- I lost a pregnancy at 22 weeks. Shortly after, I was pregnant again.
- I delivered my son in the same hospital room where my daughter was stillborn.
Chrissy Teigen is pregnant again, two years after the stillbirth of her child at 20 weeks' gestation. She announced the pregnancy in an Instagram post showing off her baby bump.
I see her cautious optimism — the way the joyful announcement is laced with trepidation — and I want to reach through the screen and hug her.
Nine years ago, a couple of months after my daughter's stillbirth at 22 weeks — my second late-term loss in two years — I found myself staring down at a positive pregnancy test again.
Those two blue lines used to make me giddy with excitement, unable to wait for the recommended 12-week mark before telling the world my news. But pregnancy loss had taught me a hard lesson — once you've announced, you run the risk of having to write that other kind of announcement. And you're forced to live out your pain publicly to stave off triggering questions about your pregnancy progress and the awkwardness of others at the heartbreaking response.
But a sonogram showed I was to have twins, and news like that had to be shared.
I lived in a pendulum for weeks
Instead of posting it on social media, I emailed select friends and family, and everyone gushed over the announcement. We'd finally be vindicated for our four other losses. The children we lost would never be replaced, but our family would now grow with the addition of a pair of "rainbow babies" — living children born after one or more miscarriages or stillbirths.
The joy of this news was tempered by the excruciating question of whether they'd survive.
For a week or so, my days were a pendulum. One minute I was walking on air, excited and hopeful despite our previous losses; the next I was filled with panic that the twins might not make it. I could never be fully happy since I knew how sudden a loss could be.
A respiratory infection took me to the doctor, where an impromptu ultrasound showed that one of the twins had "expired." It was the most confusing moment of my life. I grieved the passing of one child while I celebrated the survival of the other.
I regretted having emailed my friends
I immediately regretted announcing the pregnancy. Surely the remaining twin was going to pass away, too. It was only a matter of time before I'd have to share the news of yet another loss.
For months, I sort of dissociated from the pregnancy. I went to scheduled prenatal visits hopeful about it all, but I tamped down my excitement, feeling like a robot and expecting not to find a heartbeat. I prepared myself for the worst.
Halfway through, even though I could feel the living twin move, I knew it was no guarantee — my stillborn daughter had been a prenatal party animal, and it hadn't protected her from demise.
It wasn't until my swollen belly began to run into things — at about 36 weeks — that I finally allowed myself to look down and connect with my pregnancy. I told the world through aerial views of my bump. But even then, pulling out the baby paraphernalia I'd packed away after my daughter's death brought me only mild pleasure. Drafting a birth plan was an exercise in nail-biting. The sight of stacks of cloth diapers, baby wraps and carriers, and the stroller I'd hoped would scoot my daughter through the park seemed to taunt me.
Stories of other mothers' near-term stillbirths haunted me. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention said stillbirth affected one in 160 births, and that each year about 24,000 babies were stillborn in the US.
Anything could go wrong at any minute, and I was powerless to stop it, no matter how hard I willed the baby to stay.
I wouldn't be convinced until I held a pink, wriggling baby in my arms — a baby torturously and ironically delivered in the same hospital room where a stillborn sister had been born.
I'm rooting for Chrissy Teigen and her husband, John Legend. I'll be holding my breath for them, willing this baby to make it but also knowing that no amount of positive energy can soothe the bittersweet experience they may be living.