Throughout my pregnancy I had not felt the need to know the gender of my child. Part of this was still a nervousness to attach to a person living inside me who could decide to up and go, leaving me devastated. The other part was quite simple, not really minding whether my child was male or female, the idea of a boy or a girl was completely fine and I didn’t have any preconceptions about why one would be better.
However, my husband was extremely keen and isn’t a fan of surprises. I think in part he also wanted to be able to plan and be a part of things rather than just sitting on the sidelines watching me grow. There was also the practicalities of finding a name as cutting out 50% of the options makes a much easier job. We were still hoping to keep the answer to ourselves in order to ebb the flow of pink and blue baby items entering our house, and give everyone else a surprise, but we aimed to find out at our 20 week scan.
I assumed this would be the next step in pushing my comfort zone and bonding with my child; as I said this had been difficult and I am still working on building a relationship that feels somewhat normal. It turned out that this step was not what I expected.
We arrived a little flustered after parking the car later than we hoped and struggling to find Radiology. We sat patiently before being called in and had the basic idea explained: they were checking bone structure, the spinal cord, development, etc. With some surprisingly luke warm gel on my bump I lay watching the screen at an angle as the doctor pointed out that our baby was facing outwards and wriggling quite a bit. She went through the necessary parts and casually chatted; as she knew we were aiming to find out the sex this time round, she also explained that she could do her best but it might not be possible, and even if it was the answer is never 100% accurate.
It was strange to see how much bigger our baby had grown on the screen since 13 weeks. It seems like an obvious point but when you’re imagining a photograph type image showing an entire little body, but it’s hardly as if the scanner can zoom out. It is also impossible for a camera to see something that is hidden from view, and that’s exactly what the sex of our child was: hidden.
Despite wriggling and kicking their little legs and arms, thighs were tightly held together and tucked under them. No matter what angle we tried there was no budging this determined little person. We tried using gravity by scanning whilst I lay on my side – nothing. Then I was asked to bend my legs, lift my hips, twist and shake quickly from side to side to give them a little bit of a hint that they might want to move. That was the weirdest thing I’ve ever done in a doctor’s office and the nearest my baby has come to a rollercoaster as yet, but still – nothing.
I couldn’t help but laugh. I felt sorry for my dear husband who had been excitedly waiting for the news, but this told me far more about their character than their sex could ever have done. Whether it was modesty, cheekiness or stubbornness they were clearly our child. I also thought how strange it was that we were asking this little creature to open their legs so we could check them out early. Although I might not know if my child is a boy or a girl, I know they are mine, truly mine – I would probably find it highly amusing to hide, or at the very least stubbornly refuse to show someone something they didn’t need to know. There’s also still a slight possibility that they have the little kink above their nose that their father has, and so to be building a picture of my child is still possible.
Of course, we have a chance in a month or so to ask again and see if we can tell, and we probably will ask. What is wonderful is not feeling that this simple question is the next big bonding step, but just another small part of getting to know them and who they are. With a few little kicks it seems my little one agrees and is perhaps enjoying their peaceful privacy.
Did you find out the gender of your baby during your pregnancy, and did it effect your thoughts and opinions about parenting either a boy or a girl?
I am currently just over 20 weeks along and scarily in the halfway point of this pregnancy journey! The main experience I have been waiting for is the allusive kick. Described as a bubble popping, or a light tap, these descriptions often feel massively inadequate, especially for those of us feeling it for the first time. The first movements are called quickening which is just as descriptive and should happen between 16 and 25 weeks, although first pregnancies may feel it much closer to the 25th and if this is your second, third or nth pregnancy you may even feel them as early as 13 weeks.
How are you supposed to tell between feeling your own heartbeat as you accidentally hold your breathe trying to focus? How can you celebrate and get excited for something that could be unfortunate gas bubbles after a sneaky takeaway? Should I just be waiting until that almighty thump which can only be a sleepy foot or fist at a later date? Sadly the only feelings I’m really noticing are the stretching and growing pains that come with my internal structure being pushed around, and that’s hardly something you get excited about.
I also feel sorry for the partners and/or supporting person in our lives who, yet again, has to sit idly by because if you can mistake it for gas they are hardly going to be able to perceive the dance moves going on inside. The general advice is to be patient, and if you doubt it (for example what I felt whilst writing this could be hunger as much as anything) then that’s OK – it’ll get stronger. If this is getting difficult, then try to give yourself some time after you’ve eaten, lie flat on your bed with legs bent over the edge, breathe deeply and relax. Placing your hands on your growing bump may give you a glimpse of those first few flutters, if not then know that you’re not alone and in time you’ll be wishing they chilled out so you could sleep easier! By third semester your baby will likely be moving around 30 times per hour. Then you’ll have hands on your belly far more than you’ll ever have asked for it and be talking about it excitedly with every guest through your door.
What’s ironic is I have felt more possible bubbles/kicks in this writing session than every day combined so far – maybe bump is just as frustrated as I am!
When did you start feeling those first few flutters?
No woman wants to hear “miscarriage” after a positive pregnancy test, and if it happens to you it can feel like your world has shattered. More than once can be unbearable, where sadness and questions evolve into fear and despair. What I would suggest is worse than the initial loss of your child, is the continual fear of losing a new pregnancy.
Seemingly unavoidable feelings of guilt, questions of what went wrong, and fear of this “being it for you” can swamp your mind. No matter the number of consolations, the love is shown, and the reassuring words from medical staff, it can be hard to turn off the voice in your head that says something is wrong.
A painting I created after my first miscarriage to help with my grief
The fact is that approximately 1 in 3 of all pregnancies ends in miscarriage but that most of those happen in the very first weeks of pregnancy. Until the 1970s women simply couldn’t be sure they were pregnant until much later when symptoms would start to show which meant most would consider it a late period. This is one of the reasons why, at least here in the UK, women are told that unless they have had 3 consecutive miscarriages there is little need for more tests. This can feel frustrating and upsetting but the truth is the chance of being someone who has a recurrent miscarriage is 1%, and hence you have a 99% chance of everything being fine. Even so, the first weeks of pregnancy can feel like weeks of waiting, weeks of fear, and weeks of detachment rather than joy.
I suffered two miscarriages in just 10 months. I didn’t think I would feel worse the second time around, but it was a new and different pain. Thoughts of blame, of what I could’ve done differently, of grief, and the mental images circled me like demons in the night. I told my husband I did not want to try again for at least a year; I couldn’t face sex or pregnancy as in my mind they only led to one situation: fear, blood and loss.
Without trying I became pregnant 3 months after my second miscarriage. I couldn’t feel happy about it, and for a long time struggled to think about it at all: I didn’t want to take prenatal vitamins, tell anyone, or read about babies because that would make it real. My distrust caused me to disconnect, to protect myself from the harm another loss might do me. It took a long time for these feelings to fade, and it had a lot to do with the weeks gradually adding up. At 12 weeks I just felt able to tell our parents, but no-one else. At the scan seeing my child still didn’t feel real.
I had to eventually force myself to take small steps and allow myself to grieve whilst embracing the joy of this new time in my life. I still probably don’t act like most mums-to-be by getting excited about clothing or toys but I am gradually accepting their presence. Despite my distrust and concern, I had to let go or risk never truly bonding with my growing child. I had to hope and believe that I could be one of the 99% that my child would come out of me healthy and happy, screaming at being naked and suddenly surrounded by people.
I can’t say it is easy to forget, it’s not and miscarriage is one of the hardest things a person can go through; it is also something not everyone will understand. However, in the same way that you can ruin your life by constantly thinking about death, we can’t let miscarriage destroy your experience of pregnancy or children. There is hope, no matter the situation, and even if the worst were to happen, there are options.
Allow yourself to grieve. If you have the time, give yourself time in the same way you would for the loss of a parent, a sibling or a friend. You may not have seen them, held them, named them, but if they were real to you your grief is real. Do whatever you need to do to process, to memorialise, and to work out life after this loss.
Finally, allow yourself to hope. It may sound silly but a phrase that helped my husband and I smile a little was “Well, at least we know your little ones can swim.” It was enough to make us laugh. Sometimes we are all too quick to look at the worst case scenario, but instead why not look at the positive stats. You can be the 99% who never have to go through this again. You can keep trying and end up with a child in your arms. You can become the parent you always wanted to be. You can hope for the best and enjoy what you have right now. Try hope.
If you have any questions, please feel free to contact me.
