I wish it wasn’t called miscarriage. It makes it seem like I was carrying something and then I missed. I dropped it and into the toilet of all places. It should be called something more discreet, something a little less blamey.
Maybe I can call it DBB which can stand for Death Before Birth.
Then I can tell people, I had my third DBB and not feel the original sin that every woman has held onto since they read about it and collectively believed it, that I did something wrong.
In Judaism, to sin is to miss the mark. Maybe I missed the mark when I got angry that day, or when I picked up the groceries, or when I stayed up too late talking with my friends. Maybe I have too much stress in my life, too much sadness, too much pain that the baby did not want to come into this world through me.
But if it was called DBB, maybe I can be left alone to feel sad. I can just mourn and not worry whether I carried or miscarried.