Sunday 22nd August 2021 was . A rainbow baby, as currently constructed, is a baby that comes after miscarriage, pregnancy loss and stillbirth (Tommy鈥檚, 2021). It鈥檚 the birth of a live baby after the death, or deaths, of others that came before. The rainbow baby is the marker of surviving the storm, or so the analogy goes.
It鈥檚 really important to state here that my intention in this short post is in no way meant to denigrate National Rainbow Baby Day, nor those who see it - quite rightfully - as their day. A day to celebrate; not only the beautiful baby in their arms, but the memories of those who never made it there. As such I鈥檓 posting and sharing this after the day itself out of respect for those who experience it as a day of joy and hope.
National Rainbow Baby Day is undoubtedly a day of celebration for families that have suffered unimaginable losses. Reproductive loss, of any kind, is agony. It鈥檚 more than a storm; it鈥檚 an utterly life-changing experience and 鈥榠dentity-defining event鈥 (Hardy and Kukla 2015: 107) that can be desperately hard to come back from (see Gough 2020). I鈥檝e been there, three times, in hospitals, with babies that never made it home, nor ever into my aching arms (Liddiard 2018). So, I only have admiration for those who render it important to them in the context of a difficult, painful and often very lonely journey.
However, I do want to ask some critical questions. I think it鈥檚 important that, as an inclusive baby and pregnancy loss community, we take time to rethink, or consider the term 鈥榬ainbow baby鈥. Research shows that online communities are deeply powerful spaces of support, solace and safety for people who have experienced reproductive loss (Hardy and Kukla, 2015). They can be vital arenas in which to share embodied experiences that are often silenced in our offline social networks (Hardy and Kukla, 2015). Therefore, to keep our communities safe(r), we must think about the many meanings of the rainbow baby, the ethics of the power and privilege it holds, and its varying impacts. As such, what follows in this blog post is a list of questions.
The first is possibly the most obvious: What about those who don鈥檛 get their rainbow baby? Reproductive loss still carries with it an immense amount of stigma and social shame (Keeble, Loi, and Thorsteinsson, 2018). What about those who never get close to a full term pregnancy and bring home a live baby, regardless of the effort, strength, and sacrifice put into keeping or maintaining pregnancies? According to Tommy鈥檚 (2021: np.), 鈥榤ore than 6 in 10 of women who have recurrent miscarriage go on to have a successful pregnancy鈥. What, then, about the 4 in 10 that don鈥檛? What impact does National Rainbow Baby Day have for those who don鈥檛 get the so-called happy ending of a rainbow baby? For me, rather than a beacon of hope, after losing my babies, National Rainbow Baby Day was a day of dread, isolation and further loneliness. Generally, it was a day to hide away. A day of celebration for a rainbow baby I didn鈥檛 have was only ever a brutally painful reminder of our loss, and that which compounded an already complicated grief.
Watson, Simmonds, La Fontaine and Fockler (2019) argue that reproductive loss involves intense feelings of sadness, guilt, regret, and shame. Self-blame is common: What did I do wrong? Often, exposure to these kinds of grief increases the likelihood of clinical depression, post-traumatic stress disorder and anxiety for those who have experienced reproductive loss (Keeble et al., 2018). My worry is that National Rainbow Baby Day, with its proliferation of success stories and 鈥榮tories of hope鈥 (Tommy鈥檚 2021: np.), exacerbates these emotional experiences to the detriment of the most vulnerable amongst us.
More broadly, however, there is a need to critically question the ways in which the construct of the rainbow baby re-affirms dominant cultural narratives that pregnancy and birth are the only, or preferred, routes to parenthood. In what ways does the notion of the rainbow baby privilege biological parenthood and kinship over social intimacies and non-genetic ties, that can be as equally meaningful and fulfilling? What might we be missing through this relatively reductionist notion of what it means to be a mother, father or parent? There are many ways to be a parent and to love, and be loved by, a child. Again, I don鈥檛 say this to (Liddiard, 2018), or the biological connections and legacies these enable. But, at the same time it鈥檚 right to be cautious of the extent to which we privilege these to be 鈥榬eal鈥 and 鈥榥atural鈥 in our perseverance for the rainbow baby. Ultimately, love, care and intimacy are social experiences (Liddiard 2018).
How, then, might the rainbow baby as currently constructed reduce and confine our options to parenthood? And render many of us on long, debilitating journeys through multiple miscarriages, endless rounds of IVF, and the feelings of failure these often entail? The goal of the rainbow baby as we currently know it risks closing down alternative parenting options and routes to family: adoption, fostering, step-parenthood and other forms of non-biological love, care and family. A common, and often unhelpful, response to reproductive loss is, 鈥淲ell, why don鈥檛 you just adopt?鈥 While it鈥檚 not that simple, I do think that the prevalence and importance put upon the rainbow baby keeps the blinkers on for many, closing down other options that may be more pain free, happy, or just different. There is possibility in diversity here. How might we grow and nurture one another as a community if we expand what we consider a rainbow baby, or child, to be? A baby or child that is fostered, adopted, cared for in many ways and forms, and who didn鈥檛 arrive only through the achievement of a successful pregnancy. I鈥檓 also left wondering of the possibilities of organisations such as Tommy鈥檚 working with fostering and adoption agencies and local authorities to support and promote all types of family-making.
Lastly, I want to question the ways in which our current ideas of the rainbow baby affirms neoliberal-able notions of achievement, determination, competition and success (Goodley, 2014). When we think in these terms we not only punish ourselves further, defining ourselves and our reproductive journeys along these deeply oppressive lines, but also inadvertently render those who don鈥檛 get their rainbow baby as unsuccessful or underachieving. This leads me to think, then, of those who do stop trying and either reluctantly accept, choose, or embrace a different path in their lives beyond impending parenthood. The ability to accept that your life and future may look different to what you鈥檝e always imagined, especially when you desperately crave parenthood, takes a strength beyond words - this isn鈥檛 failure or 鈥榳alking away鈥. For many, life without the rainbow baby can also be liberating, joyful and exciting. These are the stories that are often silenced in our cultural celebrations of reproductive success, yet they are no less important.
So, to be a truly inclusive community means just that - including all of our stories, lives and experiences. Those who adopt; foster; find love in the children of others; who commit their working lives to children; and those who embrace or accept living without children and parenthood. I propose that hearing a diversity of stories - and not just the 鈥榟appy ending鈥 of the rainbow baby - can liberate all of us. After National Rainbow Baby Day is over for this year, let鈥檚 start sharing.
References
Goodley, D. (2014) Dis/ability Studies. Theorising Disablism and Ableism. London: Routledge
Gough, K. (2020) 鈥楳oving forwards after baby loss: Reflections for improving practice鈥, Clinical Psychology Forum, 334: 12-16
Hardy, S. and Kukla, R, (2015) 鈥楳aking Sense of Miscarriage Online鈥, Journal of Social Philosophy: Special Issue: Miscarriage, Reproductive Loss, and Fetal Death, 46:1, 106-125
Keeble, C., Loi, N.M. & Thorsteinsson, E.B (2018) 鈥楨mpathy and the public perception of stillbirth and memory sharing: An Australian case鈥, BMC Pregnancy Childbirth, 19: 129
Liddiard, K. (2018) The Intimate Lives of Disabled People. London and New York: Routledge
Liddiard, K. (2018) Reflecting on baby loss, hope, and injustice in research. Online. Available from: [Accessed 19/8/2021]
Tommy鈥檚 (2021) Our Rainbow Babies. Online. Available from: [Accessed 19/8/2021]
Watson, J., Simmonds, A., La Fontaine, M. & Fockler, M.E. (2019) 鈥楶regnancy and infant loss: A survey of families鈥 experiences in Ontario Canada鈥, BMC Pregnancy Childbirth, 19: 12
