Lost and Found

Lost and Found

Scenes from a Miscarriage

By Martha Manning

July/August 2020

After seven years as the parents of one child, my husband and I decided to shoot for two. We consulted with Rob, our friend and obstetrician, who blessed our intentions and warned us to expect it to take six to eight months to conceive. It took about 10 minutes. The pregnancy technology had advanced over time, so we knew early that we’d hit pay dirt, leaving us completely floored. Our second appointment with Rob resulted in great test results, huge horse-pill prenatal vitamins, and a definitive due date. We made a family appointment, for when we’d all be able to see and hear images of our new baby.

Not only were we loving and indulgent parents, we were both psychotherapists. We shared an ethos that people have feelings about everything, that it’s important to acknowledge and experience those feelings, and that it’s critical to talk about all of them. One of the greatest tensions in our small family was that our daughter, Keara, thought this was total bullshit. On a day-to-day basis, we were learning to accommodate her, but we were undeterred this time.

I bought a psychologically sophisticated, seven-year-old-appropriate book about becoming a sibling, while my husband, Brian, grabbed up all our favorites from the Lebanese place down the street. Keara looked suspicious and started squirming as I…

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