One year ago today.
One year ago today I walked into the ultrasound room excited, hopeful, dreaming of a life with two kids. I walked out of the ultrasound room changed. Not the person I was 10 minutes prior.
I quickly learned it takes so few words to change a person. When I think of change, I think of time. Change takes time. Weeks, months, years. But really, change is made in a moment. In one sentence.
“There is no heartbeat.”
At least, that’s what I think she said. Because after having had one baby, you learn a thing or two. As soon as I saw my second baby on that screen, I knew something was wrong. Now that day is a blur.
Everything after is foggy. Going to get my blood drawn. Going to a New Years party. The next day, going out in public, seeing pregnant women and remembering the baby inside of you has no heartbeat.
The next week I started bleeding and passed my baby at home. And that was that. Done. Nothing to remember my baby. Not even an ultrasound.
Who is this person that I’m missing? Are they a boy or a girl? Do they have long fingers and toes? What does their cry sound like?
How do you miss a person so bad when you never met them?
2025 had a cloud hanging over. A cloud that changed frequently. Some days it rained. Some days the sun was able to shine through.
March 18th the cloud allowed the sun to shine again. A pregnancy test that showed positive. My rainbow baby.
Fear loomed over my pregnancy. Pregnancy after loss is hard. Not a day or a moment goes by without wondering if you’ll meet your baby. The only moments of peace were felt when she kicked or when listening to her heartbeat.
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Up until November 11th I worried. I’ve never felt anxiety so bad. Then she’s placed on my chest after 5 minutes of pushing and all is right in the world.
Until something is wrong.
“Have you ever had issues with bleeding?”
Medication after medication. Intervention after intervention. Transfusion after transfusion.
Will I have another baby after experiencing a birth like this?
I’m still not sure. And although she is only 7 weeks old, it is a question I think about daily. Because, is my family complete?
7 weeks of broken sleep. 7 weeks of trying to chase a toddler while rocking a newborn. 7 weeks of feeling an overwhelming amount love. How is it possible to love this hard?
Someone once told me that their rainbow baby was immensely healing.
As much as I long to meet my other baby, I couldn’t agree more.
There’s something about the rainbow baby.
2025 was challenging to say the least. I might dare to say the hardest year of my life. And yet, I can’t help but feel utterly grateful for everything that came from it.
2026 will be better.
