On October 29th, 2023, we found out our baby lost it's heartbeat. One in four pregnancies end in early pregnancy loss, a statistic I was not aware of until now.

Journal entry 1/11/2023

I wake up to the sound of Willy Wagtail singing outside my window. I'm usually happy and excited as I wake up with my hands holding my belly, knowing you're growing inside it. But this morning, my belly is hollow and empty. You're gone.

Three days ago, my heart and spirit shattered into a thousand pieces. The words, "I can't find the babies heartbeat, I'm sorry," echo inside my mind. I don't get it, a month ago that same heartbeat was strong and healthy beating at 129BPM. Now it's gone. It's crazy how something can be taken away from you in a single heartbeat.

My belief has always been that everything happens for a reason. I'm not quite sure why this is happening yet, and maybe we're not meant to? Maybe we're just meant to be in our grief, and no matter how hard we try, we will never make sense of it. 

Three days ago, the morning I went to the hospital, Arlo, my four year old little girl, put her hand on my belly and told me that her "baby brother was getting smaller." 

"No he's not," I told her, "he's growing and getting bigger." 

"No he's not," she said, and walked away. 

Then I started to bleed. 

They call it a silent miscarriage. When the baby loses it's heartbeat, but your body doesn't let go of it.  When I saw our little baby lying there on the ultrasound screen, I knew in my heart it was gone. There was no flicker where the heartbeat usually is. 

It looked exactly like Arlo's twin, who we lost at about sixteen weeks. "I am sorry, but the baby has lost it's heartbeat." All I could see was the baby laying at the bottoms of it's sack. I was shattered, and wasn't able to take in the joy of Baby B, our strong willed Arlo, who was kicking and moving around in there like she was having the time of her life. 

I feel like I'm grieving for both this time. The grief feels deep, like it can break me at any second. 

XO