It’s still October 15 where I live, so this is still valid. I didn’t know till this evening it was National Pregnancy, Infant, and Child Loss Day. Didn’t even know that was a thing. And why not give you two posts in a day when I’ve been gone for so long?
Here’s the thing about Karli and me: We were married for nine years before Squatch came along. That’s quite a while, especially compared to some people we know. Karli watched her friends from high school and college—friends who got married after we did—have kids and enter the world of poop, crying, and insomnia way before we did. She wanted it, too.
The other thing about being married that long and still not having any rugrats is that people notice. They start asking, “So when are you having your own little one?” Family starts dropping hints about grandkids, nieces, nephews, cousins, what-have-you. Pressure builds. They don’t realize that if you’ve been married that long, and if you’ve talked about having kids, and if you don’t have any yet, there’s usually a reason.
What these well-meaning people might not know is that you’ve tried. We tried several times. It didn’t work. Till one day it did.
We were excited about the prospect of being parents. We’d been trying, after all. Who wouldn’t be? And the hardest part about those early days of pregnancy is containing that excitement so you don’t spill the beans before it’s time. Well, that and the puking—but that only applied to one of us, and not the one writing the blog.
There’s a reason many people don’t let others know until twelve weeks. Chances of a miscarriage go way down after that point. The first time, Karli made it seven. The couple weeks after, where Karli suffered the physical pain of passing the embryo and the emotional pain of losing a baby, were probably the worst weeks of our marriage. When you’ve been looking forward to it for so many years and trying to make it happen, you get attached pretty quickly. We got attached. It’s a pain you don’t even realize till you get there.
Luckily, we were able to succeed later. I consider it a success, anyway. But today, apparently, is a day to remember the ones who were lost. So we remember, and we feel for those who weren’t able to make it to the magical parenthood land of poopy diapers and sleepless nights. We’re lucky in that way.