Mia Tedim

As I lay here going through our third loss and second surgery this year, I can’t help but feel completely defeated.

I never imagined this would be our story. What started with wanting two under two quickly became wanting just one thing - a healthy baby, a healthy pregnancy, and to finally bring another baby home.

Something that once felt so simple and exciting has become something I associate with fear, heartbreak and loss.

There is a very specific kind of heartbreak that comes with losing a baby you never got to meet. You have all these dreams, plans and so much love for someone you’ve only known for such a short time, and then suddenly you’re expected to carry on as though nothing happened.

But everything happened.

That baby existed. That baby was loved. That baby was wanted.

The world doesn’t stop when yours does. People keep going to work, making plans and having their babies, while you’re trying to figure out how to put yourself back together.

Some days I don’t know if I can do this again. I don’t know if my heart can handle another positive test, another week of hoping, another ultrasound filled with anxiety. The thought of going through this pain again genuinely scares me.

And then there’s my darling boy, Knox.

I sometimes feel guilty that I’m somehow leaving him without the sibling I so desperately wanted for him. I know none of this is within my control, but the thoughts still creep in. I wanted him to have someone to grow up beside, someone to love and spoil, and I wanted a bigger family filled with more little people.

I want more babies. I want the growing belly, the kicks, the tiny clothes, the sleepless nights, the cuddles and the moment you finally get to meet them. I want all of it.

And I think that’s what makes this hurt so much. It’s not just losing a pregnancy. It’s losing the future I had already imagined.

The depression this leaves me with takes everything out of my cup. I’m trying to be a mum, a partner, a friend, to keep showing up while quietly grieving.

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But then my little boy comes running through the door, and I remember I have to keep going. Not because the pain has disappeared, but because he