I had known for a few weeks since getting several positive pregnancy tests and a gut feeling that I was pregnant. I kept this hidden from people for a variety of reasons. I kept it hidden from colleagues and my bosses because they had made it clear to me that being pregnant was inconvenient for the unit. I “can’t run a shop with four kids”. A whole story in and of itself, honestly. Maybe one day, when my thoughts and opinions aren’t so critically scrutinized through the microscope of the government, I’ll be able to openly go into further detail.
Another reason was the judgment I knew I would receive from the general population and family. I have felt uncomfortable for quite some time announcing pregnancy because of this judgment. Too many “you can stop having kids now” comments. Or the “you have a boy and a girl that’s the perfect family”. Or even just the questioning of “you guys are done now RIGHT?” Large families are not a new concept, but the judgment from family, friends, and society that I would receive for having a fourth child had me keeping this pregnancy locked down tight.
The third, most prominent reason I can think of, is that I had a gut feeling that something was wrong. I kept denying to myself that I was pregnant. I carried on with my normal routine for the most part because it just didn’t feel real or right.
But when that first test popped positive, and I sent a picture to Joe, he was so excited. For the first time, if I’m being honest. He replied, “we did it!”. We hadn’t been trying, but we had decided we wanted one more. TOGETHER. For those people who are going to say that I coerced him into it. He was actually the one that ultimately suggested another child so eat my dick, ok?
He started calling the baby the Froot Loops bird. Which ended up being funny because we had decided the baby’s name would be Sam. So obviously, this evolved into referring to the baby as Toucan Sam. Despite my hesitation and gut feeling, I started to get excited. I started looking at nursery bedding and started a registry for the few things we would need. I looked up sibling shirts. I clicked “add to cart” on an adorable coming home outfit.
I had taken probably 3 tests that were all positive. I had finally started telling a few people. At 5 weeks and 5 days (predicted), I really started spreading the news among some friends that I knew would be excited because we had talked about it before. I had told no one in my family and had no intentions to until I went to the OB.
It was a Saturday night and I was finally starting to get comfortable with the idea that there was a baby. I was going to call medical first thing Monday morning so I could get set up with the OB. I was going to tell my command after my medical appointment. I had a tattoo appointment the following day, Sunday, that I was seriously contemplating canceling but had held off because I was unsure if I should trust my gut that something was wrong.
Now I wish this story had a happy ending, but it doesn’t.
Sunday morning I woke up not feeling well. I was crampy and nauseous. Something that I had chalked up to just morning sickness and an expanding uterus. I lay in bed for hours. And then I felt a gush. I ran to the bathroom, already tearing up, and called Joe into the bathroom. There was a lot of blood and I immediately knew that my gut feeling had been right and this was it. It was over. He went out and got more pregnancy tests anyway.
Negative.
Immediate dread filled my body. Was it really that quick and then it’s just over? I didn’t expect the test to come back negative so quickly. Everything says it takes weeks for the test to come back negative. I just wanted one more positive test. A reminder I guess. But negatives were all I got. Confirmation of my worst nightmare. I broke down into tears right then and just sat on the toilet for what felt like years. We debated if I should go to the hospital and get checked, but I decided that the show must go on and I had to pretend nothing happened because no one knew. Not even the kids. I slapped on a pad leftover from my postpartum days with Joey, and we got loaded up and on our way to my tattoo appointment. I just kept crying. Numb, but so sad at the same time. We went about our day not saying a word to anyone.
We went home. I went to work the next day. Still not saying a word. Just carrying on all week like everything was ok. I was ok. I wasn’t.
That week stands so vivid in my head right now. Heavy bleeding all week. The week following that too. Cramping. Just silently miscarrying hoping that nothing went wrong causing me to go to the hospital because I felt ashamed. I felt like I had failed the baby, Joe, and myself. I was cooking dinner one day that week when the kids wanted Froot Loops. I broke down in tears on the kitchen floor, giving myself 20 minutes to be held while I cried. I picked myself back up and kept going. The show must go on was my new motto.
All I have left now is the stuffed animal I bought for myself that I call Froot Loops and the coral the Joe bought named Froot Loops. But you know what really gets me. I felt guilty for being sad about it. I felt guilty that I was mourning this loss when I have three healthy, happy children when other people have none. Other people desperately want the family I have and here I am feeling sad over a fourth child that some people could only dream of. Guilt, shame, sadness, anger. No one would believe me. No one probably does. But I know. I know and I feel it all.
It was a bittersweet Mother’s Day. Trying to celebrate what I have while remembering what I don’t anymore. It keeps hitting me every few days and I relive it again. It’s dumb but it’s how I’m working through it for myself.
Sharing this is a lot for me because I know people will feel hurt they didn’t know or deny that it happened at all. But I am 1 in 4 and it is about time I share this. I don’t know if this will help anyone, but I hope it does. Shit. I don’t even know when or if I’ll share this on my social media and make it an open target for people to read and criticize but I needed to get it down because this is like therapy for me. Maybe one day I’ll be able to look at a box of Froot Loops again and feel happy with what I had for such a short time.
We will remember Toucan Sam forever, and I hope one day soon we will be blessed with another Toucan Sam. I’ll miss you for always buddy. I hope you are the one helping the next Toucan Sam make his/her way to us. And just know that we loved you, and still love you so much. Goodnight. Sleep tight. I’ll see you one day.
If I share this on social media, don’t be an asshole. Don’t make comments about how it could be worse. Don’t say it’s shitty that we still want to nickname our next kid Toucan Sam. Don’t make it about yourself and how you didn’t know. It doesn’t help with grieving. If you’ve suffered losses I would love to talk to you and get some tips on how to deal with this better. BUT If I see some fuck shit on my social media regarding this don’t ever expect to talk to me or my family again.