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I always had an extreme desire to create and have that big family life. As I get older my dreams seems to slip away; less reachable and me being more and more okay with it. When it comes to ttc and being pregnant you need to stay realistic or else you could find yourself heartbroken. It’s the year 2021, Trump was just impeached for the second time, with only a week left of his presidency. Money was tight and people were dying due to the world wide pandemic but regardless pregnancy announcements were plenty. With nothing to do quarantined inside with you and your family, things tend to happen. I had James in 2019, a couple of days after my own birthday and the desire to give him a sibling had started shortly after having him. I became envious of all my happy friends on Facebook announcing to the world their families were growing. I allowed myself to feel sorry for myself for a short while before coming to terms with reality. Money really was tight, and our living situation hadn’t reached our permanent plan yet. However I kept getting reminded that it’s never the right time and that what’s meant to be will. The holidays came and it must have been the magic in the air because we fell pregnant! I was in disbelief for a couple of days but those lines kept getting darker each day. Eventually I found myself at my doctor who also confirmed it was positive. Plans were being made and we were all prepared for the side effects I had while carrying James. I fell into the worst spat of nesting, finding another crib, and making a list of things we did need (which wasn’t much because I had accumulated so much with James). We stayed up late in bed searching names for both genders and wrote down our favorites. I just knew it would be a girl and her name would have been Ivy Jane. I’ll always remember this name and be in love with it. We showed James where his sibling was living for the next 9 months and he always gave my belly a good ole pat-pat after lifting up my shirt. We were all excited for the new addition. The side effects started almost immediately which calmed my nerves knowing that my body was working hard growing that baby. One morning I woke up to use the bathroom, which is when I noticed the blood. I came back to the room in shock to where I immediately called the on call and as my husband tried to tell me not to worry yet. The cramping got worse so before I got a call back from the on call I drove to the hospital. Covid is still a threat and no visitors or extra people/ support were allowed to tag along, which was the hardest part of this whole ordeal for me. Every nurse who took care of me were men, who obviously didn’t read my chart or why I was there. (Gender police calm down, in my career before becoming a sahm, I’ve had the privilege to work with some of the best male doctors/nurses and they were better and more supportive than any other female medical professional I’d ever met). One nurse became angry at me when I didn’t leave a urine sample. He didn’t seem great at communicating what he wanted from me which led me to think he wanted a sample of my material, which then led me to feel like I just wrongfully flushed away my precious baby. Never once did he provide me with a hat or ask me to leave a sample of URINE for him. He later returned after leaving my room with an attitude, (probably after actually reading my chart) finding me sobbing and explaining he just wanted a urine sample and to keep trying for one. The rest of the interactions I had with him were awkward and I forced myself to subtly laugh at his bad attempts to make jokes. The resident who came in told me about my beta levels and to follow up with my doctor in a day or two because they may rise again (which was said after I had the sono to prove that my baby had already left my uterus). The best one yet was the nurse in intake who asked if I had any previous problems with my first pregnancy to which I replied yes many but none with risk of miscarrying. He then asked how the delivery went and whether it was a c-section or vaginally and if there were any complications. I replied vaginally with an episiotomy along with multiple complications and a 3+ month recovery to which he replied “that usually goes hand in hand with what we call a natural delivery”. They give me an iv and do blood work and send me on my way which was honestly all I wanted, was to be home with my family. The cramps felt like labor for about two days. The first day I spent trying to process what happened and sleeping. I couldn’t hold back the tears. Every reminder of no longer being pregnant felt like someone stabbed me in the eyes and stomach. I just wanted it to be over, I wanted to stop bleeding, to stop feeling pregnant, and to stop feeling so depressed. A day or two afterwards something told me to look closer while in the bathroom and I saw my baby. You can have all the experience in the medical field and nothing will ever prepare you for what to do at this point. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to call for Vinny but I didn’t want him to have to have that imagine in his head forever like I now would. I stared at my baby for awhile and then without thinking about it I just finished and pretended like it didn’t happen. The imagine is burned into my head. I’ve been trying to cope by telling myself it’s a nice reminder of what I had but it haunts me when I’m trying to fall asleep at night. Each day seemed to be easier and harder in different ways. The cramps got easier to manage but certain things now became triggers for tears. After about a week I was able to laugh again with my son, and tell my friends and family who I’ve prematurely told about the pregnancy earlier in the month. I’m grateful for getting through this and I’m grateful for my son. I’m grateful for the support I had at home and my husband who told me to take all the time I needed to recover. I’m grateful for the women (who are braver than me) for posting their stories of their own losses on Instagram and making me feel less alone in my feelings. Obviously I’ve wrote about this because writing is my thing, but I’m still unsure if I should share it to my blog. The brave women who’ve shared their stories online and with me, give me motivation to share my story as well however I’m still torn. It’s such a delicate thing for me. I’m sure the triggers will always be there like when I receive the announcement t-shirt I had made, and when I cross paths with another pregnant mama. My family has reminded me that James will be a big brother eventually and maybe sooner than later. I miss being pregnant. I miss my baby. I miss feeling nauseous and hungry. I miss having the excuse to eat my secret stash of Oreos in bed. I miss the excitement I had for the milestones and sonos. But I’m also grateful for feeling more like myself today. I'm grateful I can be a better mama to James and a better wife to Vinny today. The world today is unstable and chaotic. I can’t help but to feel anger because while my friends and family argue over which political party is on the right or wrong side of history, horrible things are still happening. I lost a friend whose soul was too good for this world, countless women I’m friends with have lost their husbands to covid and I lost my baby. Everyone is too busy fighting about things they really don’t have much control over to actually see what’s going on. Things will never be the same after this pandemic and election and 2020-2021 will always be remembered. I’ll always remember my Ivy Jane. ️<3