Sometimes though, life is paradoxical and the teacher becomes the student. A few weeks ago, I suffered a devastating miscarriage. It was my first pregnancy and I was eight weeks along. The news was shocking and came on an early Thursday morning.
Why is it that, in a world where almost every aspect of motherhood is discussed and dissected, the incredibly common reality of miscarriage is still so hidden? Why is the pain that so many women experience intensified by the sense that their experience is shameful or should be kept secret?
It's depressing that something as serious and emotionally devastating as a miscarriage can be used as such a throwaway plot device, but sadly, it's been a foregone conclusion ever since Blair's ill-advised pregnancy storyline was introduced.
From the moment I began to tell folks I was carrying a little person inside me, I've been dodging the question of gender/sex. And because I decided beforehand that I would not find out, I would seek out the most creative ways to sidestep the question.
In the midst of your Mother's Day celebrations, take some time to remember your cousin in Houston whose fertility treatments are failing, your next-door neighbor who had a stillbirth three years ago, or your grandmother who lost a child but could never bring herself to tell anyone.