Assembling the changing table will not make me have another miscarriage.

And other thoughts I've had being pregnant after loss.

Disclaimer: Throughout this post, I kept having the urge to write “and that’s not me being ungrateful” or “obviously I don’t mean you should do dangerous things during your pregnancy” — but when I read posts full of disclaimers and rebuttals to keep the errant, somewhat mean-spirited comment away, it really takes me out of what the writer is trying to say. So disclaimer up front — if I sound ungrateful, or like I’m telling you to do something dumb, or anything odd — that’s probably not what I meant, or I meant it just for me, not for everyone. Someday, I’ll have enough energy to post without the disclaimer and just delete the comments that misinterpret what I’m saying, but that day isn’t today. Onward!

Hi! It’s been awhile.

I’ve wanted to talk to you for a bit and tell you the good news, but something kept stopping me. My first post to go “viral” and introduce me to so many of you with a similar story was the one about our miscarriage.

I roll my eyes when people online say stuff like this, but your comments on that post really helped me when I felt really lonely in my apartment, especially around that cursed 3:30 time on a weekday, when the sun starts to get lower and you wonder if everyone else is happy and if you should just get in bed and call it a day.

I love having you here, and I know how I felt when someone who had a miscarriage then came out and said “I’m pregnant again!” Yes, I was happy for them, but I also was disappointed for me (grief can be a lot of “yes this, but also this.”)

They were on a boat off of sad island, sailing towards hope and a baby, and I was still there on the beach, empty womb, lonely again. I really didn’t want to make anyone feel that way, so I just didn’t say anything.

However — talking into the abyss and connecting with other women going through similar things has been so meaningful to me this last year, so I really wanted to say Hi again.

I had a thought this morning that even though I’m not on the island anymore full-time per-say, I do have a beach house there (yes, If we’re doing metaphor, we’re doing a luxe one). I still visit the island and think about our first strawberry baby most weeks — how old she would have been, what our lives could have been like now. We keep a box of things we bought her on the windowsill. Rip and I looked at the pajamas and my positive tests this weekend. She’s still very much around, now she’s just a big sister.

I found out in early June of this year that I was pregnant again. I can’t remember what drove me to take the test, but it was positive. It’s weird getting a positive test for a second time, or really doing any of this for a second time, because there was a first time and it’s really hard not to immediately compare it to that.

Fast forward 15 weeks and we’re here at my dining table. I’m 21 weeks tomorrow and she’s healthy as far as I know. That’s also been a big change this time — as far as I know. You might read that and think “oh that’s pessimistic”, but it’s not for me.

Something freeing about being on the other side of a miscarriage is the feeling deep down that there is almost nothing you can do to control the outcome of your pregnancy.

I’m going to write a longer post about this later, but if I had to make a recommendation to a newly pregnant friend, it would be get a doctor you trust, do what they say, take your prenatal, and then get a hobby so you can spend time doing other things other than thinking about everything you’re putting into your mouth/doing/feeling. Oh, and that there is joy after loss — different joy, but joy nonetheless.

When we go in for a scan, I’m still a little nervous, but much less than I was the first time. Being nervous doesn’t protect her, or me for that matter.

HOWEVER, and this is a big however — I’m not fully zen and without worries. I haven’t been able to unbox the changing table we bought over a month ago because I’m worried if I unbox it and then have another miscarriage, then I’ll have to deal with a changing table in my house. And like — we’re way past the return window, it’s not that. It’s that I’ll have to look at the table and make arrangements for how to get it out of the house. I’ll have to do grief admin.

So last week when my therapist asked if I’d made any progress on the nursery, I told her yes I have a changing table but I haven’t opened it because if I open it, then I’ll have to deal with it.

Her points, salient as always, were 1. that when we protect/limit ourselves from pain, we also limit our joy and 2. I’m still going to have to deal with an unassembled changing table if something happened, so why not have a nice moment with Rip and set it up?

So that’s really it. We’re having a girl in February, her changing table will be opened this weekend, and I cannot control most of the things that scare me.

the nursery currently with the aforementioned changing table (and the putting green, we’ll let him have it for now).

Talk soon,

Sarah