Pregnancy After Loss: Learning to Hope Again

Leila Hobart

When I became pregnant after losing our son, Oscar, people expected it to be a happy ending. They thought another pregnancy would somehow heal the pain or replace what we had lost.

The reality couldn’t have been more different.

Instead of excitement, I was consumed by fear.

Instead of dreaming about the future, I was trying to make it through each day.

Losing Oscar at 23 weeks changed me forever. It changed the way I viewed pregnancy, my body, and the world around me. The innocence that comes with a first pregnancy disappeared overnight. Once you’ve experienced the unimaginable, you know that not every pregnancy ends with taking your baby home.

When I found out I was pregnant with Bonnie, I desperately wanted to feel excited. I wanted to enjoy every moment because I knew how precious pregnancy was. But trauma has a way of protecting your heart, even when you don’t want it to.

I couldn’t allow myself to believe she was coming home.

Every scan was terrifying. In the days leading up to appointments, my anxiety would become overwhelming. I would convince myself something was wrong before anyone had even looked. Waiting to hear her heartbeat felt endless, and the relief I felt afterwards only lasted until the next wave of worry arrived.

People would tell me, “Try not to worry,” or “This pregnancy is different.”

I know they meant well, but once you’ve lost a baby, those words don’t quieten the thoughts in your head.

Every ache, every pain, every quieter movement sent me spiralling. I found myself constantly waiting for history to repeat itself.

One of the hardest parts was something I carried a lot of guilt about—I couldn’t bond with Bonnie during my pregnancy.

I loved her deeply, but I couldn’t let myself imagine life with her. I didn’t buy many baby clothes. I struggled to picture her nursery. I found it difficult to talk about the future because I was so frightened it would be taken away again.

At the time, I worried that something was wrong with me.

I questioned whether I was already failing as her mum because I didn’t feel the excitement everyone else expected.

Looking back now, I realise I wasn’t failing at all.

I was surviving.

My mind was trying to protect me from experiencing that level of heartbreak again.

The incredible thing is that the moment Bonnie was born, everything changed.

The walls I had built around my heart came down.

The bond I had been so worried about not having appeared almost instantly. Holding her in my arms for the first time brought a mixture of overwhelming love, relief, joy and sadness all at once. I finally allowed myself to believe she was here.

That doesn’t mean Oscar wasn’t with me.

He was.

He still is.

Becoming Bonnie’s mum didn’t stop me being Oscar’s mum too. My love simply grew.

Pregnancy after loss takes an enormous toll on your mental health.

For many parents, anxiety becomes a constant companion. Sleep becomes difficult. Hospital appointments become triggering. You replay previous experiences over and over again, desperately looking for reassurance that no one can truly give.

For me, I was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder after losing Oscar. Pregnancy brought so much of that trauma back to the surface. My body remembered everything, even when I desperately wanted to move forward.

One thing I wish more people understood is that fear and gratitude can exist together.

You can be incredibly grateful to be pregnant while also being terrified.

You can love your baby deeply while struggling to bond during pregnancy.

You can smile for photos while fighting anxiety every single day.

None of these emotions make you a bad parent.

They make you a parent who has loved and lost.

If you’re reading this while navigating pregnancy after loss, please know that you are not alone.

There is no right way to experience it.

If you don’t feel excited, that’s okay.

If you don’t want to buy baby clothes yet, that’s okay.

If you need extra reassurance from your healthcare team, ask for it.

If you cry after every appointment—even the good ones—that’s okay too.

Your previous loss has changed you, and it’s okay to acknowledge that.

For me, Bonnie will always know about her big brother. Oscar is part of our family and always will be. Loving Bonnie has never meant loving Oscar any less.

Pregnancy after loss taught me that courage isn’t about being fearless.

It’s choosing to keep going despite the fear.

It’s finding hope when your heart has been broken.

And it’s believing, one day at a time, that joy can exist alongside grief.

Because it can.

I see that every time I look at Bonnie.