Ask Me About My Miscarriage

Please don’t turn away when I speak about the loss of my baby.

Ask me what we were planning on naming him. There were a few options, and we hadn’t settled on one, but ask me anyway.

Ask me what his nursery would’ve looked like. We had decided on a Noah’s Ark theme. My mother had knitted a bunny toy for him. My stepmother was in the process of knitting his blankie.

Ask me if he was planned so that I can tell you no, but he was wanted.

I want to talk about him. The fact that I didn’t actually know his gender is of no relevance. He was too little. He stopped growing at a month in my belly.

I want to speak about the medical aspect of it, the fact that I slowly began to bleed until it all came pouring out of me.

I want to speak about the fear I felt for myself, knowing I was hemorrhaging.

I want to speak about the last part, feeling my uterus contract more and more. The pain that I felt in my abdomen.

And the acceptance I felt when I pushed out the remainder of what was left of him.

Ask me what I felt, and I will tell you I didn’t know. I felt a small sense of relief even, due to the stress I had been feeling over our futures.

I will also tell you that that same evening, I began to feel the heartbreak.

I am still in physical pain, and it makes the emotional pain that much worse. I know the soreness I feel is the spot where my baby was supposed to be growing is now contracting to return to its “normal” size.

I wanted to have the belly too.

Please, ask me about my miscarriage. Ask me about my baby. I don’t want the world to forget about someone so little, and yet so loved.