From a young age, I dreamed of being a mother.
I played with dolls—yes, the kind that peed and pooped. I would beg my mother to buy real newborn diapers and pajamas for them. I idolized this role, envisioning it with the naïveté of a child. I could hardly wait! I asked questions, and I understood how a little seed could settle in a mother’s belly, knowing that it took both a dad and a mom. In my child’s mind, I had grasped this early on.
It wasn’t until my teenage years, watching my older sister, that I truly understood what it meant to be pregnant—to feel the baby move, to sense the life within. I witnessed the birth of my nephew at just 14 years old. But one crucial truth eluded me: becoming a mother isn’t as simple as it seems.
Not every little being sprouts into life. I discovered this as a young adult, still naïve about the ease I had envisioned. I stopped contraception, and then came two years of trying—two years of calculating ovulation, observing cycles, and scheduling intimate moments. As always, I thought I was in control. Then finally, a little being nestled in my belly.
I couldn’t wait to share the news and called my big sister on FaceTime! The joy of that moment… She knew before I even spoke. I planned a surprise announcement for my partner, who would discover the news through my “KEEP CALM, I’M PREGNANT” t-shirt. (I was ready for this moment—I had been waiting for this baby.) My partner, who is 14 years older than me, had also longed for this family. That evening, I greeted him in that t-shirt, prepared with a baby pajama and my pregnancy test showing two pink lines! Yes, keep calm, darling, it’s happening! He froze at the door, thinking it was a joke. No, this was real. That hug full of hope, joy, and love was finally ours. This man I had chosen, who had chosen me, and this little being who had chosen us.
But life had other plans, and that immense joy lasted only a few weeks… I will remember that morning for the rest of my life. My partner had gone out to play golf, and I was taking a nap. Suddenly, cramps seized me. My dog, Leica, a Great Dane, and my cat seemed to sense something was wrong. I often say they have a sixth sense; that morning, they were both glued to me. My dog rested his head on my belly…
Then I felt a liquid running down my thighs. I got up, and the bleeding intensified. Panic set in—a feeling of “No, this can’t be real, I can’t be going through this.” I rushed to the bathroom, my dog following with a worried look. In that moment, I understood that nature had decided otherwise for the three of us.
I called my partner: “I’m bleeding.” I called my sister. I didn’t need to say more; tears and horror overtook me.
I reached out to the helpline:
– What am I supposed to do?
I was told that spotting could happen and to monitor the flow.
But as the hours passed, the bleeding only got worse. My partner arrived, and we held each other, frozen in this emotional rollercoaster: maybe it’s just bleeding? Eventually, we went to the hospital. The staff was kind and empathetic. It was dark, and I felt exhausted. We saw the doctor shortly after, who told me we would do an ultrasound to see if a curettage would be necessary.
That word chilled me; I didn’t want to go through that—it felt like too much. After the ultrasound, we waited in a room. The doctor entered:
– I’m really sorry for you. Your baby is no longer there; you have lost the fetus naturally, and there will be no need for a curettage.
In that moment, all hope that this was just normal bleeding or a nightmare evaporated. My partner, with tears in his eyes, his sorrow evident… I felt like I had failed, and he felt helpless. Another hug, for that little being… who was no longer with us but would remain in our hearts.
At that moment, I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else but in his arms.
The days that followed were a blur. I had to share this “news.” It seems that this word is often used for positive things, but this time, it was bad news after good… Is this all real?
All these questions flooded my mind:
What did I do or not do?
Why us?
Why after two years of waiting?
And then came the semi-awkward and naïve phrases from well-meaning people trying to comfort me with comments like “You’re young,” “Aww, that happens often,” or “You’ll see, the next one will stick.” If only simply saying, “You know, I have no words for your pain, but I’m here,” would have sufficed.
Then a friend told me something that deeply soothed my grief:
– This little being needed to feel deeply desired; that’s what he came to seek in your belly.
This thought brought me comfort because I believe in little souls that float, choosing their passage to life. Why this moment with me? To feel that he was loved and desired. If I was his passage to that unconditional love, then I accept. My partner and I cuddled in bed, crying for the one we had already imagined in our arms.
To you, little being, you guided me through this journey of fertility, far more complex than I had imagined. This is our story, our adventure, and our hearts remain with you, little soul. From this experience, I’ve learned a lesson: we don’t have control over everything, and it’s disorienting when we long for something so deeply.
Letting go of the profound desire to be a mother… I don’t think that’s possible, but I do know that my emotions are valid, and my story matters, just as yours does, dear mom.
To all those who are experiencing this, I’m thinking of you, and I’m sending you my thoughts.
