Three weeks ago, I had a miscarriage.

There, I said it out loud.

(Insert sign of relief here.)

You see, this site has given me a great outlet to blog anonymously about my TTC journey, and I even shared my feelings about my loss on the blog as well.  I felt that by sharing about my experience anonymously, I could process my journey and share my experience, hopefully to the benefit of others, while maintaining my anonymity.

What I didn’t realize was how hard that anonymity would be on me.  The “what’s new?” and “how are you doing?” questions that once seemed innocuous now sat like a hole in my heart.  How do you say, “nothing much” or “oh, I’m good” when you just underwent a surgical procedure to remove a once growing being from your body.  Sitting at our Friday morning playgroup, I sat surrounded by pregnant bellies and chatter about spring and summer babies – a conversation I thought I was just weeks from joining when we shared our good news in a few weeks.  Now, just being in the room with so many baby bumps had me burning me up inside as I smiled casually, doing my best not to crush the happy mood with my extremely sad news.  So none of them know.  Because of my silence.

Of course, there is a place for keeping mum in the world of TTC.  No one wants people staring at their belly constantly or having friends clamor every time you don’t order a drink.  Some people are just very private by nature, though obviously as someone who blogs about our family’s life on the internet, I am not one of those people.

But in a world where it is socially acceptable for people to ask, “when are you and Mr. Confetti going to give Colin a little brother or sister?”, I think it should be equally acceptable for me to respond, “well, we thought that he would be a big brother in September, but I just had a miscarriage, so I guess he is going to have to wait a little longer.” Let me tell you, I tried that response out at a cocktail party last weekend after one too many people asked about trying for #2, and one too many drinks (that number, as it stands, was ONE drink – I am a total lightweight since I almost never drink).  To say that it didn’t go over so easily was an understatement.  So. Awkward.  No one wants a truthful answer to an extremely personal question, yet no one thinks before asking.

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More than anything, my pregnancy and then no-more-pregnancy experience reaffirmed that life is much easier when you keep your mouth shut about being pregnant until you are certain that there is a sticky baby in there (and of course, there are no guarantees in life, but for me, this now means at least a couple sightings of a heartbeat and an undeniably substantial bump).  Because I felt like I was showing so early (uber bloat) and showing so many signs of pregnancy (food aversions, fatigue, emotional wreck), I became a bit loose-lipped, telling our families and several friends before our first visit. And now I am mad at myself for sharing so casually with people. Feeling like you need to rack your brain over who you told about being pregnant so you can let them know that you aren’t so it doesn’t have to come up in a casual conversation when you aren’t prepared emotionally is awful.

And yet, acting like it never happened at all can be even worse.  Experiencing a miscarriage can be an incredibly isolating experience. Our friends and family have been wonderful, but even Mr. Confetti has said that while he is certainly disappointed, he hadn’t grown as attached as I had to the reality of being newly pregnant and growing our family, so it didn’t hit him quite as hard.

The OB/GYN who performed my D&C reassured us of how common miscarriages are, and yet, out of all of my friends and acquaintances with kids and those who have been married long enough to be nagged about babies, I only know one other person who has ever told me she had a miscarriage (excluding my own mom, who also miscarried between me and my sister).  Of course, the fabulously supportive community on the Hellobee blog and boards assures me that I am not alone, but why is it so unacceptable for people to say these things out loud, in real life?

So here I am, fessing up, so that hopefully I can break up the ice a little around the subject.  How am I?  Today, I am doing okay.  The physical recovery is mostly behind me, and emotionally, it is a journey I am managing day by day.  Soon, everything will be in order so we can get back to the business of trying, instead of recovering, and then I will probably be even better.  No need for tears or anything. But let’s not be afraid to talk about it.  Okay?