Four years ago, under a Full Moon in October, I lost my first baby. I sat on my bed and watched the moon rise through the window as I felt my body let go. 

It was what I now know is called a chemical pregnancy, but at the time, I couldn’t wrap my head around what was happening; it was so early that I felt like I didn’t have a right to mourn or be as sad as I was. After years of chronic pelvic pain, we thought I could never get pregnant, so this hadn’t been something we were planning on. But with the feeling my body was pregnant came hope, a vision of what life could be, lost along with the life inside me. 

Learning to make meaning out of tragedy is one of the most helpful coping skills we can develop - not in a spiritually by-passing way, but in one that helps us keep going. As devastating as it was, this loss was a catalyst that completely changed the course of our lives. This baby gave us the gift of a new dream, a seed of hope that we could get pregnant, and the initiative to prepare our lives for what that would look like. We bought our house & got married in our backyard the following year. I restarted my business with the intention that it would be flexible enough that I could run it while being the primary caregiver. I spent years doing bodywork appointments and therapy to get my body and mind as ready as possible. Sharing what I was going through strengthened my relationships, with people I’ve learned to trust and turn to.

Three years + one month later, I watched the Full Moon rise through a hospital window as I laboured with our daughter, Celeste. She turns eleven moons old tomorrow, and we’ve started planning her first birthday party for next month. 

I don’t believe that pain or grief ever truly goes away. It dims in intensity as life goes on, but there’s always an ache that’s there. On anniversaries, or other reminders, there can be waves that make my heart ache & take my breath away. I know, without a doubt, I had more fear throughout my pregnancy and early motherhood with Celeste than I would have without a loss. But over the years, I’ve learned how to sit with and honour that fear & grief, to stay in the present without getting lost. 

There isn’t a chance I could have gone through this journey alone. I will forever be grateful to the Pregnancy & Infant Loss Support Centre (especially for all they share on their Instagram) for helping me not feel alone in my grief during both my loss & second pregnancy. My doula, midwives & therapist were absolute angels, listening and helping me work through fears during pregnancy and in the early days after giving birth. Above all, I’m thankful to Isaac, my family, and my friends for always being there and supporting me in countless ways.

While some folks thought it was strange that we told everyone we knew when we got pregnant again the day after we found out, I knew that if we were to suffer another loss, we would need all the support we could get. It’s devastatingly common; I know more folks who have dealt with this kind of loss than ones who have not. While all of our stories are different, the one thing in common is that we don’t have to go through it alone. 

I love both my babies with my whole heart, today & always.