My third and last baby boy, Danny, started school last week. While I was going through the usual emotional rollercoaster most mothers go through before their little ones embark on this new journey, I posted an old photo on social media of a very pregnant me with an itty bitty James next to me, tiptoeing to reach and pat my belly. And then I remembered how I hid that pregnancy for as long as I could, and my heart broke.
I’ve had three babies, two of which have their birth stories written out and posted here on the blog. My second baby, James, was a VBAC baby and so was Danny. I’ve put my experiences of birthing into words and shared them with the world. I haven’t done the same with my miscarriages.
Those who know me, know about the one I had before I got pregnant with Georgie, my first baby, and then the two I experienced before getting pregnant with James. A total of three miscarriages that took a little part of me with them when they happened. Trauma and soul-scars that won’t ever go away but have become bearable over the years and lessened by the sight of my three beautiful and healthy boys.
Experiencing miscarriages, the anxiety and depression that come with the difficulties of getting pregnant a second time, led me down a strange path. I looked into IVF (!), I booked an appointment with my gynaecologist to get my tubes checked and when I was finally with child, I had to stick anticoagulation needles in my belly for a month.
So, almost exactly a year after having my rainbow baby, when I saw the two dark lines appear on the pregnancy test, I felt like a fraud. I felt a literal disconnect from my body and immense guilt. There were no happy tears, no counting of blessings and no sense of gratitude. I had spent the last two years wanting and hoping for another baby, crying non-stop every time my period came and feeling jealous of pregnant bellies and pregnancy announcements on social media, and now the thought of a third baby was bringing on feelings I had no idea I was capable of having. Among them was the sense of irresponsibility too, which is just plain wrong.
I felt people would judge me for my back-to-back pregnancies and I wasn’t ready for that, so I hid my bulging belly. I knew many would comment on the fact that it was another baby boy, so I hid my pregnancy and would later lie about not knowing the sex of the baby to avoid the rolling of eyes or remarks on how difficult it will be raising three boys – I wrote about a very real thing called gender disappointment here and you can find my third pregnancy blog post announcement here along with a few of the not-so-nice comments I received back then.
I’ve grown a lot since that post was published four years ago, I’ve learned vital life lessons from becoming a mother of three in such a short time and I have gained strength and confidence I never knew was possible. BUT I can recognise the fear and uncertainty I experienced back then, I fully understand why I did what I did or didn’t do, sadly I have a sense that many women reading this will too. As women and as mothers we are constantly judged, whether we have no kids or too many, whether our bodies pack on uncomfortable amounts of weight or none whatsoever, it seems that pregnancy and bringing kids into this world comes with an open social media comment section that’s free for all and that simply isn’t true. I became a mother over ten years ago, my body changed forever, my life turned upside down and while I would rather die than change any of that, I can’t believe that we still have to remind people to keep their mouths shut when it comes to other peoples’ bodies and especially pregnant ones.
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