People assume pregnancy is always a joyful time. And in many ways it is, but if you’ve experienced loss before, joy doesn’t always show up alone. It often feels cautious. It walks hand in hand with fear, anxiety, and a million “what ifs.”
Almost 4 years ago, we lost our baby girl after a preterm delivery. It was sudden, heartbreaking, & life-altering. We were far enough along to have imagined her whole world – her name, her room, how wonderful of a big brother she’d have. I still remember watching her breathe while we were in the delivery room, knowing she didn’t have long & there was nothing we could do about it, wondering with each breath if it’d be her last. She was in her daddy’s arms the entire time getting kisses and being told she was loved over and over. Nothing prepares you for that kind of grief. It changes you forever.
And now, here I am, pregnant again at 39. This time the journey was different from the beginning. It took multiple IUIs & a lot of waiting, hoping, & praying. Every single step has been layered with cautious hope, guarded excitement, & the fear of getting attached too soon.
People will ask me, “Aren’t you so excited?” And I truly am. But excitement doesn’t look the same this time around. Its quieter & more sacred. It’s mixed with nerves and flashbacks and little moments that remind me of what we lost. There are days that I feel confident & hopeful, and then there are days when I’m afraid to think too far ahead, afraid to make plans, & afraid to let myself imagine life with this baby in it just yet.
No one talks about how even the good parts, hearing the heartbeat, the ultrasounds, the kicks, can feel scary. With every milestone, there’s a “what if”. And so, I hold back. I haven’t bought any baby clothes, or any baby items at all, & I haven’t set up a nursery. Not because I’m not excited, but because I know how it feels to pack up the dreams you thought were coming true & put those things away. There’s a part of me that’s afraid to connect too deeply, it’s like a defense mechanism. Yet, there’s another part that desperately wants to believe that this time will be different. That this baby is coming home. That it’s okay to let myself feel joy again.
Since sharing my story, women have reached out to me with their own. Some experienced early loss & were never even offered the chance to hold their baby, to name them, or even receive a footprint. Their grief was met with silence, no keepsakes, & no space to mourn. Hearing that from multiple women was shattering. I know how heavy it feels to carry love with nowhere to place it, & I want them to know: their baby mattered, their pain matters, & their story deserves to be remembered.
Others have shared with me something even more unimaginable, multiple losses. Some have gone through this heartbreak not once, but twice or more. I honestly cannot put into words how much strength that takes. These women carry an invisible weight and still manage to show up for the world around them. They showed up for me, and I’m sure for others that are walking similar paths. Their courage, even in quiet survival, is something I’ll never forget.
It’s a strange in-between place. I know I’m not the only one here, but it’s not something people talk about much. Pregnancy after loss is its own journey. One that deserves more space, more understanding, & more grace. You’re not crazy for feeling every emotion all at once. You’re not broken for hesitating to celebrate. You’re human and you’re healing, even if it doesn’t always feel like it.
I’m learning that it’s okay to be excited and scared. To feel hopeful and guarded. To grieve what was lost while also holding onto what’s possible. This pregnancy is different. I’m different. And that’s just fine. I don’t need to be who I was 10 years ago. I just need to show up as who I am now – wiser, softer, & more aware of just how precious this really is.
Mama Martinez - 