My mother had six miscarriages–two before she conceived my brother, one in between my brother and I, and three after me. She has a congenital issue with her plumbing that may or may not affect me. I have no idea if I will have trouble conceiving and or carrying a baby to term. I don’t think about it every day, but it is a small shadow on my life. A shadow that looms whenever I hold my friends’ children. A shadow that looms whenever I hear about someone miscarrying. Most of the time I don’t think about it.
But what if it happens to me? I remember my mother crying and crying when she had one of her miscarriages during my childhood. I think I was four or so. I remember her talking about spotting, and not understanding the heaviness of that word. I remember the tears in my dad’s eyes. He never cried, so I knew something bad had happened. I remember her staying in bed pretty late for a few days, but then she was just mom again. After seeing a few friends go through a miscarriage, I have no idea how she was able to get up and keep going with two little kids who didn’t have any idea what was going on.
Thanks for trying again mom. I know it was hard, but we love you.
My mother got pregnant when I was four. I remember the first day back at preschool in the fall, when my teacher asked me, “Did your mom have her baby?” I had to explain to my class of other four-year-olds that my baby brother or sister had died. This is one of my few distinct memories of preschool.
My mother told me that the miscarriage was a silver lining, because the baby would have had Downs Syndrome, so it would have had a difficult life. My parents never found out the sex of the baby; they didn’t want to know.
A year and a half later my mother got pregnant again. She was 36 and her chances of another Downs baby were very high. My brother was born fat and healthy. I’m glad she tried again.