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An Angel Kiss After Loss

Updated: May 7

My name is Caitlin. And I experienced secondary infertility. This impacted my whole family but I will just speak for myself. I had no issues getting pregnant with my son. It was an easy pregnancy. I loved him right away, and felt such uninhibited excitement and anticipation. He was so real to me, even before I felt him move. And then we had a traumatic birth. He is a healthy little boy today but needed help getting used to the outside world. It took my husband and I time to both feel ready for a second baby. Would we go through the same thing again? We were scared. 

And then I got pregnant… so quickly. I was in shock and anxious. My birth trauma was coming to the surface. I pushed it down though. I kept thinking I’ve wanted this so badly, just enjoy it. And then I started spotting. I had that with my son. This is normal I told myself. And then it was not like before. 

With each miscarriage, I said, this can’t happen again. And then it did. The presence of their absence was everywhere. I remember looking at the empty chair in the dining room and crying. Imagining my child sitting with us, little legs swinging beneath the table, giggling with food all over their face. I ached to hold them, smell them, feel their skin. The grief was so heavy, I couldn’t hold it and it was crushing me. I told my friend, I am losing hope. She said I’ll hold it for you, until you can. 

At one point I wrote a goodbye letter to my baby. When I was done, I put my head on the table and sobbed. Is there something wrong with me? Did I do something wrong and this is karma? Am I being selfish for wanting a second when I have one? I should just be grateful. 

I was so scared to go to a fertility specialist. I was already overwhelmed and frozen in my grief. I couldn’t move my body into another office, with another provider and answer questions then undergo more tests.

I took time after my third loss to sit with it. I needed a break from the ultrasounds, the lab draws. Breath catching and blood draining from my face whenever I received the notice that lab results were ready. 

Eventually I went. More invasive tests. Hot with so much anger as I received explanations. I would need a uterine surgery and would have to wait before trying again. Waiting. This whole two year experience was smothered in waiting. 

And then my mother in law was diagnosed with cancer. In the end, I helped care for her. Sitting at her bedside, running my fingers over her hair and along the side of her face, she laid in bed under a pile of blankets. She asked me, “when are you due?” I said, “I am not pregnant.” She asked, “when would you be due?” I paused, unsure if it would happen or when. I said “maybe December if things happen right away.” She began to cry and said “I think it will be a girl and I will hold her in Heaven before she comes down.” I leaned down, touched my face to hers and we cried. 

I found out I was pregnant 4.26.23. Anxiety was very high. I broke down what milestones I would want to pass before I let myself get excited. Well…baby’s labs more than doubled each time. Each ultrasound looked normal. I passed 9 weeks (all of my miscarriages happened between 7-9 weeks). It wasn’t until well into my second trimester that the anxiety quieted. But it was always there. 

Fast forward to Christmas. My water broke two weeks early at midnight and baby was born at 1:30AM.  First Christmas baby at the hospital. We waited for two years and baby rushed to greet us. 

Well, my sweet Cecilia was right. Baby girl is here. With a  mark on her forehead. The nurses said it’s called a stork bite, or angel kiss.

The other night I laid with in bed with her. I smelled her. I felt the heat radiate from her skin and kissed her head. I cried. I told her over and over and over, “I can’t believe you’re real. I can’t believe you’re here.” 

My grief will always be there. I will always have triggers. 

If you are where I was, I see you. I know you. I am with you. 


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