Our beloved Jax ran away, and a while later we decided to get a kitten. Our other cat, Milo, was moping – big time – and we liked the idea of a kitten that would grow up with Rowenna, rather than bringing in an adult cat with a more established personality who might not take to Milo or Rowenna. So we went out to a farm, sat in a room full of tiny kittens, and picked out the one that wanted nothing but to be snuggled and purr, hoping she might fill a tiny bit of the void Jax had left behind.
We named her Clover and hoped she would bring a little luck to our family. She settled right in and has a surprising number of Jax-like qualities, including taking a shine to Rowenna.
By luck, we meant Jax’s safe return home. Or maybe some fantastic summer weather. Or a fun summer adventure.
But I was not prepared for the kind of luck she brought us, and Rowenna has something to tell you:
I worried about when to announce, and how to announce, and to whom. But then something dawned on me, crystal clear: I no longer believe you shouldn’t announce before the second trimester because “something could happen to the baby,” because then you would have to “tell people” that the baby is gone. It’s always talked about in these hushed tones, and no one seems to give families the space to grieve out loud. We tell people not to announce – why? Is it really easier for families to experience miscarriage alone? Is it easier for the rest of us to not have to deal with their grief, or imagine such a sad thing happening during what is supposed to be a beautiful, celebrated time?
It’s such a widely used piece of folk wisdom, isn’t it? I know I’ve been guilty of saying it, though I never said it to another woman after my first loss. It’s that very sentiment that helps perpetuate a culture of women grieving in silence over the loss of their babies. I also think it creates a somewhat false security – that 12 weeks is a magical point at which nothing else can happen but to wait until 40 weeks and deliver a baby. Since my first early loss, I’ve heard and read the sad stories of babies loved and lost all the way up to delivery, and some lost shortly afterward. I don’t mean to perpetuate a fear-based culture surrounding pregnancy, but it seems unfair to say 12 weeks is some kind of mystical cut off.
If you don’t like the idea of telling the world that you lost because you announced early, I support your choice not to announce a pregnancy until you are ready. I just don’t support society, folk wisdom, or whatever saying that you shouldn’t announce if you want to, and everyone raising eyebrows when you excitedly announce early on that your family is growing. In my experience it is hard, incredibly hard, to have a conversation that starts “Well, I was pregnant, and now I’m not.” I can’t buy into this anymore.
I refuse to let any more of my babies go uncelebrated. And as hubby said, I’m tired of only being excited within the confines of my own home.
This time, I’m just going for it. And if the worst should happen and I miscarry, then I know I will have the support of friends and family instead of offering fake smiles as I go about life. And again, this is just my personal decision, and I understand why other families choose to wait. I’ve been there and done that, too.
So, I’m 9 weeks pregnant. I’ve had two ultrasounds, both showing on-track growth and heartbeat. Two chances to see the tiny life growing inside me. Two chances to burst into joyful tears over the thought that this baby looks like its here to stay. Morning sickness, exhaustion, the whole shabang. We’re excited, we’re terrified, we’re just living life as best we can and hoping for a baby in our arms, a baby I ache to hold.
This baby is due March 11, just a few days shy of St. Patricks Day. A little four-leaf clover, you might say. Lucky indeed.
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