To the mom who was supposed to have a baby in her arms this Christmas… Miscarriage Grief at Christmas

 

I see you. I’ve been you. I am you.

As we head into a season that’s supposed to feel magical, your heart might feel heavy with the almosts and should’ve beens. You might be carrying a quiet ache for the baby you thought you’d be holding right now. But instead, you’re navigating miscarriage grief at Christmas. Something you never imagined you would be walking through.

If that’s you, I want you to know you’re not alone.

This month has carried a lot of emotion for our family. December should’ve been the month we welcomed our rainbow baby girl. And just last month, we passed the anniversary of losing our baby boy—two little ones we hoped and prayed for, dreamed about, and loved long before we ever saw their faces.

I still catch myself keeping track of the weeks that never came.
I still remember their due dates.
I still imagine what this Christmas might have looked like with a baby in our arms instead of in Heaven.
And if I had to guess – you do too.

 

The ache of what could’ve been.

You picture the newborn snuggles.
The tiny Christmas pajamas.
The first ornaments and late night feedings and soft little coos you thought you’d be hearing right now.
And when you see other moms holding babies the same age yours should’ve been, your chest tightens—not from jealousy, but from a love that has nowhere to land.

Your heart remembers, even when the world keeps moving.

 

Our story: two losses, one year

In November (2024), we lost our baby boy—our fourth child, a baby boy we were so over the moon about joining our family. We were planning to announce his due date around Thanksgiving. But instead, we walked through the deepest heartbreak we’ve ever experienced after hearing the most devastating words you can imagine… “I’m so sorry. There’s no heartbeat.”

Just a few months later, we found out we were expecting our rainbow baby girl, due in December (2025). We felt overwhelmed with gratitude and hope. It felt like a story of redemption only the Lord could have written—especially after delivering our son after our first miscarriage the previous December.

But that joy was short-lived. We lost her too. We had our second miscarriage in June (2025), the same week of pregnancy we lost our baby boy.

Walking through back-to-back miscarriages is something I still don’t fully have words for. There are still questions I will probably carry for the rest of my life. But even through the ache, I’m thankful we know Who is holding our babies. I’m thankful they only ever knew love. And I’m thankful for the hope that we’ll one day hold them again in Heaven.

 

If this is your story too…

I want you to know:

Your baby still counts.
Your motherhood still counts.
Your grief is not invisible.
Your love is real, and it will always matter.

You’re allowed to feel joy and sadness in the same breath.
You’re allowed to celebrate Christmas and still mourn the loss of the child you hoped would be here.
Your heart is big enough to hold both.

 

You are not alone.

If you’re grieving a baby this Christmas season, please know:

You are seen.
You are loved.
And your little one is never forgotten.

I’m praying that you feel the Lord’s nearness in the moments that catch you off guard, the ones that bring tears, and the ones that bring a longing for heaven.

And if you need someone to say it out loud:

Your story matters. Your baby matters. You matter. 🤍✨

 

If you found this post because you are walking through miscarriage grief at Christmas,

I’m so sorry for your loss.
I wish I could give you a hug, sit with you, and let you say their name out loud.
You’re welcome here in this space. I hope you feel a little less alone.

 

If you need community…

I share more of our miscarriage story, faith, and encouragement for grieving moms over on Instagram.
You’re welcome to join me there if you’re needing a little extra community and don’t want to walk this alone: www.instagram.com/homewithmycrew

 

I’m praying for every mom navigating this season with empty arms but a heart full of love. The moms continuing to make the magic happen for everyone else, while her heart is quietly hurting.

I hope you feel the Lord’s nearness in every moment—especially the painful ones.

And I hope you continue to find ways to

carry the grief while finding the joy.