I Cried With My 3-Year-Old Son Over My Miscarriage
By: Krystal Kleidon
Tags: Pregnancy, Parenting, Motherhood, Family, Self

I Cried With My 3-Year-Old Son Over My Miscarriage

Normalising miscarriage starts with talking about it

Photo by Jordan Whitt on Unsplash

I have a son who is the most gorgeous, generous and kind little boy in the world. When he was 3, he had been asking for a baby brother or sister for a while so when those two little lines showed up on the pregnancy test, my husband and I were so excited to tell him he was getting a little baby.

The look on his face was incredible. He was so excited and started planning his role as a big brother right away.

Over the following week, he kissed my belly every chance he had and called it his little baby. He said goodnight to ‘his little baby’ and told me when his little baby comes out he was going to feed it mashed ‘beggies’ (veggies) so he gets big and strong.

He told me that he was going to share his toys, asked where his little baby was going to sleep. He even said the baby could sleep with him so when he cried, he could cuddle ‘his baby’ back to sleep.

This little baby was so loved already.

When I saw the first signs of blood in my fifth week of pregnancy I didn’t think much of it. I knew a little bleeding wasn’t uncommon and figured it would just go away.

But it didn’t.

Then came the intense pain. Cramping unlike I had ever felt before, wrapping itself around my back, forcing me to cave in upon myself in a desperate attempt to curl around and contain the pain.

Two days later I saw my doctor. My 3-year-old son insisted on coming with me because he loves our doctor and loves his Mama.

He put his tiny hand in mine and said to me “Mama, it’s going to be okay, the doctor will make you better.” He didn’t even know anything was wrong.

My bloodwork showed my hCG (human chorionic gonadotropin — a hormone present in pregnancy) was low and I had to wait a few more days before getting it checked again to see if it had dropped any further.

But I knew. In my heart, I knew what was happening.

Considering my hCG in pregnancy is usually off the charts and I get insanely sick with Hyperemesis Gravidarum, the fact that my hCG was low and I wasn’t throwing up all day was a huge sign.

I kept bleeding and passing clots, and the pain continued to intensify. I decided to take another at-home pregnancy test. Two actually. A digital one and a pink dye one, the same type as the one I had used the week prior that showed us we were pregnant.

The pink dye test showed a remarkably faint line, unlike the previous strong reading I had. The digital test simply stated ‘not pregnant’.

That was confirmation enough for me. I knew I had miscarried. My hCG levels must have decreased even more to not even register on a pregnancy test. A call from my doctor the following day confirmed the miscarriage. And I knew I had to tell my son.

Again he spoke about ‘his baby’ so I explained to him that sometimes if a baby isn’t strong enough to stay in Mummy’s tummy, then they can’t keep growing, and can’t grow as big and strong as he did. I told him Mummy and the doctor checked again and the baby wasn’t there anymore. But we would try to get another one for him.

The look of heartbreak in his eyes brought me to tears. He started to cry and tell me that he wanted a baby. I reassured him that this is what happens sometimes, that it was no one’s fault, and I promised we would try again to get him one that would grow big and strong like him.

He said to me “okay Mummy” and as he wiped away my tears he said, “it’s going to be okay Mummy”.

My son is amazing. I am so incredibly blessed to be his mother. I am so proud of everything he does in life and I know he is going to grow up to be an incredible man.

We don’t treat miscarriage as taboo in our family. I tell close friends and family when my pregnancy test says positive because I know they are the people who will be by my side if anything does go wrong.

It is estimated that 1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage.

1 in 4. Twenty-five percent. One quarter.

Think of the women you know, how many pregnancies have they had? If there have been more than 4 pregnancies between them, then statistically the chances are someone you know has experienced a miscarriage.

Miscarriages hurt emotionally, and physically. But talking about them makes us feel like we aren’t alone.

I’ve been asked if I regret telling my son about our pregnancy so early and is always, and will always be, no.

We used age-appropriate language to help him understand, we spoke positively and acknowledged his feelings of sadness, he knew that sometimes sad things happen, but that we were always there for him, and we normalised something that happens to 1 in 4 pregnancies.

We were lucky enough to fall pregnant again and we had a beautiful baby girl. My son knew about the pregnancy early again, and said: “I hope this baby is strong”. He spoke to my belly every day, he came with me to my ultrasounds and heard her heartbeat. He told everyone about his baby sister and how strong she was.

He was, and still is, absolutely smitten by her. Years later they are inseparable, she calls him her best friend and they have the most incredible bond.

I don’t believe we give children enough credit for what they can understand. In our bid to protect them from any kind of hurt or upset, we can sometimes cause even more confusion for them. We have always chosen to speak as openly as possible with our kids, in age-appropriate ways, and it’s something that works for us as a family.

1 in 4 pregnancies ends in miscarriage. Speaking about it normalises it, and allows women to feel less alone. You are not alone. You are absolutely not alone.