mornings I couldn’t pull myself out of bed because of the queasiness and the headache.  I lingered in self loathing resenting myself for my lack of productivity. How could I care for our child if I couldn’t even convince myself to shower? I was incredibly sad without reason and it felt like there was no end in sight. Of course, there was a level of intense physical discomfort I was experiencing, but it was so beyond the physical as if I was a completely different person.

My husband reminded me that I was growing our child in my body. It was a remarkable concept that I tried my best to accept while pulling at my unwashed hair and brushing saltine crumbs off of yesterday’s sweatshirt. Some days were harder than others, but I felt my can-do attitude was slipping away day by day as I prayed for the first trimester to pass safely. In the dichotomy of my buttoned-up life falling to pieces, I saw the glimmering hope of second trimester energy and a better chance of our child’s survival as I swallowed prenatal vitamins that felt huge and induced near vomiting. Now, here we are past 12 weeks and I’m so nervous and excited to finally share this news. This journey has not been easy, but to speak publicly about our blessing makes this experience so much more real and enjoyable. 

Despite all the support, pregnancy is ultimately a woman’s solo experience. Only you can feel every ache, pain, and discomfort. It is also only you that can feel every waking moment of growing something in your body. Every thought, every concern, every craving whether indulged or not. It is only you that suddenly can’t stand the smell of your own shampoo or your husband's cologne. It is only you that knows when to rest, and when to push through, when to stay in your cocoon and when to allow someone in.  And it is also only you, a stepmother or mother already, that juggles excitement and maternal guilt in the weight of the announcement to your kids and the changing of family dynamics once again. It is not something you can be prepared for, but I do believe the experience, however you go through it, prepares you for the future of motherhood. 

If you can just take a second and step away from all your emotions and symptoms, you will realize that you are participating in the oldest female tradition in our existence. Just know you are not alone in your solo journey despite the way that you may feel now. Remember you are connected to billions of women who have come before you and many more who will come after you. Wherever you are on your journey, I hope you will feel recognized in this experience and trust yourself to know what is best for you.  If you’re experiencing serious depression like symptoms, perinatal or postpartum depression, please reach out to your midwife or OBGYN for help. They can direct you to the appropriate contact for treatment and support.

With love,

Jackie Skye Muller