Posted on May 03 2018
I’m the kind of person that feels like everyone has it worse that me. My pain doesn’t matter because someone else is worse off. I make excuses like, I was only 7 weeks. How can I compare apples to oranges with someone who carried their baby to term and lost them at birth or shortly after? My pain is manageable. But is that why things like this aren’t talked about? I’m really not sure. In 5 1/2 years I have rarely ever mentioned my first baby. So much so that most people don’t know. But, this business has always been an outlet for me.
So here’s my story that I’ve never told except to the close friends and family that were there. Here’s me being vulnerable. My husband and I were only about a month out from our wedding when the pregnancy test came back positive. I was scared. I cried. What if people judged us for not being married? What will my family say? Are we financially ready for this? I remember sitting in the bathroom on Google. What do I do? What DO I DO? *okay Morgan don’t panic*. The first thing I read was that eggs were a good source of protein for babies (duh). I immediately went into “Mom mode” to take care of this baby I found out 5 minutes ago I was pregnant with. I ran in the living room, told my husband, and together we made the biggest batch of eggs. I ate the eggs. All was well.
We told our families either the next day or a couple days after. Telling them for some reason is the one part of all this that’s fuzzy.
Fast forward 4 weeks - wedding week. I had my first doctors appointment. I’m on cloud nine. I GET TO SEE MY BABY! We go into the sonogram room and see nothing. There’s a sac. But, no baby. Me being completely ignorant about pregnancy, I’m thinking well... I’m only around 7 weeks it’s probably too early to tell, right? I was then sent for blood work to test my hCG levels. 6 days before my wedding I was told I needed to come back every 48 hours to test my levels again. I was mad. I was mad every appointment I had that continued to show me my baby was no longer a living part of me. It felt like torture.
But, I still at that point think my head was protecting my heart. It wasn’t real. Friday rolled around, our rehearsal, and that’s when it started. A super light what I thought was my period. *still in my head saying it’s not real. People spot during pregnancy*. I had a mental breakdown that night. I was in a nice hotel room with all of my best girl friends and Justin was with his groomsmen. I screamed and cried and just wanted him. No one else. Him. He left his groomsmen and I left my bridesmaids. He met me in the parking lot of the hotel hyperventilating and held me for what felt like hours until I stopped crying. The next day was our wedding. How could I fully enjoy this knowing what’s happening? What was supposed to be the best day of my life I was constantly reminded wasn’t every time I went to the bathroom.
December 16th - first day our of “honeymoon”. It’s happening. Anyone that has had a miscarriage knows. We were trying to have the time of our lives when I was soaking through 4-5 maxi pads an hour. But, I wanted to stay. I wanted a distraction.
December 17th, 2012- the day I "officially" lost my first baby. I don’t have to explain it for people who have been there about how absolutely horrendous it is. It was something out of a scary movie. I think as I’m writing this, almost 6 years later, it’s the first time I’ve ever cried about it or accepted it happened. But, it did. And it does. It happens to women every day. I tell myself God gave me two miracle babies (who fought their own tough battles when their lives first started) to mend how broken I was. Twins. Random twins. Exactly one month later when my doctor told me if would probably take me months to get pregnant again.
But, I hate myself sometimes for never honoring my first baby. I hate myself for brushing it under the rug because it was easier to deal with it doing that. But, just because I don’t talk about it doesn’t mean I don’t think about it. It’s taken me almost 6 years to share my story and that’s okay. It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t do anything wrong like I felt like I did for the longest time. I’m not alone in this journey.
I’ll see you again one day, my sweet angel. I hope you’re dancing in Heaven with your great grandpa!