Children, Family, Lessons in Loss

No more babies

It was Baby Loss Awareness Week last week. I almost managed to avoid it altogether.

Last year I wrote about what coping looks like, the year before I discussed our loss. Before that I looked at different ways we react to loss.

But personally and in my real life, I don’t engage in BLAW. I’ve silenced the topic in twitter and I hide all posts in Facebook.

After just the first two early miscarriages, I shared the wave of light and felt a warm comfort of shared experience. But since we lost boy3, I hate BLAW. That’s a strong word I know, sorry if you don’t like it. I mean it though, I don’t need my face shoved in our loss. It’s there with me every day, I don’t grieve according to schedule. I don’t see why others should only acknowledge that miscarriage happens one week a year, it’s there every week.

Anyway, enough bitterness.

Instead, I’ve been reflecting recently on a different facet to our grief. That of letting go of not only that particular baby but any future baby. We’re done having babies here.

We thought we were done after small boy but nature had other ideas. Having suffered a missed miscarriage and a pregnancy with the coil, I was incredibly anxious throughout my pregnancy with boy 3. After we lost him, we realised a couple of weeks later that we needed to take having another baby off the table completely. For protection of our mental health and my physical health. Himself had a vasectomy. I’d done the contraception for 15+years, so he took over. The care and love with which he took that responsibility, to save me from the anxiety and fear of another surprise and to protect the boys from the consequences of another disaster, demonstrate the strength of our family team.

But lately, I’m feeling the logic and need for that prevention deeply. I think that without that vasectomy, I’ve reached the point where I’ve sufficiently forgotten how hard I found it being pregnant and where the medical issues are distant enough that my irrational mind can almost ignore them or imagine that Drs would be able to stop anything similar happening again. That is, without that vasectomy, I’d be looking at my 41 year old self and considering one last baby before I’m too old.

It’s not a good idea. The boys are old enough to understand how scary it would be. Himself and I are enjoying a bit of adult freedom as the boys need less supervision. We love our sleep and wouldn’t want to go without again (especially after the non-sleeping fiend that was small boy as a baby). Financially, another 5 years of nursery would be painful. But most of all, I don’t think I would actually manage the constant fear of being pregnant. And if it all went wrong, would I even cope at all?

But it’s also left me with the grief of never having another baby. I love babies. I love being pregnant, the ripple of a tiny person inside you wriggling and kicking. I love the cuddles with a little lump of warmth who just wants to sleep and nurse. I love the smell of milky burps. I love the first giggles. I love the toddler affection. I miss a future that contains those things.

So that choice we made three and a half years ago? It was the right choice then and its the right choice for now too. But I miss the other choice too.

Love from Smell xxx

25 thoughts on “No more babies”

  1. I completely understand your view. I have two angel babies myself and dealing with the loss is very hard. I hate that the world only honours them in one week of the year. They should be remembered and honours throughout our lives. You are inspiration hun x

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks, I’m sure it’s easy from the outside to feel like a day or a week recognising loss shows empathy and support. But I feel like I’m having my face shoved into something that I want to deal with in my own way and in my own time. Grrr.


      1. I understand, its been 6 months since my loss of my daughter and I swear i just want to scream at the world. they ackownlodge her exsitance one week and then ignore her the next. It drives me bonkers. but like you said outsiders dont understand and to be honest they never will unless they get the horrible chance of joining the club no one wants to be in xx

        Liked by 1 person

  2. Everyone’s losses, and the way it affects them, is different. Like your honesty about BLAW, and about the acknowledgement of being done with babies. Thanks for linking

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Thank you for your honesty. I really related to this, not because I’ve had miscarriages like yourself but we are currently trying to conceive our second baby and have had no luck for the last 6 months so I’m also facing the feelings that there may never be another baby. It was nice in a way to know I’m not mental for these feelings and other people feel similar at the thought of no more!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. You definitely aren’t mental. The stress of trying to conceive is just as overwhelming as loss can be, partly because of the longing but also because you grieve a little it every month for what could have been. Sending hugs and magic baby making dust. Xx


  4. Sending love and hugs. I’ve seen this slightly from the outside as Nana. My daughter had a stillborn daughter 12 years ago followed by my now 8.5 year old grandson. Even though I grieve for the granddaughter we lost I know my grief and anxiety well, but not my daughter’s. Our grief is our individual parcel or pack to carry. Sometimes it’s heavy, or painfully prickly, sometimes its light and we can almost forget it’s there.
    People give out platitudes like sweets and make me want to scream. How my daughter and others like her can seemingly glide gracefully like a swan swimming through BLAW is beyond me… I know a little of the frantic paddling out of sight that my daughter does. Keeping her “face” on in front of others and crying in the shower.
    Sending all you wonderful ladies love always.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Thank you for sharing. I’ve never really shared my losses, one early miscarriage and one chemical. I’ve often felt I wasn’t entitled to feel grief as they were so early and others had felt real losses, but I’ve learnt (after opening my mental boxes during therapy) that its okay to feel whenever I want, without a schedule or with a need for others support. It’s an odd feeling, but as you said, you don’t have to wait until BLAW. There is so much more I can say; it’s a hard decision when to say ‘We’re done’; that’s the hardest part. I haven’t got there yet, but it’s coming. It has to be right for all of you. But still hard. Thinking of you.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Your losses are yours. They are in no way comparable to anyone else’s. Mine are mine. We all feel them differently everyday. My losses today feel differently from when the first happened and differently from how they will feel tomorrow. I’m glad you’re letting yourself grieve your own grief. Sending hugs xx


  6. “I miss a future that contains those things.” Wow, so beautifully said. Although I’ve never considered have a 3rd child, I can so relate to your beautiful writing. It touches on a melancholy I wasn’t even aware of for the babyhoods of my kids.

    And I didn’t know about BLAW before this post but I’m with you, I don’t need an occasion to acknowledge the grief of miscarriage.

    What an authentic and beautiful post. Thank you!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you so much for your kind words. My sense of missing babyhood is almost physical at times. Oh that smell and that warmth and those cuddles. I’m so glad my rational mind can also remind me of the sleep deprivation and fights about eating and potty training. Without that I’d be a dreadful mess.

      Liked by 1 person

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