Disclaimer: This story includes images of child loss that may be triggering to some.
Pregnancy Journey
“We first discovered we were pregnant with Ari on December 29th, 2018 — just four days after Lokie, my now fiancé, and I had gotten engaged. At first, I had no signs of pregnancy besides incredibly sore breasts, which I kept complaining about. Lokie jokingly said, ‘We could be pregnant.’ I laughed it off at first, but then reality hit me like a wave: OMG, we could be pregnant! Five positive pregnancy tests later, we were both nervous, yet deeply excited to become first-time parents.
My pregnancy progressed smoothly. I still remember our first dating scan in early January — we had no idea exactly how far along I was. When we heard our baby’s heartbeat for the first time, it was pure, overwhelming joy. We were just five weeks and six days along, and we couldn’t wait to share this life-changing news with our immediate family.
From the beginning, Lokie had a feeling we were having a boy. I wasn’t so sure; I was convinced we were having a girl. In those early weeks, my only real symptom was mild morning nausea, usually relieved by some dry, salty biscuits — Jatz quickly became my first-trimester best friend.
At twelve weeks, we opted for the Harmony test as an extra precaution to ensure our baby was healthy. All results, including the twelve-week scan, showed our baby boy — yes, Lokie was right! — was perfect. He was growing well, his heart functioning normally, and no genetic abnormalities were visible. Our little boy was thriving, and I was falling in love with being pregnant.
I stayed active throughout my pregnancy, walking until about 22 weeks when my lower back started hurting. Then I switched to swimming and aqua aerobics, which I absolutely loved. Moving in the water felt amazing for both me and our baby boy. Our 20-week scan revealed that Ari’s head and legs were in the ninetieth percentile, but his tummy was smaller than expected. Our obstetrician reassured us, saying, “I’d rather send you for ten extra scans than miss something.” By 25 weeks, the follow-up scan showed his tummy had caught up nicely.
By the mid-20s weeks, I finally started showing — probably because I’m tall. Until then, I often got comments like, “Are you even pregnant?” Once my bump appeared, I adored it. By 35 weeks, a final growth scan confirmed our baby boy’s measurements were excellent, with his tummy now in the eightieth percentile. I still felt great, swimming or doing aqua aerobics most days.
Lokie and I cherished preparing our spare room for Ari, setting up his cot, change table, clothes, and tiny essentials. Feeling him move each day was magical — usually mornings and evenings while lying in bed, Lokie and I would watch my belly ripple with each tiny kick. Those moments were pure joy.
At 38 weeks and one day, my last scheduled appointment confirmed Ari’s size and heartbeat were strong. My obstetrician reminded me, “If something feels off, come in immediately. A mother’s intuition is always right.” I left thinking, That’ll never happen to me. But life has a way of teaching lessons we never expect.
The Unthinkable
Three days later, at 38 weeks and six days, Ari was moving normally in the morning. That night, I had a restless sleep and woke unusually often. By mid-morning, I realized I hadn’t felt him move. I told Lokie, “I haven’t felt him today, I’m going to lie down.” Ten minutes later, still feeling nothing, I said, “We should call the hospital, just to be safe.”
At the hospital, I told the midwife, “I’m sure everything is fine, but we just want to check.” In the labour room, she tried the doppler several times but couldn’t find Ari’s heartbeat. My heart sank. She called our obstetrician. I remember standing there with tears in my eyes, clinging to Lokie, hoping it was just a false alarm.
Our obstetrician arrived with a portable ultrasound. Thirty seconds later, the words I never expected came: “I’m so sorry, there’s no heartbeat.” Shock and disbelief washed over me. I clung to Lokie, sobbing, whispering, “What do we do now?” as if there were a way to fix this. Our obstetrician and midwife stayed with us, offering comfort while we called family. I will never forget Lokie’s calls to our parents and siblings — announcing what should have been joyous news, now shrouded in heartbreak.
We had a confirmatory ultrasound, and soon we were told we would be flown to Adelaide, the nearest city with the specialized care we needed. I remember thinking, I have to give birth to my dead son?! My plea to have a C-section was declined; for my health and future pregnancies, it was safest to deliver naturally. That night, we were airlifted to Adelaide. From the moment we arrived, the midwives and staff provided extraordinary care in an unimaginably difficult time.
Stillbirth
We arrived in Adelaide at 3 a.m. on Monday, August 19th. I was induced at 9 a.m., given additional gels at 3 p.m., and by 3 a.m. on Tuesday, August 20th, my water broke naturally. By then, our language shifted from, “We have to give birth to our baby boy,” to, “We get to give birth to our baby boy.” This subtle change gave us strength to face the hours ahead.
At 5:18 p.m., Ari Lachlan Jennings was born. He was perfect — long, chubby, with tiny hands and feet, rosy cheeks, a perfect button nose, red lips, and a dimpled chin. Lokie wept beside me, saying, “I’m absolutely heartbroken.” We were both devastated, yet completely in love with our son.
Our families joined us, holding Ari, showering him with love. The next three days were some of the most exhausting, heart-wrenching, yet precious moments of our lives. The hospital’s cool cots allowed Ari to remain with us constantly. Leaving him at the hospital was the hardest moment I’ve ever faced. The last words I whispered to him were: “You are absolutely perfect, our darling boy. We are so lucky to be your mommy and daddy. We love you so much.” Instead of leaving with our newborn, we left with memories, photos, and mementos we will treasure forever.
Processing Grief
In the beginning, I couldn’t imagine life continuing after Ari’s death. Some days, I still feel frozen in time, needing to remind myself I was ever pregnant. I should be caring for a lively, demanding baby boy, yet instead, I sit in quiet, writing beside the teddy bear that holds his ashes. Ari’s autopsy revealed no cause — he was a perfectly healthy baby. We are among the tragic statistics of babies lost before their first breath.
Most people look at me with sorrow, and I understand why. But if there’s one lesson from my story, it’s this: speak about your lost children. Say their names. Acknowledge their lives. Silence is the hardest part. For me, despite the devastation, confusion, and grief, I also feel immense pride, overwhelming love, and gratitude for having been Ari’s mother. He may not be here with us, but he is, and always will be, our beautiful boy
