31 Mar Why pregnancy jokes are no laughing matter this April Fools
A younger colleague of mine went live on Facebook saying they were three months pregnant, writes Fiona Jordan.
I did the obligatory ‘congratulations, you must be so happy response’.
But later that day, they tagged me along with everyone who had congratulated them and said, “Ha ha, can’t believe you fell for that! Do you seriously think I look three months pregnant? Thanks a lot. April Fools, everyone!”
Two weeks before this I had heard the words: “There’s no heartbeat.”
It turns out, I was the one in four.
I had, had a miscarriage. The words still feel foreign, like they belong to someone else. But they don’t. They belong to me, to my story, to the baby I lost.
When I saw the positive line on the pregnancy test, I was already counting ahead, working out birthdates, plans, names. I imagined their tiny fingers wrapping around mine, their first giggles, the sleepless nights, first Christmas, breastfeeding.
But at my 12-week scan, my world shattered. My obstetrician quite abruptly said my baby had stopped growing at around eight or nine weeks, but my body hadn’t realised it yet. I still had morning sickness, sore boobs, tiredness. But they were gone.
I carried them, loved them, and held onto hope without even knowing they were already gone.
Afterwards, it felt like the whole world was a reminder of what I had lost. Everywhere I looked, there were pregnant people, babies, children. Social media seemed like it was out to get me. The algorithms were sending me pregnancy nutrition ads, and it appeared pregnancy announcements, ultrasound photos were all my friends were sharing. I was at the age where everyone seemed like they were announcing a pregnancy.
The world kept moving forward, oblivious to the grief that was making it hard for me to get out of bed, to eat, to smile, to laugh.
Whilst I did not begrudge my friends pregnancy announcements, I was jealous. It was so hard to be feeling such conflicting emotions. Being happy for them, whilst grieving in silence.
But the April Fools joke just seemed cruel. I thought these things were supposed to be funny. That comedy should be about punching up, not down. And aside from that, how basic is a pregnancy announcement, it’s not clever, it’s not funny, and for loss parents it dismisses their loss, their feelings and makes a pain, they are so often hiding, a punchline.
Miscarriage isn’t rare. It isn’t an anomaly. So many of us carry this silent grief, feeling like we have to tiptoe around it because the world finds it uncomfortable. But it’s real. Our babies were real. Our pain is real. Not to mention the 3,000 babies and children that die every year in Australia from causes like stillbirth, SIDS, SUDI and accidents.
So this April Fool’s Day, please think before you post. Pregnancy is not a joke. For so many of us, it was our greatest joy, our deepest sorrow, and the thing we wanted more than anything in the world.
Fiona Jordan is the Communications and Marketing Manager for Red Nose and also a parent who has experienced a miscarriage and two chemical pregnancies.
