In the wonderfully candid manner we all know and love her for, Chrissy Teigen has opened up about one of the more prominent aftermaths of her heartbreaking miscarriage.
Teigen, who has been applauded for breaking down barriers for all mom-related issues in the past, recently discussed her post-baby body.
But Chrissy delved right in and gave a raw account of just how traumatic her “baby body” has been for her.
In October, the couple took to social media to reveal the heartbreaking news.
“We never decide on our babies’ names until the last possible moment after they’re born, just before we leave the hospital. But we, for some reason, had started to call this little guy in my belly Jack. So he will always be Jack to us. Jack worked so hard to be a part of our little family, and he will be, forever,” Chrissy wrote on social media.
“To our Jack – I’m so sorry that the first few moments of your life were met with so many complications, that we couldn’t give you the home you needed to survive. We will always love you. Thank you to everyone who has been sending us positive energy, thoughts, and prayers. We feel all of your love and truly appreciate you.”
“We are so grateful for the life we have, for our wonderful babies Luna and Miles, for all the amazing things we’ve been able to experience. But every day can’t be full of sunshine. On this darkest of days, we will grieve, we will cry our eyes out. But we will “hug and love each other harder and get through it.”
Chrissy returned to social media to share an essay she wrote for Medium.
“I had no idea when I would be ready to write this. Part of me thought it would be early on, when I was still really feeling the pain of what happened. I thought I would sit in the corner of my bedroom with the lights dimmed, just rolling off my thoughts. I’d have a glass of red wine, cozy up with a blanket, and finally get the chance to address ‘what happened’.”
“I’m reading off countless notes from my phone — thoughts that have randomly popped up in the weeks since.”
“I didn’t really know how I would start this, no matter the room or state I was in, but it feels right to begin with a thank you. For weeks, our floors have been covered in flowers of kindness.
“Notes have flooded in and have each been read with our own teary eyes. Social media messages from strangers have consumed my days, most starting with, ‘you probably won’t read this, but…’. I can assure you, I did.”
“I wanted to thank everyone, share our story with each individual person. But I knew I was in no state to. For me, the ‘no need to respond’ note was such a true relief. I thank you for each and every one of those.”
“One of the standout moments from that morning (or evening? I have no idea) was me going through the halls of labor and delivery, and John saying “What, is there a f**king party going on here??” Here we were, just wheeled down to a new floor, me covered in a thin blanket to hide, knowing I was about to fully deliver what was supposed to be the 5th member of our beautiful family, a son, only to say goodbye moments later.
“People cheered and laughed right outside our door, understandably for a new life born and celebrated. You kind of wonder how anyone is thinking about anyone but you.”
“At this point I had already come to terms with what would happen: I would have an epidural and be induced to deliver our 20 week old, a boy that would have never survived in my belly (please excuse these simple terms).
“I was previously on bedrest for over a month, just trying to get the little dude to 28 weeks, a “safer” zone for the fetus. My doctors diagnosed me with partial placenta abruption. I had always had placenta problems. I had to deliver Miles a month early because his stomach wasn’t getting enough food from my placenta. But this was my first abruption. We monitored it very closely, hoping for things to heal and stop.”
“Finally, I had a pretty bad night in bed, after a not-so-great ultrasound, where I was bleeding a bit more than even my abnormal amount. My bleeding was getting heavier and heavier. The fluid around Jack had become very low — he was barely able to float around. At some points, I swore it was so low I could lay on my back and feel his arms and legs from outside my belly.”
“After a couple nights at the hospital, my doctor told me exactly what I knew was coming — it was time to say goodbye.
“He just wouldn’t survive this, and if it went on any longer, I might not either. We had tried bags and bags of blood transfusions, every single one going right through me like we hadn’t done anything at all.”
“I cried a little at first, then went into full-blown convulsions of snot and tears, my breath not able to catch up with my own incredibly deep sadness. Even as I write this now, I can feel the pain all over again. Oxygen was placed over my nose and mouth, and that was the first picture you saw. Utter and complete sadness.”
“I stupidly compared it to dogs I had “put down” in the past — how I never wanted to let go until we absolutely knew it was time, that they were suffering far too much. I texted this to my doctor and she said ‘absolutely.’
“Later that night, I went to the bathroom, looked down into the toilet (I had been doing this for months), and broke down again. The sheer amount of blood and clots showed me exactly what I had been waiting for. It was time.”
“I had always laughed about how much I loved epidurals…not so much this one. I laid there for hours, waiting to be told it was time to push. I obviously never had to dilate much, he was still a tiny little guy.
“I had been laying on my side, switching sides every hour or so, whenever the nurse told me to. I remember laying on my right side, looking opposite of John, when I was told to make my switch. I opened my legs and started to turn to face John and just like that, he was on his way out. The doctors yelled for a bit and…I don’t know what to say, even now. He was out.”
“I asked the nurses to show me his hands and feet and I kissed them over and over and over again. I have no idea when I stopped. It could have been 10 minutes or an hour.”
“Maybe *too* bursting full, actually. I find myself randomly crying, thinking about how happy I am to have two insanely wonderful little toddlers who fill this house with love. I smother them with love while they “Moooooooom!!!!!” me. I don’t care.”
From tattoos to a blood drive, her family and friends have all gathered together in order to help the pair grieve.
Chrissy has been candid about the fact that she has been going to therapy since the death of her son.
But even in her lowest times, she is still a hilarious mom, saying that the look was just a “post-therapy face filter.”
Chrissy revealed that she still has a small bump from her pregnancy, writing:
“Even though I’m no longer pregnant, every glance in the mirror reminds me of what could have been.”
But called it “frustrating.”
“It’s frustrating. But I’m proud of where this entire journey took my body and mind in other ways. I love being pregnant, so so much, and I’m sad I never will be again.”
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