A Bereaved Mother.

Rainbow babies.  I don’t ever write about them here – or at least I haven’t until now.

Do you know how to confirm you’re not pregnant?  By holding the pee stick up to the light.  Any glimmer of hope that maybe your eyes seeing with old contacts might be missing a second line will be confirmed.  You can see straight through the damn thing.


A rainbow baby, as defined here is, ” ..A baby that is born following a miscarriage, stillbirth, neonatal death or infant loss.”  Oh sweet rainbow babies, sometimes – okay, most of the time – you’re the only kind of baby my loss Mom heart can handle.

But with each passing month as rainbow babies are announced and welcomed our loss Mom island of grief and isolation becomes smaller and smaller and smaller and smaller.  It’s not that I don’t love these babies with all of my heart; if any Mama deserves a baby it’s a Mama to a rainbow.  It’s that yet again the rest of us are left behind and left to navigate more uncharted territory.

It’s scary.  It’s horrible.  It’s hard.

I never imagined in my wildest dreams I would soon be turning 29, happily married, yet without a living child to mother.

When Ted and I first started dating seven years ago he had me write a five year plan.  I was 22.  We never shared our plans with each other but to my recollection mine went something like this.

  • 22 years old – Move in together. (rent/buy/I don’t care I just want to cuddle)
  • 23 years old – Get married.
  • 24 years old – Get pregnant.
  • 25 years old – Give birth.
  • 26 years old – I’ll be so happy.

(Stop reading, Grandma)

…What the fuck was I thinking?  I really thought I could control all of these things.  I remember when I turned 23.  I sat with Ted and cried and cried. (It’s a wonder he didn’t ditch me then.) He lovingly asked me what was wrong to which I replied, “I just thought I was going to get married this year.” This actually happened and he still chose to love me!
But looking back I now see, I was grieving the life I had planned.

I understand that now because each day a piece of my heart grieves the life I should be having with Sam.

It’s tiring balancing a life of hope with reality.  If the last fifteen months have taught me anything – it’s that there is no plan, not really.  Or better yet, we can plan but somehow we must learn to be malleable when life doesn’t go like we want it to.

I saw this quote on yoga somewhere once, “I bend so I don’t break.”  Malleable. – able to be hammered or pressed permanently out of shape without breaking or cracking.I’ll keep planning.  I’ll keep peeing on sticks month after month in anticipation that one day I’ll see the unbelievable again.

Until then you can pray for me.  You can pray for our family of three.  My friend Shannon wrote me the most beautiful message recently.  She said, “I hope one day you do have a toddler asking for every toy in Walgreens but until then enjoy the time you have to dwell on Sam.”

I plan to continue to do just that and mother him in the only ways I know how.

A Mama to one.

A bereaved mother.

4 thoughts on “A Bereaved Mother.

  1. You deserve your rainbow! It’s so hard that we lost our babies and now have to go through the agony of waiting. I wish a crystal ball could tell us when it’ll happen. Thinking of you and praying next month you see those two lines 💖

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  2. This is so hard, and I’m with you on only really feeling comfortable with rainbow babies but it often feels like another impossible battle against everyone else, although I try very hard now to just live in my journey and view it all differently (on my rare stronger moments). I love your friends quote. It resonates with me, as we spoke about how to approach Christmas for he upteenth time yesterday. We came to the conclusion that we hope that any Christmas in the future will feature a living child and therefore, this Christmas can be completely his as we may never get that chance to celebrate him and only him. So the day will just be his and completely different to any other Christmas we’ve ever celebrated. I agree with dwelling on them whilst that is the life we lead. Wishing you a rainbow, and all of us rainbows though. Xxx

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  3. Sending you support. It’s so hard to endure sometimes when our dearest plans and expectations seem out of reach or are taken from us, when there’s so much unknown and so much beyond our control. Love and hope, my friend!

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  4. I too thought I’d be pregnant with our rainbow by now. With each passing month, it was harder and harder and more and more frustrating. I really luke thi post. My last post had some similar analogies. Sending you hugs. 💜

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