When contemplating pregnancy after experiencing a stillbirth, it’s not all about the excitement of baby showers or gender reveals. Rather, it often involves late-night hospital trips and emotional breakdowns.
After losing our daughter, Emma, to unexplained stillbirth, my partner and I took a moment to reflect on whether we should try for another baby. We had two wonderful daughters already, and the pain of losing our third daughter was still fresh. This decision was not straightforward.
We understood that this next pregnancy would be vastly different from the others. The anxiety was palpable, stemming from the deep-seated fear that only comes from losing a child. I had no idea how overwhelming that fear would become.
At first, I was cautiously optimistic during the early stages of pregnancy, but as the months progressed, I transformed from a composed adult into someone consumed by fear and anxiety, unable to trust my own body to protect this baby.
When I reached the eight-month mark—the same point at which Emma had died—I was taken aback by how that fear gripped me. It felt suffocating, feeding into every anxious thought I had. As I began to bond with this new life, the fear of loss became even more intense. “Can my body really do this? It’s happened before; it could happen again.”
I desperately wanted to be a mother again. Yet, the reality of this pregnancy was daunting. I craved the baby in my arms rather than the journey to get there. I was all too aware that the outcome was never guaranteed. As the pregnancy lingered, I longed for it to be over, to finally hold my baby.
Don’t get me wrong; there were moments of joy, and love for the baby growing inside me was always present. Yet, that fear hung over me like an unwelcome shadow. This wasn’t a typical pregnancy full of celebrations like baby showers or nursery setups. Instead, it was fraught with late-night calls to the maternity ward, frequent ECGs, and tearful conversations with midwives about how I could possibly make it to the due date.
Each day felt like a test of my mental strength. I often second-guessed myself at night, hoping we’d both wake up in the morning. Once I passed the gestation period of Emma’s death, it felt like I was living on borrowed time. The ticking clock became a source of anxiety.
I was exhausted from the stress of it all. I longed for the day when I could finally hold my baby safely in my arms. After everything—an ectopic pregnancy, a stillbirth, and now a third pregnancy—I was fatigued both physically and emotionally.
People often said, “It can’t happen again,” but I knew too much to believe that. “You must be so happy,” they’d say, and while I was, fear held me back from fully embracing that happiness. “You deserve this after everything,” they would reassure me, and I wanted to shake them for their naivete. Bad things can and do happen to good people.
In the end, we were fortunate. We welcomed a healthy baby boy after my pregnancy. I was induced at 35 weeks due to the stress I was experiencing. In the weeks leading up to it, I was seeing my doctor every other day, connected to monitors for reassurance. Those visits were my “mental health” check-ins, and I found solace in them, despite the circumstances.
With my partner away for work and two children to care for, the stress was mounting. My doctor recognized the toll it was taking and agreed that an induction was best. I felt a wave of relief at having an end date, yet guilt washed over me for not being able to wait until my due date, as I wanted to give my baby the best chance for health.
Our son, Leo, arrived healthy, and he quickly thrived. At times, it was difficult to separate the grief I felt for Emma from the joy of my new son. I didn’t allow myself to fully celebrate this pregnancy because I was always scared something would go wrong. I felt guilty for how Leo’s arrival was influenced by Emma’s loss; my worries led to his early delivery. I loved them both equally, but I got to keep Leo, and that guilt was heavy.
We knew our son was not a replacement for our daughter. If other bereaved parents choose to conceive again, understanding what’s normal during this time can be incredibly comforting.
My advice from this experience? Take it one day at a time, prioritize self-care, communicate openly with your family and healthcare providers, cherish the little moments, enjoy the calm when it comes, and keep moving forward—you’ve already proven your strength.
For those considering home insemination, check out resources like Make a Mom, a service offering at-home insemination kits, including the Cryobaby Home Intracervical Insemination Syringe Kit. You can also join the Make a Mom Facebook group for support and connection. Their Impregnator at-home insemination kit is another great option. For more information on infertility, visit Womens Health for excellent resources.
In summary, navigating a pregnancy after loss is a complex and emotional journey filled with both fear and love. Each day brings its own challenges, but it’s vital to prioritize well-being and seek support along the way.
Leave a Reply