There is something that consumes my thoughts every day at the moment and that is, trying for another baby. I’ve always wanted at least two children, probably because I grew up with a younger brother and I can’t imagine having not shared my childhood with a sibling. I want Jasmine to have that too, I want to give her the gift of a brother or a sister. I often watch her as she plays with her babies and it makes me realise how much she would dote on the baby of the family. I’m not naive – I know there would probably jealousy and fighting, just as there was between my brother and I, it comes with the territory. But I do know, she would make the best big sister ever.
In November we went through a second agonising miscarriage and suddenly my dream of having another child feels like it’s being snatched away from me. As far as I know, there is nothing medically wrong with me and the fact that I already have a daughter proves that I am capable of carrying a baby to term. It’s more the mental aspect of trying to conceive another baby that I’m struggling with. In the last four years I have been pregnant 3 times and only have one child to show for it. And honestly? I’m just not sure I could cope with losing another baby.
Having a miscarriage makes you feel many things…
It makes you feel like a failure. The moment you see those two pink likes you feel a duty to do whatever it takes to bring that baby safely into the world. When my pregnancies failed, I couldn’t help but ask myself what I did wrong. Did I eat healthily enough? Did I take all the right vitamins? Was I too active? Not active enough? You can go around and around in circles but most of the time? It’s just shit luck.
I felt guilty. I felt guilty that I’d told my husband he was going to be a dad again, only to announce a week later “I’m bleeding, I think it’s over”.
I felt guilty that I have the most wonderful little girl and I still long for another child. I felt like I should be happy with my lot and accept that I’m always going to be a mum of one.
I felt lonely and isolated. My husband and I deal with things in very different ways. He likes to just crack on with things and get back to normality. I like to talk things though and grieve openly. But we’re not meant to talk about miscarriage, are we? It’s not like losing a real person, right? Chin up, get on with it.
It’s the months that follow a miscarriage that I find the hardest. When people expect you to be ‘okay’ again. Over it. Oh, how I wish it worked like that.
I felt angry and bitter. After a miscarriage it often feels like everyone else can seemingly fall pregnant ‘first go’ and have a healthy baby 9 months later. Obviously, I know that’s not the case and I know others have struggled far more than I have. But it doesn’t make it any less difficult when babies and bumps are everywhere, as if they only exist to rub your nose in it. It seems so unfair that others can have child after child so easily and whilst I wouldn’t wish my bad fortune on anybody, I hate being told “I can’t imagine how it feels”. I roll my eyes and I utter “Well, lucky you.” This is me, telling you how it feels.
I don’t like the person I become after miscarriage.
Is it any wonder I am frightened to try again?
I don’t want to call the hospital, sobbing down the phone, to cancel another ultrasound scan.
I don’t want to spend weeks checking for blood every time I go to the toilet, constantly on edge because I fear I will miscarry again.
I don’t want to feel like a failure. Or feel guilty for not giving my husband and daughter what I promised them. I don’t want to feel lonely and isolated anymore. I don’t want to feel angry and bitter about other people’s happiness.
And yet, I still desperately want another baby.
I still want to pick myself up, dust myself down and try again.