Almost a year ago, my husband and I decided to start “trying.” To our surprise, the very first time, I found myself pregnant. We thought everything was falling into place—we were just waiting to close on our apartment so we could finally start our life together. But the closing kept getting delayed.
At that point, I was pregnant, and yet both of us were still living separately. George had ended his lease and was temporarily staying with his parents (for what we thought would be just a few short days). We were stuck in limbo—dreaming of building a home together, but unsure if it was even going to happen. Reality started sinking in: what if the apartment fell through? Should we start looking for a house all over again? Should we rent in the meantime? I couldn’t imagine living alone, pregnant in Connecticut, while my husband was in New York.
During this time, my parents were away, and I was dog-sitting at their home. When they returned, I told them the news—I was pregnant. But the very next day, I started bleeding. By the end of the night, I miscarried and lost the pregnancy.
Not long after, things finally started moving with the closing. We closed on the apartment and moved in that same week. I couldn’t lift anything, and while I was still healing physically and emotionally, I felt like I had to hide it from everyone. The whole experience took such a toll on me. At first, I felt numb. But as time passed, the grief hit harder—especially when I saw friends sharing pregnancy announcements, or when social media served me baby ads that felt like they were targeting my pain.
I spiraled. I cried in private, I snapped at my husband, and I questioned everything. Was it a sign I wasn’t meant to be a mom? A sign our marriage wasn’t strong enough? A sign something was wrong with me? My mind went to dark places.
After time, and after the window my OB recommended waiting, we decided to try again. And once again, on the very first try, I was pregnant. But this time it felt different. Instead of excitement, I felt fear. I kept it a secret. I worried constantly that it could be taken away from me again.
