The first thing you get when you go to your GP and say that you’re pregnant is a calm congratulations, and then a reminder that one in four pregnancies end in miscarriage. Not exactly fireworks.
There are reasons for this, of course. First of all, it’s true, and most people are not aware. And maybe, maybe, when you have your first miscarriage, knowing that it happens all the time can help you deal with it differently and stop you from blaming yourself. But this is part of a much bigger picture, and, the way I see it, quite a problematic one.
When Victoria, the Crown Princess of Sweden, and her husband Daniel announced the other day that they are expecting, everyone seemed to have an opinion (quite amusing, considering the number of Swedes that are critical of the monarchy). Many opinions were more or less identical versions of Peter Wolodarski’s – the Political Editor in Chief of one of the biggest liberal dailies, who boasted about the fact that he refused to change the plan for the editorial leader spread in order to write about the big news – which pointed out that it seemed a bit risky to make a big deal out of it at such an early stage in the pregnancy.
It’s the idea that it’s risky that leaves me feeling a bit confused. As if it’s only really risky once you say it out loud: if you pretend nothing’s happened, no one’s going to get hurt.
Pregnancy books all say that it’s up to you when you start telling people about your good news, and that many people choose to keep it a secret until after the first trimester, since the risk of miscarriage decreases significantly then. As a couple with no previous experience of pregnancies, you get a pretty clear message: if you go and tell the world you’re pregnant and you end up miscarrying, don’t say we didn’t warn you.
But this fear of jinxing it is built on the idea that we shouldn’t share painful experiences, and that if you do, it’s a little bit embarrassing: you’re a failure, and you’re putting everyone else in an awkward position. What more is, it completely disregards the fact that there are no guarantees. If we are so scared of having to grieve publicly, what about when the unexpected happens? Should we have to apologise for going through hell? Should we actually feel GUILTY?
We live in a world where whoever is happiest wins. Subsequently, we live in a world where happiness must be measured, because otherwise we’ll never know just how well we’re doing, and hence we’re constantly chasing points: partners, houses, careers, promotions, exotic holiday trips, babies. It’s like life is a never-ending merry-go-round where every spin gets better and better, until we’re so manic and everything’s so shiny that we can’t even see that the sun is shining.
I don’t think true happiness equals constant elation, and I don’t think make-believe surface-level happiness does anyone any good. Whatever they tell you, there’s no right or wrong time to tell people you’re pregnant, there are no guarantees, and there certainly isn’t any ’12 week rule’. If you choose to wear your heart on your sleeve, and your grief with it, I hope that the people around you will carry you through and admit that life has its ups and downs – not turn a blind eye, think ‘I told you so’, and wish you’d put on a brave face and kept your embarrassing misery to yourself.
