We so often talk about the rainbow baby. The little bit of light that comes after some of the darkest days. The little earthbound angel sent to us from their sibling(s) in Heaven. The little miracle that undoubtedly deserves all the love and attention and appreciation we give them.
But what about the rainbow pregnancy? What about the mama carrying that precious little life in her body and the darkness of the previous storms in her heart and soul? What about the dad trying to navigate his family through the roughest storms? Let’s not forget to talk about that too.
Talk about pregnancy that immediately follows one of the hardest losses someone can experience. The one filled with instant trepidation and fear instead of excitement and bliss. The one that comes with the wild feelings of fearing both the known and the unknown. You know how this could end, good or bad or ugly, and yet you don’t know exactly how your story is going to end this time. It is agonizing to live in that shade of gray.
It’s the one when the days feel like years as you try to make it past those first weeks. Past the point you’ve gotten to before. Past the danger zone—even though we all know there is never a guaranteed safe zone in any pregnancy. It’s when the wait time from appointment to appointment could literally cripple you with anxiety even though you are fortunate enough to have them more frequently than regular pregnancies.
It’s the pregnancy when you avoid going to the bathroom for fear of seeing those pink streaks. Again. When every ache and pain can send your mind spiraling into a world of “what ifs.” When you refresh your emails and spend your day glued to your phone, waiting for the next set of results to come back or the next test to be scheduled. A minute too long is an eternity in this world.
It’s the one when you’re afraid to move the wrong way or eat the wrong things. You spend every day comparing it to your last experience and just praying so hard it doesn’t go the same way. You walk on eggshells day in and day out, in hopes that it will keep that tiny baby safe inside you, the way your body couldn’t before. Some days all you can do is remind yourself to just breathe—as much as you have to, as long as you have to.
But the hardest part of the rainbow pregnancy is the feeling of being so afraid to blink and risk losing it all again. To live in this new world of holding onto every breath, half waiting for the other shoe to drop at any second. Because it did before, and it could again. To be living this experience without the joy and excitement that you should be soaking up. Afraid to jinx it if you shine too much light on it. Too much hope.
Like everything else, the storm eventually will pass. As I write this, I am currently 17 weeks, 5 days (but who’s counting) pregnant with our very own rainbow baby. It is only in the past couple of weeks that I have allowed myself to let out small sighs of relief. Allowed myself to talk about it happily and excitedly instead of sheepishly in passing. I have finally decided not to let the storms of the past try to ruin the sunny days we are praying are ahead for us. Finally allowing myself to celebrate both this beautiful little rainbow baby and our beautiful rainbow pregnancy.
by Jenny Albers 
by April Leiffer Henry 
