I hadn’t even been given the green light by my Ob/Gyn to get busy again. I was sleep deprived and my breasts were engorged and people were asking if I was ready to “try for a girl.”
The week that Norrin was diagnosed with autism my best friend had her baby shower. Norrin was two and half years old. Attending a baby shower, everyone wants to talk about babies and more babies. The diagnosis was so new. I was angry, heartbroken and confused. And I wanted to scream each time someone asked, “My son has autism! And I don’t want any more kids.”
I struggled with whether or not to have another child. I knew Joseph wanted more children. My family kept saying we should have another. And every therapist that walked in and out of our home said a sibling would be the best therapy for Norrin. But autism was like this dark cloud hanging over me. I had fallen down this rabbit-hole and I was trying to figure out our new world.
After three years, I decided I was ready. And immediately I was pregnant. As I began to tell friends and family about my pregnancy, they all asked the same question: Are you scared this baby will have autism too?
For years people had asked when I was going to have another kid. Now that I was pregnant, everyone wanted to play on all of my fears. But during my second pregnancy, I was happy. Hopeful. Excited. And I told them that I wouldn’t worry until there was something to worry about. I wanted a baby.
And then during my 16th week appointment, my Ob/Gyn discovered my baby had died. I had a miscarriage and I didn’t even know.
That was three years and eleven days ago. I haven’t been the same since. And I suppose I never will.