Today marks 2 years since the day I began to miscarry what would have been my fourth baby. It is singly the most traumatic and heartbreaking thing I have ever been through. I didn't ever think I would recover from the emotional pain and loss we went through. Our lost baby was deeply wanted. I was pregnant for just 10 short weeks and in that time I had done all the normal pregnant mummy things. I dreamed of names, whether we would have another girl or boy. Panicked about how we would cope with four. I was incredibly proud of my body once again for growing another baby. I was so happy carrying around our little secret. I was also sick. I felt really rough and so very pregnant.
And then I began to bleed. At first I hoped it was nothing. But I kept bleeding. The first early scan I went for, I went alone. It was one of the biggest mistakes in my life to do that.
I felt crushing betrayal. Betrayed by my own body against me, against my baby. I felt empty, lost, like a failure. I had lost a baby. My baby. The sonographor was so blazé about it. It was just one of those things. But it wasn't. It was my baby.
Fast forward a few months and I was lucky enough to fall pregnant with Anna. I couldn't enjoy it. I felt like I didn't deserve to enjoy it. What if my body betrayed me again? Maybe I shouldn't get excited. Maybe I shouldn't download the bump to baby pregnancy app this time. What if? My anxiety sky rocketed. At our 12 week scan I was pale and shaky. The sense of relief when I saw a baby moving on the screen was enormous. But it didn't curb my anxiety. My feeling of worry that something was going to go wrong. My absolute fear that I was going to loose her. It wasn't helped by the extra scan they wanted at her anomaly check. Nor the fact I had an anterior placenta and so couldn't feel the early kicks as easily as with all the others. My husband was amazing and reassured me that we should be grateful and rejoice in whatever time we had with her.
When she was born and I finally held her I could breathe again. She was here. She made it.
But the anxiety didn't go.
When she was about 2 months old I finally admitted to an amazing friend of mine that I was actually terrified of Anna just dying. During the night I was so grateful to be woken up by her because it meant she was still alive.
But when I wrapped her it felt better. I had her. I could feel her breathing. I could hear her tiny snuffly noises. I could place my hand on her back and feel her heart beating as she slept. I felt held together by the wrap. It bound me and her together and I felt safe. She felt safe. I knew I could babywear safely and I could relax. Babywearing helps my anxiety so much. I am so grateful to babywearing for this. That my wraps are more than just a method of transport for me. They are healing, bonding and holding me together.
If you are struggling with any kind of anxiety, I want you to know that you are not alone. If you have been through a miscarriage, I am so sorry. Please reach out for help if you need it.