One year and no baby later.

Thoughts on wanting something you can't control.

TW: The details of having and losing a pregnancy.

I’m pretty used to getting what I want. If I really want something, be it a promotion, a handbag, a move to NYC (9 years ago!), a piece of jewelry - I lay out a plan and execute against it.

After Christmas 2023, Rip and I went on a walk and talked about having a baby. Back then it all felt very amorphous - just like “okay sure, let’s try and see what happens.” We learned about genetic testing and that it’s something you should do, so we do. I have to wait a month before “starting” (gross, sorry) because I need a new measles vaccine. I think about my 29th birthday present being a positive pregnancy test.

My period comes and I’m disappointed, we did what we were supposed to, but ok, we’re just feeling it out. I cut curtain bangs. I love them for 2 days then remember I don’t like styling my hair. I start a bag of “not pregnancy safe” products to put away for half of each month. I go back to brown, more “mother” vibe.

I go on a work trip to Miami in March and convince myself I’m pregnant and burn through 5 tests. I’m just taking them compulsively, not even in the morning or waiting until a missed period. I’m officially putting effort towards this thing and my brain is short circuiting. Effort is going in, where is the reward? I celebrate 1 year sober.

It’s summer and I’m officially admitting that I’m impatient. I begin tracking my ovulation. I pee in a cup every morning and scan the test with my phone. Yes this takes a lot of the “fun” out of it (again, sorry), but hey, my period is irregular and I need a little help figuring out what’s up. Maybe I haven’t been trying hard enough, but now I am, so now I can get what I want. The last few months don’t even count.

I have this vision of using moving into our new apartment, me with my little bump, ordering all of the men around. Rug goes here, chair goes there, no sorry I can’t lift that, I’m pregnant!

We get the keys in July and I drive up and walk around our very empty, very dirty, very hot apartment. I really thought I’d be pregnant for this, but it’s okay - I’ve got floors to scrub and furniture to buy! See! This is fine.

The suggestion of “fertility help” starts to come up - I bat that away, I’m 29 and haven’t even been trying for a year! That’s for older people with real problems, I’m just here being adorable and probably missing my ovulation window.

We move in and it feels like the hottest August on record. I’m covered in cuts and bruises from moving and opening boxes - the previous tenants were pretty heavy smokers, so every surface needs to be wiped and sanitized.

Rip’s family visits. I tell people I’m so busy that I haven’t thought about it a ton - but I’m lying :) I think about it multiple times a day. I wish away whole weeks so I can just get to the end of the month and see if my period comes. I see pregnant people and I’m annoyed - what did they do that I’m not? What do they know? Everyone seems to “know” things about getting pregnant. I read Emily Oster and buy lampshades and add fringe to my dining room curtains and curse under my breath.

I wake up the first Saturday in September and my boobs hurt. Like I have to hold them to get out of bed. Rip suggests a pregnancy test, I tentatively take one and hand it to him to read. I cannot look at another negative test. I’m in the hallway when I hear “it’s not negative.” I am fully in shock - this was the first month I thought “no, probably not.” Everyone is right, when you stop trying, it happens. We go to Connecticut and tell his family and my family and our friends. I get a blood test at CityMD and it confirms I’m 5 weeks.

I fully adopt “pregnancy” as a vibe. I am earth mother, goddess woman, creating the miracle of life. Do not bring your petty office grievances or your injectables to my door - I am very busy making an arm. The fatigue hits, I can only stomach plain bagels and I get hungry at 4am. I eat cereal for the first time in my life. Pregnancy is so quirky! I google when my bump will show up.

I have my first ultrasound - it’s not on my stomach like I thought, baby is a little small but looking good - we hear the heartbeat. All my coworkers know before I tell them - everyone can just “tell.” I’m glowing. Im nauseous, but I’m glowing. My boobs are huge. The hospital calls and schedules appointments with me through December. December! That’s far away. I decide to grow my hair out so I can have longer hair and put it up in a cute way for delivery.

We do a weekend getaway and I buy a pink onesie with bunnies on it in Amagansett. I have no idea what I’m looking at when I approach the baby clothing, the sizing is foreign so I just get 6-12m - I think I heard somewhere people give you a lot of infant clothing so you should buy for after that? That feels smart. I show Rip in the car.

I watch videos about birth experiences. I briefly consider no epidural because of the “recovery” time, this really goes along with my whole earth mother goddess vibe. I decide against it the next day when I watch a few videos of midwestern moms who did a few not medicated, a few medicated. My mom got an epidural, it’s chic. I’ve got enough on my mind, I don’t need to also think about pain management and breathing. Epidural it is.

I pick out the crib I want - it’s red and gender neutral and so fun. I eat whatever I want. For the first time I can remember, I’m not focused on being thin. My body is part of something bigger, not just vanity. I get a cute long bob and tell the hairdresser I’m pregnant. We squeal and laugh. It’s so fun telling people, it’s the best news ever!

The nausea stops a few days before my 10 week scan. I feel way more normal and finally have some energy. I go in feeling a little nervous but excited to see the baby again. I love my doctor and we get right to it.

She begins the scan and it’s immediately clear something is wrong. Last time she was chatting and spun the ultrasound screen around, this time she’s silent and moving the wand around more. She takes it out. “I’m afraid I don’t have good news. There’s no heartbeat.” She shows us the baby on the screen - she stopped growing a few days before. She’s just been in there and I had no idea. I don’t know that it’s a girl but I’ve been calling it “she.” I’m assured I didn’t do anything wrong, that this is common, and we decide on next steps. I won’t be able to get into the hospital for a D&C until the following Tuesday, and today is Thursday. It’s recommended I go without the anesthesia and get an MVA tomorrow. I’ll have to be awake for it, but this way I won’t miscarry at home without a doctor. I am not mother goddess in miscarriage, I’m not doing this naturally and without doctors. She leaves us to process.

We go for a walk in the park. I keep holding my stomach and thinking “there’s a dead baby in there.” It’s windy and my hair keeps getting caught in my lipgloss. We’re both numb. I have sushi and a coffee because the baby is dead and it doesn’t matter. I go home and finish some work and tell everyone I’m going to be offline for awhile. I text a friend to tell my other friends and call my dad.

I can’t sleep that night and download a book about a psychologist who had two miscarriages and somehow is still a person in the world. I get through 25% and then decide now probably isn’t the best time to hear about this happening twice.

We go in for my “procedure” at 9am the next day. The waiting room is confusing and Rip keeps getting up because we can’t hear them calling my name. I haven’t legally changed my name yet so the appointment is under my maiden name. They give me a pill to “help get things started” and a pain killer. Everyone speaks very softly and is very kind. One of the technicians asks if it’s okay to start getting the room ready - “do people say no to that?” I joke. “It’s a lot, sometimes people need a second” she says. I’m reminded why I’m here.

They ask if I want my husband in the room — I ask them if I want that. They say yes, most people do. I’m worried he’s going to see something he can’t unsee, they assure me he’ll have his chair turned the other way towards me. Rip comes in. He looks nervous but holds my hand and tells me he’s here. I lay down and the room starts to feel busy. They ask me if I want music, I tell them I don’t want to ruin any of my favorite songs so they play calming classical. They turn the lights down and put a sheet over the vacuum so I can’t see anything coming through the hose. I hear it turn on.

A labor coach begins talking me through the pain. I hear the baby come out. I’m crying and shaking. I keep saying “I don’t want to not be pregnant.” The coach and Rip keep telling me how strong I am. It takes 10-15 minutes, which feels a little long if you’re the one getting the procedure. They’re thorough and tell me they want to make sure they “got everything” so I don’t have some complications later. I imagine a tiny arm being left behind and feel like I’m going to throw up. I’m pressing my palms into my eyes. They change the pads under me and hand Rip a bag with disposable underwear and massive pads. The coach grabs my hand one last time and tells me I’m superwoman. I’m told not to put anything “up there” for a little while. I laugh. They send “the material” off for testing to make sure there isn’t something I should be concerned about, I’ll hear back in a few weeks.

I walk home with Rip. I’m sore but it’s not too bad. That was the worst of it. I’m not pregnant, there’s nothing in there anymore. I order more sushi and watch TaskMaster under a blanket. Rip works from home.

My dad comes that weekend for a trip that was planned before everything happened. We walk in the park but I have to stop and go home to rest. I’m basically wearing a diaper. The idea of “at least this happened now rather than later” gets floated around a few times. I let it slide the first time but eventually snap. Everyone was so happy for me and around me and now people are afraid to talk. I’m bloated and in a diaper and pissed off. I put the custom “grandpa” hat I had made for my dad in a box.

None of my clothes fit, I guess part of being mother goddess is gaining weight. Weird, I didn’t notice it at all when I was pregnant. Weight looked like “baby,” but now it just looks sad. I’m not pregnant and I’m fat. Fantastic. I order some pants from RTR in the biggest size they have.

It’s Tuesday and I decide I’m done feeling sorry for myself and that it’s time to go back to work. I put on some of my new, huge jeans which barely close and my cool sneakers and get in a cab with Rip. I’m chugging coffee, one of the pleasures of not being pregnant. I walk in and a few people hug me. Someone puts coffee on my calendar for later that afternoon. Everyone is really great, or as great as it could be. Yeah, some of my friends can’t even send me a text, but hey, the people I spend most days with have shown up in their own way. I decide it’s fine if I start crying at my desk and open my laptop.

I feel then what I can only describe as contractions. I go to the restroom and there’s a lot of.. material coming out. I unbutton my jeans under my shirt and try to get back to my inbox. I DoorDash myself a heating pad and take some Tylenol. I last another 20 minutes and call an Uber home. The elevator doors open and a few people see me crying. I get in the car and call Rip. I’m so frustrated, I just wanted to have a normal day. I’m tired of having a miscarriage. I get a nice text from one of the people who saw me upset. The rest of the day is my body realizing I’m not pregnant.

No one told me about this part, none of the doctors or anyone who had had a miscarriage before. That your body eventually realizes you’re not pregnant and starts to get everything back to baseline. I break open the disposable underwear the hospital gave me and watch more TaskMaster with a heating pad on my lap. If this is what contractions feel like, then yes, I’m definitely going with the epidural. I pat myself on the back for being so smart and then cry and click next episode.

Pretty flowers show up at home and at my desk and we pick out a few from each vase and have them preserved. The woman convinces Rip to upgrade to a larger frame because of how big and beautiful some of them are. It’s nice to have people get you such big and beautiful flowers. I carry the ones from work home on Friday and our couples therapist thinks they’re for my birthday.

I start keeping a mental list of who didn’t check-in. I tell my therapist about this, but I’m “going through a lot” right now, so it’s okay. No one says “miscarriage” to me, but rather “how are you doing” or “how is everything.” I guess that’s a nicer way of putting it, but it irks me that people are afraid of what just happened to me. I felt really close to everyone and now there’s distance and no one can even say what happened. I’m reminded that people are uncomfortable and scared and don’t want to say the wrong thing. I call people names and say they’re cowards to Rip. I’m being unnecessarily mean. I take it back. We’re both hurting. More sushi.

I have no energy, I haven’t worked out in forever. I decide maybe I’ll just focus on being hot if I can’t be pregnant. I start restricting my food. My therapist catches on and we explore why I have to be one or the other, and not just be present and myself and do what feels right. I’m encouraged to be kind to myself. I’m not sure what that looks like, so I online shop.

November comes and I put up the tree immediately. I deserve more Christmas this year. I cut off more of my hair and dye it darker. I buy leopard pajamas and bigger pants. We visit my dad and I wait for people to ask how I’m doing. I use my crockpot for the first time, maybe I’ll just get really into cooking. I make way too much chili.

I get a portal message from the hospital, everything came back normal, the baby had Turner Syndrome. I call Rip at work. Only females have that. It was a girl. I was right. I’m told she would have had a very difficult life if she had survived pregnancy. I get a necklace with a strawberry because that’s how big she was when we lost her. I wear it constantly and touch it when I think of her. The chain pulls my hair a little. We donate to a charity for TS and they send back a nice note. I regret the bob.

We attend a Christmas party and people ask how I’m doing. I blankly stare at them and force them to say it. I pretend it’s because I want to make sure they know about the miscarriage, but it’s really because I’m just pissed people can’t say it. The whole distance thing again. I have a good time and wear a rented skirt. I listen to a podcast about grief that weekend. A friend says “at least it happened now rather than in the future” and I feel less angry than the last time I heard that.

I make a vision board and squeeze into my jeans for new years. We have dinner a couple blocks away and I tell Rip that I’m tired of being so angry and prickly all the time. He’s very reassuring. We talk about getting pregnant again soon and I’m open to it. I put a woman with a baby bump on my vision board.

It’s cold which is great for me, less outdoor socializing time. The clouds start to lift. I feel a little less prickly. I clean out my closet and get a new ovulation tracking system that worked for a friend. I take one every morning and then leave my phone at home while the test loads and I go for a walk. I let myself think about getting pregnant on my 30th birthday. I immediately push the thought away.

Work picks up and things feel a little more exciting. I get a red light mask and start taking my beauty routine more seriously. It feels fun to control something so low stakes. I talk about control and letting go in therapy. I turn 30 without a baby. The world doesn’t explode. I don’t plan anything big. I have a few friend dinners and a work happy hour and feel really special. People really rally for me. I’m lucky.

I stop tracking my ovulation. Rip and I have fajitas at our favorite Mexican place and talk about “taking a break.” I’m nervous to bring it up but happy I did. He also feels burned out from all the testing and just wants me to be happy. I feel good with just me and him for awhile. Our friends are having a baby and that feels nice to know one will be around. We talk about getting a dog.

Things feel lighter. I buy a onesie for a baby shower and hold it for awhile. I can’t believe how small it is. I want one, but I’m okay. I fold it back into its package and make a mental note of the brand.

I used to want to slap people who say things like “we’ll have a baby next spring” as if you can order one online — now they just get a raised eyebrow. Maybe they can just blink and get pregnant. I get botox and remember why I liked it so much. We go for a run.

We didn’t get what I wanted, what we wanted, but we did learn that we can survive anything together. I remind myself that I’m still here, we’re both still here, and that’s worth something.