It is one year ago today I found out I was expecting again. I had just put Finn to bed but ran back into his bedroom, scooped him up and told him he was going to be a big brother. He was 13 months old at the time. It is one year later, and that sibling did not come. A missed miscarriage; my third one.

The silver lining of it being my third was, that I got “some” testing done. Not all,  because I did have a living child inbetween. That I had a high risk pregnancy and premature labor with him, didn’t matter. A polyp was found, “we can’t tell you that’s the cause, but given your history we recommend it gets removed”. A routine surgery, and I ended up with a punctured uterus. They never got to remove the polyp.

And so I was referred to a top notch hospital, but that meant a long wait. 6 months and a lot of tears later, I finally got a tentative date, something to hold onto. One week later; Covid-19. All surgeries cancelled.

“Will you have another one?” I don’t know. A pregnancy doesn’t equal a baby for me. And I’m mad that I got robbed of that.

“At least you have one already”. I’m EXTREMELY thankful and grateful for him, but that doesn’t mean I don’t long for another one.

One year ago I told my son he was going to be a big brother. And all I want is for that to come true.