This Is How It Feels Trying for a Baby After a Miscarriage

My body just betrayed me…yet somehow I’m supposed to love it?

Frankly My Dear
4 min readSep 29, 2019


Photo by Kinga Cichewicz on Unsplash

Have you ever had an unsettling awareness of the beating of your own heart? You’re lying on a pillow and all you can hear is the thrum-thrum-thrum as blood pushes through your veins. It feels as though your heart has nestled in beside your brain and taken up residence in the cradle of your skull. That’s how it feels trying for a baby after a miscarriage.

You have only just began making friends again with the body that has devastated you and you find yourself attuned to her every signal. Watching. Waiting. Torn between conviction that she will betray you again and hope that she will not. Headaches. Tiredness. Nausea. Spotting. Everything is a sign.

And depending on the day, it’s either a sign that the world has righted itself and a healthy baby is burrowing into your womb. Or it’s a sign that all your efforts have been for naught and your period will be back to taunt you again in a week’s time.

It’s difficult, but you become even more superstitious. You wear rose quartz for fertility and on the days when the trying to conceive anxiety is really bad, you put on your Grandmother’s ring and silently beg her to send your baby down from Heaven and into your belly. You cling to the conversation you had with a palm reader when you were twenty-five who predicted your husband and therefore surely is right about the two kids also.

Let the baby dance begin

Photo by Pablo Heimplatz on Unsplash

Ovulation — when pure biology would normally have you jumping your partner’s bones — transforms into tactical love-making. The first time is fun-ish. But then you get all weepy and weird about trying to conceive and your husband has to tread very, very carefully. He says you don’t have to try again. But the smiley face ovulation tracker said you had to. You demand sex in a voice that makes him think you need an exorcism more than an orgasm. And it’s fun-ish. You both swear to approach it differently next month, to make it less choreographed. To just go with the flow a bit…



Frankly My Dear

Journalist & Features writer | Heartfelt storytelling about love, motherhood and life from a woman who’s been there.