We’re Not Pregnant Anymore.

I lost our baby.

“It’s not your fault, you did nothing wrong, something was wrong from the beginning, you wouldn’t want the additional heartache of carrying the baby any longer…” all perfectly legitimate and true things, but they don’t make us feel any less empty. Our baby is gone. Our due date in June will be just another day.  Where my body was once changing rapidly to accommodate the massive job of dividing cells into a real live human being, who at 8 weeks would have been starting to grow little arms and legs, I now feel completely empty. Cold. My insides are cramping, and not in the way that they were previously to rearrange and make room for our baby. They’re working to squeeze every last drop of evidence out of my body, and out of our life. I haven’t let Rob into the same room for any of that. I want to protect him from having that visual. I can’t protect him from the memory of the look on my face at our friend’s house, ten minutes after we told them we’d be having a baby, the look that told him something was very wrong. I can’t protect him from the horrible sound I made when we got the news in the emergency room that we’d lost the baby. I can’t protect him from the random crying jags in the middle of our living room while clutching a bottle of whiskey that we’ve been using novocaine.  Our baby is gone, my body is emptying, he doesn’t need to see that to know.

The statistics of miscarriage that go around are vast and confusing. One in three women miscarry, but 30% of all pregnancies are miscarriages, and there are multiple kinds of miscarriage. Ours was a spontaneous abortion. There was something so wrong with our baby from the beginning that nature wouldn’t let it live past 8 weeks. My husband is a scientist, so he explained it to me in the way he knew I would understand. DNA has letters that must match up exactly. If there’s an error in the spelling, or the proofreader notices a glitch, the pregnancy cannot continue. We had a major typo.

But my point is, one in three. 30%. Whatever number they are throwing out there this week. Not one in a million, not one in two billion… The nurse in the practice I saw yesterday, the receptionist too. The multiple women who have reached out to me upon hearing the news. We are not alone, and yet going into this I thought that nobody lost their babies, and that miscarrying meant that your body was horrible and unfit and not meant to have children. Why do we have to feel this way? Those who know me know that I keep everything close to my heart and I would usually rather walk across hot coals than so candidly talk about the inner workings of my life.   Some of my closest friends have no idea that we were even trying to have a baby. Some don’t know that I’ve been seeing a mental health professional to get my shit under control since my anxiety hit critical mass over the summer and I had a nervous breakdown. Well, there you go. Our dirty laundry is out and flapping in the breeze so judge away, but we need you. Even if we don’t know you, we need to know we’re not alone, and this isn’t a freak accident that only happens to us. We are letting you in. If there is a time to put aside our commentary on how other women are handling their lives and their facebook feeds and instagram accounts, and support each other, it is in times like these. Everyone is different, many people are very private and ashamed when this happens. Fuck, I’m horrified about this, but one of the things I’m working on every week is asking for help. I feel like this is one of those taboo topics that should be less so.

Oh you’re thinking about kids? Here’s a very real set of statistics about miscarriage. It could certainly happen, so be prepared, but it doesn’t make you less of a woman. It doesn’t make you less of a viable candidate to be a mother. It doesn’t make you unfit, or unwell, or unlovable. If we had this conversation I’m not saying that it would hurt less, or feel less like a failure, but we would know that we’re not alone. Thank you to the women who have reached out with kind words, encouragement, stories, feelings, and to the men who reached out to Rob to give him a safe place to speak candidly.

We are mourning the very real loss we’ve just had. We cry off and on, and I absentmindedly rub my stomach and wonder why. Not that we’ll know, but it’s human nature to want to know why and what we did wrong to do better the next time. Our Huckleberry is gone.

Last night I looked up at Rob and said, “I just want you to know that if we aren’t meant to be parents, you’re enough.” He agreed. While we have been reassured time and time again over the past three days that we are young, healthy, fertile, and we will conceive again… If we can’t, don’t, do and miscarry time after time, we can look at each other and know that we are enough. In the meantime, we’re going to be sad, but together in this. We’re not alone.


  1. oh my goodness. I am so so very sorry to hear. This post is incredibly raw and personal and it took so much courage to share your story. you are right, why don’t women share their miscarriage stories? It happened to me, my sister in law, and my best friend. It seems we only tell the people we know or who we are most close to. When it happened to me, it was devastating. I went in at 6 weeks , saw the flicker of the heartbeat and when I went back two weeks later, no heartbeat, no growth. I went to my seemingly exciting doctor’s appointment during my lunch break,never thinking that I would be faced with that kind of news. I returned to the office and completely lost it in my boss’s office. I’ll never forget the day. and i’ll never forget what my boss said to me ” well, it was probably meant to be… etc etc.. Maybe the baby was mongoloid etc etc.” yes, she said that and no, it did not help nor did it take the pain away.
    How did this happen? I just saw the heartbeat and it made it all feel real and then all the joy was taken away so fast. I had a d&c a few days later.

    When we were given the green light to try again, we did get pregnant and I was very anxious to make it through the first trimester. And we made it through the first trimester, the 2nd trimester and the 3rd! But the anxiety doesn’t go away. It’s will I have a healthy baby? and then you worry about SIDS. and then you worry about everything that come along with caring for a completely helpless human being and then they go to school. will they be bullied, and then they drive. etc I don’t think the anxiety of parenthood ever goes away. There is always something to worry about. It all comes with the territory beginning on day one when you pee on a stick and see that positive sign.

    I pray that you and Rob will find peace and I pray that you will get pregnant again ( and again and again)and go on to have a healthy happy baby ( or babies). I hope during this time, you will heal, mentally and physically. Talk to other women, go on fertility boards, there are so many women out there that are going through the exact thing you are going through right now. It all helps, the venting, the crying, the commiserating. I am sorry for your loss. I enjoy your blog and I look forward to the day you share your happy news again!

  2. I’m so sorry for your loss. Miscarriage is awful, and no amount of reasons or statistics helps ease the pain. You aren’t alone though. We lost our first at 5 weeks due to spontaneous abortion, and it was incredibly tough, and even tougher wondering if we would ever be pregnant again with a viable pregnancy. Just know that you aren’t alone. I know that I don’t know you, but I am here if you ever need to just vent about it. You and your family are in my thoughts and prayers.

  3. Hey hun. I needed to read this post as I always was hoping for an answer. I have just done a 3 part post on miscarriage on my blog as well, plus the original blog pieces from my miscarriage last year (temporary blessings). So sorry for your loss but God Willing you will be blessed again when the time is right. Thank you for sharing your story x

    1. Thank you for writing. Unfortunately for us, there are no concrete answers, just forward progress. This coming from a woman who has had 4 servings of scotch before 7pm. And so it goes. Again, I’m glad you took the time.

  4. Hi Alexa,

    You are very brave to share your raw emotions. I imagine it is helping you process what is happening and is helpful to you. I am so sorry for you and Rob’s loss. Your are right it is a huge loss even though you only had a few weeks of being pregnant. The moment a couple becomes pregnant they think about the future, the dreams, the expectations etc. A miscarriage is the loss of all of that, and that is huge.

    Statistics do not matter because this is your loss. You need to grieve, you need to process regardless of how many others have been through this. People want to say the right thing, do the right thing etc. but they often do not know what that is. Usually it is something like “It was not meant to be” etc. But usually there is no comfort in knowing that the DNA was the cause because most women and men want to know why it had to be a DNA problem in the first place. They want to know why them, not just how did it happen.

    I know this because I experienced it myself. I agree that women need to reach out to each other and men too! It is the most isolating feeling but there are so many people in the same situation. There are tons of supports out there like online forums, and real life groups etc. Many women I know who went through it reached out to me but it was not helpful because they were out of it at the time. They had families and moved on. These women hoped that their success would make me hopeful, but it made me more scared that I would be the one who does not have that turn out. I found comfort in being with women who were going through it at the same time as me. They understood the emotions.

    Now that I am out of it and have the family I see why those wonderful women reached out to me. I know they did it with love and wanted to be helpful because they understood my pain. But what I needed to hear from them is “It sucks”, “Your allowed to be angry, sad etc.” I did not need pep talks about how it will be ok, because right then and there it was not ok. That is where you are, and it is ok to be there for as long as you need.

    I am really impressed of your ability to give yourself permission to be in this place, and to tell others that your here and you need to be here for a while. You are taking care of your own needs and that is really important.

    Everyone experiences things differently so if you do find comfort in hearing others stories that turned out well you may want to read my About page- My Story on my website You may not want to hear that and that is ok too.

    Alexa, you are not alone, Rob you are not alone! There is a whole future out there for you, but right now your doing what you need to be doing, but your NOT alone!

    Love you both,

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