Grief and Pregnancy

I shared a video on instagram early this morning. I didn't intend to be cryptic about what I plan to only share in this newsletter, but I wasn't really wanting to share this on a completely public platform for all to see because it's pretty personal.

Hold onto your eyeballs; this is certain to be a long one.

A little backstory: if you have read my books, you know that my pregnancy with Calder was statistically improbable. Chris and I were very happy with Eldon and debated frequently on adding another child to our family. Obviously, I'm really glad that we did, but we had sex 6 days before I ovulated (I know because I was tracking) and somehow I got pregnant. We joked that it's because Chris is such a good swimmer that he naturally has really strong "swimmers".

My pregnancy with Calder was MUCH harder than my pregnancy with Eldon. I had frequent migraines, a thrombosed hemorrhoid, and some SI joint pain (that was related to the hemorrhoid). I was anticipating a shorter labor (my first was 40 hours), and ended up with a shorter labor, but it was significantly longer than I was hoping (29 hours). I was in the shower for the first time after he was born, and Chris and I were processing the whole endeavor. I told him, "I never wanna do that again." He said, "I know, that's the plan." I opened the shower curtain to make eye contact with him and re-stated firmly, "No. I'm serious. Don't let me talk you into this in the future."

Spoiler alert: I guess I knew my future self pretty well in that moment because I was so connected with my intuition since I'd recently birthed a human in my kitchen.

There's a whole section here that I'm going to glaze over on details for the sake of brevity, but know that it involves a discussion around vasectomy, some concerns with the operation, and my husband getting in a car accident the week he was scheduled for a consult; we decided to cancel that appointment because he had a gnarly concussion and wasn't going to be doing any surgery - even minor - until he was completely healed.

Fast forward almost 2 years to spring of 2018. We had sex on day 8 of my cycle, which should've been pretty "safe" for pregnancy prevention because I wasn't ovulating until day 14 and had no signs of fertility (check out the book Taking Charge of Your Fertility if you want to understand signs of fertility). And then two days later, I was pretty positive I ovulated.

Given my track record of ovulating SIX DAYS after sex and ending up pregnant, I was fairly certain what the outcome was going to be. I was relatively hysterical for the next two and a half weeks and no joke took like 20 pregnancy tests. I also had some really horrible hives and was still dealing with autoimmunity things. It wasn't a particularly great time.

Chris got a vasectomy. He called and set up an appointment - not a consultation, but the actual appointment - and then told me that he'd done that. He asked if I thought it was okay. I told him that it was his body and I supported his decision. He said, "If we're having three, we're definitely not having four." At which point we both began to catastrophically consider the next "what if" of if we were pregnant with twins. It took a bit to come out of that rabbit hole. But I agreed that I didn't want to feel this way again; and if he was willing to undergo the risks of the procedure, then I supported him. (He actually got in a car accident the day before his appointment (AGAIN?!), but he was okay and decided to go through with it.)

But I gradually got to the point where I was "okay" with the idea that I could be pregnant (with one child). I hadn't wanted to be pregnant, but I couldn't stand the idea that I already was and was so adamantly opposed to it. What if I *was* pregnant? What were my internal thoughts doing to that baby? I spent a lot of time in reflection and was actually totally at peace with being pregnant.

So when my period came, I was actually disappointed. I'd completely flipped the script from "oh NO, not another baby" to envisioning our family with three kids and how that would play out. And then there was no baby. There was no baby that I hadn't wanted. So it wasn't like I was grieving the loss of a wanted and anticipated pregnancy, but it felt like grief nonetheless.

I tried to process my way through it, but every month when I got my period, it was a reminder that I wasn't going to be pregnant again. An idea that I'd previously welcomed and felt very good about was now a challenge to overcome.

I dove into the benefits of my menstrual cycle (and have since continued to enjoy them). I created our Women's Fitness program as a result of that work. I live my life according to my menstrual cycle's roadmap. It brought peace with each cycle, but alongside that peace, there was still some grief.

There's another story I'm going to glaze over on details, but it involves a beautiful dog named Strawberry who chose me and my husband's still-broken heart from our dog (his best friend for 11 years) who passed. The end of that story is that we did not adopt Strawberry, which I was looking forward to as a patch for my somewhat broken heart. (In hindsight I realized how cruel it would've been to place the burden of healing my heart on another creature, but at the time, it just seemed to worsen my grief.)

I'm tearing up writing this right now. This part. The part about the dog. Not because Strawberry was so perfect (she was), but because it's the first time I wrote that my heart was actually broken by the loss of the anticipation of a child.

I have never experienced a miscarriage. I hold the hearts of many who have; I sit with them while they cry silently or sob violently. I bring them soup to warm their bones that ache with grief. But I have not experienced that loss in my own body.

Because of this, I hadn't wanted to consider the loss of *anticipation* a loss. Because I was never pregnant. I never lost a child. And I hadn't wanted to be pregnant in the first place.

But putting boundaries up for what I was "allowed" to grieve or not for hasn't really been helpful at all.

So I'm still crying and I'm still writing and I seriously can't believe anyone is still reading because this is absurdly long. But if you're here, we're now almost caught up to the present moment and the news that I woke up to this morning.

Since my menstrual cycle returned after Calder was born, I have had mostly 26 day cycles. I've had a few 27 and fewer 28 day cycles. I started my last menstrual cycle immediately after the last new moon. I was doing a meditation led by my friend Aubrey, and started bleeding when I stood up. It was amazing, actually. I love the moon cycles and I love my menstrual cycle, so that was incredible to me.

But on day 25 of my cycle, my breasts started to be really tender. That occasionally happens right before my period, but not quite as intensely as they were hurting. When my period didn't start the next day and my breasts were more tender, I took a pregnancy test because I was a little concerned. Negative.

Two more days, more tender breasts. I shared with Chris after my first test, so he continued to check on me and see how I was doing. We addressed the real possibility that I was pregnant, and I found myself in the same conundrum as two years prior. But this time I was feeling a bit more excited about the prospect. Maybe this is why Chris got in car accidents every time he considered a vasectomy. Maybe this is why we didn't adopt Strawberry. Maybe this is a one-in-a-million chance, but we got it.

But I took another test and it was still negative. Yesterday was Day 29. I had no more pregnancy tests (they're usually in stock at my office, but those were my last two), so Chris went to the store and bought me three more. I took one. Negative.

This morning, which is Earth Day and another new moon, I woke up and took another test (my first one that was the first pee of the day - how you're "supposed" to take pregnancy tests). When I wiped, there was some faint maroon blood.

Relief washed over me, which was surprising. But I still waited to check the test because early pregnancy bleeding is common and I know that. Negative. Again.

I woke up with the news that I am not pregnant. This is the same news as every other morning: I am unlikely to ever be pregnant again. It is just news. I attach meaning (or not) to this news.

I had not wanted to be pregnant again. I had been at peace with never feeling the miracle of a growing child inside my womb; of never feeling the faint kicks of a tiny being swirling in amniotic fluid; of never feeling intense sensation of surges of uterine contractions bringing that life from inside my body into the outside world; of never holding that life to my breast and nourishing it with milk; of never seeing my youngest as an older sibling. I had been. And I will be again. But I am not now.

It is okay for me to not be at peace; I acknowledge my slightly broken heart. I am not in the depths of unacknowledged grief. I am speaking my grief and choosing to share my experience.

I have no idea why I'm choosing to share this with you. But it feels good to write - it always does. And it feels good to share. So if you've read this, I thank you. I appreciate you.

And now to healing.

xox
L