Words of Advice from Baby Loss Moms

At the end of my talk to my local midwifery students, I gave them a handout, that speaks volumes.  You may recognizes some words, because they were simply taken from the comments section in response to my question of what would you like midwifery students to know about baby loss.   Feel free to comment if you have more advice to give! Here is the handout:

Words of Advice from Baby Loss Moms

 

“Video clips of ultrasounds meant so much to me and I would have like a recording of my daughter’s heartbeat if they could have given me one. At the time I didn’t know it those would be my only memories of her. I appreciated when my doctors were honest but sensitive.” -mother of Caroline, carried to term after a Trisomy 13diagnosis, who lived for 58 days.

 

“I think they didn’t tell me anything because they had no clue what was going on themselves and wanted to wait until they had more info- but, that choice made things much worse!!!! Talk to the patient, you have to talk them through what’s going on, you have to tell them. Also: if there’s a chance a baby might not make it, you have to prioritize letting the parents see the baby while working out the logistics. I didn’t get to see my kid until after he was gone. I even asked but was told it was too complicated. That’s still absolutely devastating to me, and probably always will be….One other thing: I was given the choice to go to private room on postpartum, or to a different floor. I really appreciated having a choice.” –mother of Sacha who died day after birth from unexpected brain tumor

 

“Perinatal loss can be such an “ambiguous loss”. It was so validating to see everyone reinforce that he really was a real baby (a concept that almost all brand-new mothers struggle to comprehend at the moment of birth).” –mother of Sacha who died day after birth from unexpected brain tumor

 

“Even if the death occurs later, call or write or visit the parents. We so appreciated that one of our midwives and her intern were able to make it to the ceremony we held for Paul. But a call would have been just as meaningful…. If applicable, invite the parents to share a photo of their baby for the baby photo board or book.”mother of Paul who died unexpectedly a few weeks after birth

 

“And for subsequent pregnancy: if you need to discuss the death of the previous baby, give notice in advance so the parents can prepare (especially if you need them to tell their story, or to dig into traumatic events). Also I was offered a viability scan I didn’t “need” but that was really reassuring.” mother of Paul who died unexpectedly a few weeks after birth

 

“With miscarriage (or infant death in general I suppose), even if there is ‘something wrong’ with the baby that you can prove with genetic testing, no one should ever say ‘It’s OK- the baby had a problem anyway.’ I’ve noticed a lot of pregnancy books use this kind of logic, and it’s bad. We don’t throw out people or stop caring about them because they’re sick, so what are we supposed to feel better that our baby that died wasn’t perfect, and that caused his death?” –mother of Serphim, who died of Potter’s Syndrome five hours after birth

 

“Encourage parents to hold, kiss, love, bathe their baby… If you’re uncomfortable handling a dead baby, please ask one of your colleagues to take over. This was our only negative experience with the staff- and it felt awful to have someone reject our precious babies. Remember that these parents need your care, support, love perhaps more than anyone else on the floor.” –mother of A&C, twins who died after PPROM at 20 weeks.

 

I was that woman, sitting in the OB office following my 19 week anatomy scan when the midwife came in with a student and very coldly and matter-of-factly started to explain the slight anomaly found on ultrasound. When I started to cry the midwife offered little support and I could tell she was busy and I think she really believed the finding was nothing major and that I was over-reacting. It was the student who came back into the room alone and sat with me, let me cry, and explained what was going on as best as she could.   So my advice to your students is that there will be days in clinic when you are busy and running behind and stressed, and these are the days when you might have to break bad news to a patient (or several patients), and your pager might be going off, and your receptionist might be reminding you that you have 3 patients in the waiting room, and you will probably have a huge stack of papers on your desk that need to be reviewed… but in that moment, for that patient- your time and presence is what she needs most.” –mother of Clara, carried to term after a Trisomy 18 diagnosis and born still at 36 weeks

 

“It might be tempting to let the parents know that their loss isn’t a big deal compared to what other people go through, but that can be very disturbing to the grieving parents. Don’t tell them it was nature’s way of getting rid of damaged goods. It was their baby. They loved that baby and would have done anything to save it. To you, it was a blighted ovum, or a common Trisomy problem, or ‘barely even a positive’ – but to that family it was precious and beloved. The loss is still very real no matter how unformed the physical person may have been.” –mother to baby lost to miscarriage

 

“Our nurse hung a doorsign of a baby in an incubator on our door so that those entering my postpartum room would know that we had a NICU baby. That was great as it eliminated any too-cheerful questions. However at my six week postpartum checkup, the doctor didn’t know my baby had died.” –mother of Anderson, born at 24 weeks who lived for 26 days

 

“Cyr, take photographs- YES. And remember, you can never tell a loss mom that her baby is too beautifulm too perfect, too special and too unique. She will never hear this as her child grows. Give her a lifetime of school picture Oohing and Aahing in the short time you have with her. Use the baby’s name.” –mother of Anderson, born at 24 weeks who lived for 26 days

 

“I was pregnant with our 2nd baby and had our first u/s at 9 weeks. They couldn’t find a heartbeat. I t was hard and still is. I recall the u/s tech saying ‘oh I just know you’ll be back in 3 months pregnant again!!!” She was just so hopeful. But that’s not what I wanted to hear. I needed to honor THIS baby and THIS loss. So overall, I just wanted the midwife team to honor the present and respect what we are going through at the moment.” –mother of baby lost through miscarriage

 

“To make sure parents have all mementoes of their baby that they would like; to make sure parents know they have no been ‘cast adrift’ from the unit- you become so close to staff whil your baby is being cared for going home is like an estra wrench on tope of the loss of your baby; to make sure parents know how to access counseling. I would also add a couple points about traumatic birth- whether it’s something like PPH or an illness such as preeclampsia and HELLP syndrome- that mums know where to get information about what happened to them and why, and how to access support/forums/debrief about the birth.” –mother of Hugo, born at 24 weeks and lived for 35 days

What more do you have to add?

The pregnancy-baby plots

In the weeks after Mabel died, when Chris went back to work, it was still the dark cold winter and I was deep in my grief and shock. I spent a lot of time on the couch, watching tv. We don’t have cable- we rely on internet tv to get our fix- netflicks, hulu, hbo go, etc. I needed a show that would enrapture me. I got a few recommendations for Friday Night Lights- which did the job. I liked it a lot…except for the five separate pregnancy/baby plots! I was able to muddle through that but became careful of any future shows I committed to. Sometimes it was easy, sometimes less so. A friend recommended Sons of Anarchy- a show about a motorcycle gang. Seemed safe. Opening episode featured a preterm birth of a drug-addicted baby with severe heart defects- given a 10% survival rate. Guess what? Baby lived. I did not continue to watch that show. For my book group we watched the Noah movie in the theaters (yes, I know it’s a book group, but we alternate books and movies). I had to leave the movie early when a character goes into labor, crying because she doesn’t want her baby to be born, worried about it’s imminent death after birth. Watching Scandal, the political drama, I thought I was safe until the presidents wife decided to have a baby as a savvy political move (and got pregnant just like that, no less!)

I became sensitive to pregnancy/baby plots. Now almost 11 months later, I’ve lightened up a bit. I can watch some of these scenarios without a huge emotional reaction. But I can still be surprised. I guess, when it’s the shows that I don’t expect a baby plot that irk me now. I’m not overcome by sadness, just a bothered, annoyed. Most recently it has been Homeland. I’m catching up on past seasons and couldn’t imagine a baby in this fast paced, anti-terrorism show. So when a surprise pregnancy hit the scene, I was a little ticked off.

I guess that’s what shows are trying to do- hit you with the unexpected. I’m learning to accept- and I’m still watching Homeland, but I get to be annoyed, right?

How do you feel about baby plots in shows/movies/books?

Will my baby live?

When I got that news that Mabel had low fluid, I truly understood that the prognosis was bad, but it was hard to really wrap my head around the idea that she might actually die. Part of the difficulty was that no one would actually say she was going to die. Obstetrics would hint, very strongly at it, but couldn’t tell me with certainty. Pediatric specialists wouldn’t comment at all- they all simply said we’d have to see when she came out.

At one point we met with a neonatologist that was finally a bit helpful in that respect. I had been getting weekly ultrasounds for several weeks when we saw him- had had one that day even, which at that point had shown anhydramnios, or no fluid at all. When he heard that, his expression became very serious. He too couldn’t tell us for sure our baby would die, but he was able to get across the point that he was not optimistic for our child. It’s possible he told me nothing new, and after several weeks I was finally able to really hear someone tell me bad news. But I think it was also helpful that he dealt with babies like Mabel. Before him, those giving me the dire prognosis were in OB- they didn’t deal with the baby when she came out, so I didn’t give them as much credit as I should have.

Despite my better understanding of her poor chances, I still remained hopeful. Perhaps it would have been easier if someone could have just told me she would die- her condition was incompatible with life. Then I might have reframed my pregnancy differently.

Later, when I was hospitalized, my midwives came by daily to check in on me. I had many visitors, and everyone tried to remain upbeat. I was pretty positive myself, finally feeling “safe” on continuous monitoring. But I had my moments too- I often just wished I knew what was going to happen (so I could prepare- I thought.)

One day when one of my midwives was visiting, we were having a more serious conversation- about the what ifs. Of all my care team, I talked to her most about the what ifs- what if my baby died? How do I be a midwife? How do I answer when asked if I have kids? She had given me the book “An Exact Replica of a Figment of my Imagination” that just felt so powerful and helpful at the time. For some reason, I could talk to her most easily about the hard stuff. Maybe because others would say- “don’t think like that!” or “no! Miracles happen! Babies surprise us!” or “you don’t know what’s going to happen, why plan for the worst?” But she wouldn’t. I suppose she was the perfect example of empathy. She would stop and really think about what it must be like to be facing such an unknown reality. On one of our visits in the hospital, I asked her “Can I ask you something honestly? Do you think my baby is going to live?”

“No,” she said softly.

And at that time, it was helpful. Partly because I had been asking- not simply being told. Partly because it was her- she wasn’t trying to get me to understand, she was simply imagining it for herself.

I recently saw her for a concern of mine- one that got me super nervous.   Leading up to my appointment I was calm, pushing away bad thoughts- but once I got there, I couldn’t hold back the tears. At the end of the visit, one she basically spent reassuring me, I stopped her and said,

“When I was pregnant with Mabel, I asked you if you thought she would live. You were honest with me. That was really important to me. Today, what do you think- will I be ok??”

“Yes,” she said softly, in that same tone of voice she used with Mabel.

And I believe her.

Do you have someone you trust to tell you the truth? Someone you can hear the truth from? Is there someone you look to for reassurance that everything will be ok?

I’ve always wanted a big family

I sat across from her in the exam room. She was there with her partner and the youngest of her two children, a toddler. She had no clue when her last period was, but based on some recent negative pregnancy tests and now positive, I knew she was in early days. I had congratulated her when I entered the room and she welcomed my words with a smile.

“So were you guys trying or was this a surprise?”

I ask pretty much all my patients this, especially at these kind of visits- one we call “confirm pregnancy” appointments. It’s a quick early visit, to establish with our test that a woman is pregnant and to see if they need an early ultrasound. Plus we are able to start some education and answer questions before the typical initial pregnancy appointment at 8-10 weeks. I ask this question because sometimes people come to this visit to discuss options- I’m trying to see if I need to discuss termination or just plow forward with all the excitement of a new pregnancy. I’m also trying to assess her emotional needs- does she have support? What are her worries?

“Oh, it was a surprise!” She said with a laugh.

“So were using any birth control recently then? Pills? Condoms…?” I ask this to help assess her pregnancy dating. Recent pill use can affect timing of ovulation and thus pregnancy due dates.

“No…” A typical answer that always makes me laugh internally. In my world if you’re not contracepting, you are actively trying to get pregnant.

“But you seem happy about things?”

“Oh yes! I’ve always wanted a big family!”

I looked at her, in her twenties now pregnant with her third child. No history of loss. Smiling, happy, accepting and expecting that things of course would work out.

I’ve always wanted a big family. In the beginning of our relationship, Chris and I discussed how many kids we wanted. He wanted two. I wanted five. He came from a family of two kids; I came from a family of five. No wonders there. Because I got married and would be starting a family later in life, I knew that five was unlikely- we sort of agreed on three (though he would sometimes would argue for two still). When Mabel was diagnosed with Down Syndrome, I became firm in my belief I wanted three kids. We needed to ensure she had siblings who would care for her when Chris and I were no longer able to or weren’t around.

I now laugh at myself- even then- at the naivete of those thoughts. As if we have some sort of control of how many kids we get to bring home (I recognize in a way we do- with the medical marvels of birth control and all…). I didn’t realize that when I was wanting three kids I should have been hoping for three living children. Silly me!

I recently posted about grieving parenthood but I’m also grieving the loss of my future family dreams. If I’m lucky enough to get a take home baby- I no there are no guarantees that I’ll be lucky enough to get another. In another world I thought being an only child seemed like a cruel thing. But I wasn’t thinking about the fact that parents might not have had a choice. My childhood was defined by my large family- I want a semblance of that for any future child I might be lucky enough to have. But I feel like asking for more than one living child is greedy. Just give me one, please. In addition to grieving active parenting, I’m grieving parenting a large family- and the innocence in that statement I heard in the office… “I’ve always wanted a big family!”

How have your visions of your future family changed after loss?

Gracious in Grief

I am not gracious.

There is an ideal bereaved mother image I have in my mind- she is gracious through her grief. Yes, she is sad and angry, but her feelings are directed in productive ways. Her anger is anger at the world in general, that circumstance would let her baby die. She is not angry at other people for having babies after her, for getting pregnant easily, for being joyful instead of scared in their own pregnancies. She is sad, but her sadness is pretty- the kind that makes people want to wrap their arms around her for comfort, not avoid because they don’t know what to do with such ugly sorrow. She understands how hard it is for others to understand babyloss and so gives them leeway when they do avoid. She is easy to forgive, understanding in others reactions and expressive of her grief in socially acceptable ways. She holds other babies easily, not thinking of how they remind her of her dead daughter. She can be genuinely happy for others in their family announcements, rather than cringing, cursing the world and letting her deep jealousy show. She is able to separate her loss from others gains- she does not see the face of her dead baby in those born around the same time as hers, she is able to return to work, full fledged caring for other women in their joys, while she suffers her sadness at home. She is like that bible verse, recited at weddings “She is patient, she is kind. She does not envy…” She is gracious in her grief.

I am not gracious.

Do you ever wish you could grieve differently?

Letting myself have fun

A year ago I spent a friend’s birth trying to bowl with my very pregnant belly. It was one of the last hurrahs before going into the hospital. Chris and I joked around, standing back to back, me 32 weeks pregnant with Mabel, he with a bowling ball under his shirt. I bowled terribly, blaming the offset in my balance. Overall, I had fun.

This year that same friend’s birth rolled around and we found ourselves at the same bowling alley, reliving the same birthday celebration. With the holidays often interrupting many of our social schedules, it was nice to be among the larger group of friends again. As I sat down and put on my bowling shoes, with plates of every kind of fried food sitting before me, I decided I was going to have fun. Being in celebratory situations have often been difficult after my child died. Can I have fun? Will people think I am over Mabel? If I have fun, will I be forsaking her? As I pledged on one of babylossmamma’s posts, I am trying to let myself have fun, without too much guilt. It is a fine balance because I still worry that people will think I’m fine, I’m “healed” (I have another whole post in the making about what I think of that word), that I’ve moved on. My therapist asks me, what am I afraid will happen? The best answer I can come up with is that my support will go away. I still need lots of it. I struggle with anger, sadness, jealousy, hurt on a daily basis and need people to recognize that and cut me some slack sometimes. For the most part they have. I hope that can continue.

And of course, Mabel still came up that night amidst all the fun. A friend brought his girlfriend- someone I’ve simply met before but didn’t get to know. She was simply a ball full of pleasantness. Sweet and interested. We made lots of small talk. Since I was bowling remarkably well, I felt the need for her to understand it was a fluke- that last year, I was terrible. I blamed it on being big and pregnant, but secretly I’m usually not very good. We talked about where we were from, went to school, etc. And then she asked innocently, “so how many kids do you have?” My stomach dropped- but for such a different reason than it used to when asked this question. My baby died and I can say that now. I just felt so bad for her that I was about to drop this bomb on her, turning this lighthearted conversation into something inevitably sad.

“I had a baby last year and she died after birth. So none living at the moment.” I smile din the best way that I could- trying to show that yes, I’m sad, but I’m not going to go to pieces right at this moment.

She did all the right things, reaching out, touching my arm, saying, “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

She was then at a loss for words and so as I often do, I tried to fill the space.

“It’s ok…. Wait, no, it’s not ok that she died, but it’s ok that you asked. Thank you.”

And then it was my turn to bowl. So despite all my fun, Mabel was still there, present and with me.

Do you let yourself have fun? Without guilt? How does it turn out?

Would you rather know?

The thought came up in my bereavement group. Someone said they just wished they were told that babies died- that these awful things can happen- hearts stop beating in utero, water breaks too early, placentas abrupt, birth defects are incompatible with life, babies are deprived of oxygen in labor. Being someone who knew that babies die for all sorts of terrible, but not common reasons, I can’t identify with that wish. In some ways I wish I didn’t know. Of course, I sought information and am thankful I knew what I knew so I could prepare. But in general, I’m not sure all pregnant women want to know. And as a provider I’m not sure I want them to know. There are some things, yes, I think it’s important they know- ones that they have control over or can test for, but the unpredictable? I don’t think I want all my patients living in unnecessary fear. I’m sad I missed out on the blissful ignorance of a first (or second, or third…) pregnancy. I thought it was bad enough having extra information as a midwife, but then being given the actual knowledge that my baby might die, I never really enjoyed being pregnant in the way I wish I could. I’m not sure I ever will.

I had a patient- an educated one, a nurse in fact, in front of me for her first OB appointment. I was doing my usual spiel when we got to genetic testing. I don’t have endless time, so I try to summarize and simplify the issues as best I can. She had no risk factors, so I talked of a test that can detect the risk of having a baby with Down Syndrome and trisomy 18 and 13. I usually qualify the statement, explaining most people are familiar with DS, but the other trisomies can be more severe and those babies don’t often survive the pregnancy and rarely live into childhood. I talk much more in detail about them if people ask (surprisingly few do), but it is important for me to let people know what they have the chance to test for. If a woman declines testing, I have to ask “If you knew you were going to have a baby with DS or a trisomy, and you knew that baby wouldn’t live, would you terminate the pregnancy?” I am pro-choice (pro-information!) and just need people to be comfortable with their choices. And sadly, medically legally, this question is important. There have been wrongful life cases in Connecticut (talk about sad, people suing their providers because they wish their living child had been terminated). I need to document their wishes. I don’t even cringe when people say yes, they would terminate a baby with DS. But I have a problem when people declines testing because they think it won’t happen to them.

The patient sitting in front of me said she didn’t want testing and when I asked my standard question, “If you knew you were going to have a baby with DS or a trisomy, and you knew that baby wouldn’t live, would you terminate the pregnancy?”

She responded, confident that her age of 33 put her at no risk, “Well, that’s really only a concern when you’re 35, right? And I have no family history.”

After a few more failed attempts of trying to get her to understand that it can still happen despite no risk factors I finally said, “Well, I had no risk factors- I was 33 and had no family history and I still had a baby with a trisomy. So it can happen to anyone. What I need to know is would a trisomy diagnosis change your management?”

I hated bringing Mabel into the conversation, but she just wasn’t getting it. I felt she needed to know.

I had another patient with a subchorionic hemorrhage that kept getting bigger and bigger each week in early pregnancy. She had two late first trimester miscarriages and had been about to pursue IVF when she found herself spontaneously pregnant. As the hemorrhage grew, we providers all held our breath, thinking this pregnancy might go the way of the others. If she remained pregnant, it was so big she was at risk for placenta abruption in the second and third trimester. She was educated too- another health care professional and said to me as I expressed some of my concerns “We are just taking it day by day.” She is still pregnant, in the second trimester. I have mentioned placental abruption, so she knows. But I haven’t gone into detail, saying I’ve known people who had such a case and preterm babies who died. She didn’t need to know. Or perhaps she did know, she just didn’t need to hear it harped upon by me.

So how much do we tell pregnant women? We can’t induce everyone at 39 weeks because some babies’ hearts stop at 40 weeks. We can’t do c-sections on everyone because babies’ hearts can stop in labor. There are risks to those as well. I don’t even tell women to do kick counts daily- it only increases worry. Do kick counts when they are worried, I tell them. Women know their babies best- if baby isn’t moving like normal, then take the time. This is the struggle I have as a midwife- I know the bad that can happen. But I also know most of it is unpredictable. So I take this burden on myself; I worry for my patients, so they can have the blissfully ignorant joyful pregnancy that they deserve. Worrying about unpredictable things can only increase stress and cortisol levels, which isn’t good for moms or babies either.

(disclaimer: I don’t mean to minimize anyone’s anxieties around loss, especially once you’ve experienced it. once you’ve known loss, worry away! You’ve earned the right to worry, even if it’s about unpredictable things. Your innocence was lost like mine.)

What do you think? Do you wish you knew babies died? How would it have changed things? Do you feel the need to lecture pregnant women on the awful that can happen?

So much sadness.

She stared up at the ceiling, eyes welled with tears, while I stared at the screen, searching, looking for anything that would give me better news. Moments before we were in another exam room chatting cheerfully about the latest developments in her pregnancy. She had just started feeling movement and her fundus was a few fingerbreadths below her bellybutton, just where it should be for 17 weeks. I searched with the doptone for the classic “thud-thud-thud” of her baby’s heartbeat but all I hear was static and artifact.

“Baby’s being stubborn,” I said, a sinking feeling already settling in my gut. “Let’s go take a look instead.”

I looked and looked, feeling helpless- the machine was old; I’m not a trained sonographer- but I couldn’t see the telltale flicker that told me everything was alright. Everything was not alright.

“I’m having trouble finding a heartbeat. “ I put down the probe as tears filled my eyes. I didn’t hide them- they were no match for hers as she let out a panicked and woeful “No, no, no!”

I sat her up and hugged her hard. I told her I couldn’t tell for sure- old machine, needing a formal ultrasound- but I was worried. I had to send her to the hospital. She called her husband, forty minutes away and I repeated my uncertainty- it seemed what she wanted to hear, what would get her through that endless wait for her husband and then the drive to the hospital. I sat with her for a bit and then had to go see more patients. Between each one I checked back in with her, not having any words to say to would ease the pain, because there are none.

Husband arrived, off to the hospital they hurried and everything was confirmed. Her baby had died.

Here I am, a babyloss mom myself and I was still at a loss. I thought of all the awful experiences people have had with their providers (and remembered the good ones too). But I had a sudden empathy for the bumbling providers. Some behavior is inexcusable, but there are many other clumsy caregivers who just wish they could take away the pain, but know they can’t. Stupid words fall from their mouths, medical processes are focused on- all because they were helpless. Their pain is nothing compared to the patients, but I had a little more insight. It had been a long time since I had to say the words and it was my first time since my own loss. It sucked. It was terribly heart wrenching for me and even more so for my patient.

So much sadness.

What was your experience hearing bad news? What was done well? What do you wish could have been done differently?

Baby Bottles

“Do you have any recommendations on bottles?” she asked, her body swollen with it’s second pregnancy well into the third trimester.

I stared at her blankly, not understanding.

“I plan to go back to work, so you know, for pumping.  Do you have any recommendations?”

I was not only lost by this nonsequitor- we had just been discussing her thoughts on this baby’s weight compared to her first- but I was also surprised she was asking me.  I’m a midwife- birth is my thing, not bottles.

“That’s a better question for your pediatrician.  I don’t do babies once they come out of you.”

I wanted to add, “and my baby died. I never got a chance to breastfeed, let alone worry about bottles.”  I was mad at this woman in a way.  This was her second baby.  Shouldn’t she have figured it out with her first baby?  And really?  You’re asking the woman whose baby died?

Not fair, I know.  She probably didn’t read the sign about Mabel.  She has no reason to know anything about my personal life.  And since part of my job technically is to deliver babies, it’s not too much of a stretch to assume I know something about feeding them.  I do know a bit about breastfeeding after all.

I couldn’t help but feel angry at the woman even though it wasn’t her fault.  I know deep down I’m not really angry at her, I’m angry at the circumstance.  I felt like the universe was teasing me- playing a cruel little joke, presenting me with a question I should have been able to answer had my baby lived.  That universe which I once thought if I was good to, it would be good to me.  Silly me.

Have you ever felt like the universe was playing a joke on you?

I am not the bad guy

I have a confession. I was not the perfect pregnant woman. Every few weeks I had a glass of wine. I snuck some raw cookie dough and licked the cake batter bowl. I ate too much sugar and not enough vegetables. Many of my babyloss counterparts say “I did everything right” and I often have chimed in, though I know I did a few things that others might have looked down on me for. But none of these things killed my baby. A faulty chromosome was really her downfall- something that is usually quite livable, but in her case leading to a cascading effect of fatal birth defects.

So when I hear people doing some counter culture things in pregnancy (crossfit? An occasional glass of wine? Medication with potential effects on the baby?), I have always been rather understanding, even now in my grief. But I draw the line.

Arguing with me about how marijuana should be allowable for pregnant women doesn’t change the fact that it’s still illegal here. My job requires that I protect your health and your baby’s health. If you are unhappy with the law, take it up with your state legislature, not with me.

I could go on about how people who smoke marijuana often use other drugs, about how unregulated marijuana could be laced with other harmful substances, how people who make poor decisions regarding drugs are more likely to participate in other risky behaviors.

I am not the bad guy.

Being pregnant is a privilege and an opportunity to better oneself. I was told my baby was likely going to die and I still recognized that. I asked advice of my providers and listened. I wish others would do the same.

Do you have any confessions? What do you get mad at seeing other pregnant woman doing?