Warning: This story contains graphic images and descriptions of pregnancy loss, and may not be appropriate for all readers.
And just like that, you’re gone.
The last two days haven’t been easy. In fact, they’ve been a f*cking nightmare.
No more than 10 minutes after I posted a picture of me and my little jellybean on Instagram, my body started the process of having a miscarriage and continued for the next five or so hours. I contracted and pushed out my baby along with the rest of the lining of my uterus. I turned animal-like and needed space, darkness and to be alone. My body was contracting and pushing and then I held my small pearl sized baby in the palm of my hand.
No one can quite prepare you for a miscarriage. Mine are long and painful. This time around I knew what to expect after having had two before. I cried as the blood gushed down my legs as I stood in the shower, I shook as I picked up palm size clots on the bathroom floor, all while trying not to be too loud while I asked the boys to watch a movie on my bed – distracting them as I passed what should have been their future sibling.
Watch: Mia Freedman on the reality of miscarriage. Post continues after video.
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