Browsing the "pregnancy loss" Tag

Loss

Bad Juju

September 1st, 2021 | by Denise Massar

How could I have been so stupid? So smug? You couldn’t let the universe know when you were flying high


Loss

Crescent

June 30th, 2020 | by Becca Rose Hall

There’s more sex where that came from, says your daddy, and of course we’ll try again. Nothing is wrong; it is only sad. Nature believes in redundant abundance.


Loss

On Brevity

March 24th, 2020 | by Dana Robinson

I recalled the joyous phone calls of only a few months before, as I steeled myself to dial those same numbers, but with a very different message this time


Loss

Eggs Five Ways

September 12th, 2018 | by Megan Pillow Davis

My husband makes sunny side up eggs with a side of hash browns and sausage. He gives my shoulder a


Loss

The Miscarriage: A Poem

April 11th, 2018 | by Ingrid Jendrzejewski

  The Miscarriage   I am a battleship, sinking.   When the USS West Virginia went down at Pearl Harbor,



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  • “Having my adult child at home has changed how we relate to each other. I have to keep reminding myself that I am no longer in charge of his life.” “Back when Dylan was 16 and should have been getting his driver’s license, he had brain surgery. Dylan has epilepsy. My husband and I lived in the hospital for two weeks. We were eating salads that my in-laws brought, a break from cafeteria food. #nicu #birth #breathe “My grandmother, the wildest woman I knew, never met my second child. Zayne Heather Logan passed away shortly before my own miracle entered the world.” “Just the day before I had been twelve years old and pregnant. Now I was recovering from the abortion. Only a year before that, in what felt like my body’s ultimate betrayal, I got my first period. It had come regularly every month since until it didn’t and I was nauseous every day. Even though I’d had sex for the first time just a few weeks before, it didn’t occur to me that I could be pregnant.” “I didn’t know if I would look back on this as the moment I met my son, or if it would become the memory of cradling someone else’s son in my arms—kissing his brand-new forehead, whispering congratulations, and then placing him back in the arms of his mother, never seeing either of them again.” “Their baby books sat waiting to be updated with their latest milestones. I’d become a ghostwriter, setting aside my own journal to document their days. It dawned on me: I’d been crowded out of my own home. Even worse, I’d participated in my own disappearance.” Write for us! Get all the details at muthamagazine.com. In our newest Ask a MUTHA installment, MUTHAs share their thoughts on how abortion access has affected their lives.

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