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‘We heard your news, congratulations!’
As it wasn’t possible to hide my second pregnancy anymore, I gladly accepted the well-wishes coming my way while at a friend’s wedding party back in June last year.
At the time, the idea of a baby excited people because they assumed that, as I was past the first trimester, everything would be fine. I also hoped that things would go well, so I dismissed my nagging doubts – I have a tendency to worry about everything.
There were four other pregnant women at that party, all due around the same time as I was, so there was a sense of excitement about seeing all the babies when they arrived in a few months time.
But in reality, my baby died in July, just weeks after the party at nearly six months gestation, and since then, I haven’t been able to congratulate someone on their pregnancy. I’m not sure I ever will again.
And even though I’m pregnant myself again, I don’t like to be congratulated.
When I had my first child four years ago, the experience was completely different.
Pregnant with my son, I was overwhelmed by the optimism that comes with having a first child.
The combination of relief at being able to conceive as well as my own naivety about the realities of birth, breastfeeding and parenting itself meant that despite everyday anxieties, I was excited.
Still, we didn’t tell anyone until after the 20-week scan, just in case. However, I was happy to be congratulated, and eventually, we shared our news on social media. It makes me sad now that I was so naive about other people’s losses and I wouldn’t do that now.
I suffered during the birth and breastfeeding, but my firstborn was fine, so the relief was immense.
He was two-and-a-half when my partner and I decided to give him a sibling, and I was elated when I became pregnant immediately.
We told family and friends once the 12-week scan showed everything to be okay, but this time around, I felt guilty that I was ‘beating the system’.
By being both able to easily conceive and avoid an early miscarriage, I knew my story was different to so many other people that I know.
But it was at my 20-week scan and subsequent visits to the fetal medicine unit that I was told that my baby had a combination of severe cardiac anomalies, and it would take a miracle for them to live.
They died a few weeks later. It was a low point in my life where I experienced suicidal ideation and produced milk for weeks for a baby I could never feed.
I’ve found that baby loss isn’t something I’ll ever ‘get over’ but something I have to live with.
But I barely had time to process it all before it was time to try again.
Being 38 at the time, I knew time was against me, and just six months after my baby died, I became pregnant again. As hopeful as I am to give my son a sibling, I know that if it doesn’t work out this time, I won’t be able to try again.
The hormonal cocktail of being both postpartum and pregnant means that I don’t know how I feel most days, and the grief overshadows much of it, anyway.
Now, I ‘know too much’ to enjoy the thrill of a pregnancy announcement, so much so that I haven’t told many people about expecting again with what would be my third baby.
It’s too painful to excite people in case something goes wrong, and no amount of extra scans or specialised testing can lessen my fear.
This time around, I’ve avoided congratulations as much as possible, as friends know that I don’t want to discuss the pregnancy.
I haven’t revealed the news on social media, and when people ask about my pregnancy in real life, I just tell them ‘we’ll see what happens.’
I’ve also stopped congratulating people on their own pregnancies because I worry this optimism will upset them, as it has haunted me.
I still feel as though I’ve failed at the thing I was supposed to do, and my inability to have a healthy baby is a disappointment to people.
When people congratulate me now, I feel there is pressure to produce a perfect baby, but I don’t know what the future holds and that a happy ending isn’t guaranteed even late in pregnancy.
I also know that it isn’t just me who has these complicated feelings and experiences.
Several women in my circle of friends and acquaintances have had to give birth to babies they knew were dead, experienced trauma from premature labour or received frightening diagnoses for their newborns.
A congratulations on a later pregnancy, even if well-meaning, can still cut deep for those who’ve been through heartache to get there.
Instead of congratulating people on their pregnancies, I think we should concentrate on how the person feels and what it means to them. The journey of having a baby is unpredictable, and there are more painful moments than any of us can understand before we embark on it.
I also think that a person is more than their pregnancy, and it’s important to leave space for whatever sadness, boredom, sickness or any other emotion they are feeling. We expect happiness from people during an extremely vulnerable time in their lives, when the reality may be very different.
Let’s make pregnancy better for mothers by acknowledging this grey area instead of ignoring it. Save the congratulations for after the baby is born and the nine months (or less) of uncertainty are well and truly in the past.
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