When I first became pregnant, I was so excited. My husband and I made really cool announcements for our immediate family. I can barely picture them now. Just after we told people I started to miscarry. It took over a week to progress and occur. I was very sad, but ok. What I wish I had done differently is not telling people. I wasn’t humiliated, but I felt the weight of their disappointment as well. I couldn’t just deal with my own sadness, I had to deal with theirs as well. It wasn’t just that either, it made it more real. I had to say it aloud to people. I couldn’t just pretend it never happened and walk away from it.
That loss took more from me than a child though. It took away my hope. It taught me to keep my heart close to me and not share it until I was more than sure. It stole my joy when I found out I was pregnant again. I refused to get my hopes up. I didn’t even let myself get excited until after 12 weeks and by that time, honestly, I couldn’t muster the excitement. I’d lost that joy.
It’s easy to be numb, nice even. But you’re not just missing the lows, you’re missing the highs with it. It’s hard because I don’t regret keeping my second and third pregnancies a secret for a long time, but I wish I had let myself feel that joy while it was mine. It was sad to miss out on it.