Our 2nd Baby

I don't know how to do this. At first, I told Justin I couldn't say anything. I didn't want anyone else to know. We had told so few people as it was. To share our sad news for a cause, for some sort of awareness seemed too painful, too detached. I don't want to encourage awareness. From that first chapter in our "What to Expect" books, to that first article we read concerning our new pregnancy, we see it. We are all aware it could happen to us- with or without explanation. We just hope and pray it never will. So, no, I am not sharing this to make anyone aware of statistics because in all honesty that helps no one. Numbers have nothing to do with this.  I also do not feel shamed- not by those who have never experienced this, and certainly not by those who have. I am in pain. I am grieving a child I had, and yet did not meet. I am grieving a life I was responsible for, I was allowed to carry, but not capable of saving and never allowed to hold. My body physically aches. Being exhausted one week ago was a symptom I celebrated, as it was one of the few symptoms I had with this little one. I was growing a life that I have always loved and always prayed for. Now I am exhausted because of the pain, and because of the grief.  I keep trying to rush this. I want to skip this part of my life with almost every fiber of my being; skip to the part where I have accepted and can simply speak with love. Instead, I am angry. I am angry that I am not carefree and happy with my life, and the beautiful mess that fills it at times. I am angry that I can't go back and stop this. I am angry at the empty place inside. I am angry at the pain, and I am angry at the process. I am angry at how helpless I feel; how helpless I was when it started to happen. Every few minutes there is another reminder of where my baby was, of where they are still supposed to be. I want the pain to stop. I want the physical reminder to go away, and yet I am holding onto it all. It is all I have left. It is the only thing making what has happened real to me. It is the only part explaining to my brain why my heart is breaking. I can laugh at Reagan as he plays, or tease with my husband for a moment, but the grief is still there. The physical pain, as hard as it is, is helping even as it is hurting.  I can't breathe from the tears threatening me at any minute. As I fight to still be Mommy to the precious boy in front of me, I struggle knowing he has a sister or brother that he won't see in April. I struggle knowing that I know more about them than he does. I struggle knowing he has no idea who he has just lost, but I do. A brother and sister are a gift- an irreplaceable gift. My sweet boy just lost a friend, a confidant, a sparring partner to keep him in check. I keep talking to Justin aloud, like as if I can say it enough or replay it a certain number of times, I will accept it. As if the secret to remembering how to live, how to be happy, how to accept where our baby is now will be in the facts. I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to be Mommy to this baby. I don't know how to reach them. I know that isn't my job with them. I know that they don't need me where they are, but my heart doesn't know how to accept it.  I can not shake the feeling of being undone, incomplete, unfinished. My body knows how to grow a baby. My body knows how not to attack my baby, how to fuel my baby. Why didn't it finish its task? Why did it stop? While I've never expected my body to ask my permission before, I will not lie that, yes, I expected to be asked now. I would never have said okay. I would never have said to stop. I would never have said we were done. I am angry that it could start such precious work and then stop. While my body moves on, I feel trapped to watch, to assist, to accept what I don't want to. I want no part in this and yet I have nowhere to go. It's done. It's happened. What happens next is all I can decide, but I can't help feeling I am not done here. My body is repairing and healing itself, but where is my baby? This isn't how it is supposed to work. So while I know I am done, and there is nothing I have left to do, I still haven't gotten there yet.  Verses and quotes and cliches do not help me right now. Justin and I had some concern Saturday, but having not seen the doctor yet and not feeling a need to go to the er, I took my mother's advice and laid with my feet up all weekend. Justin handled it all- even seeing to all of the little surprises we had planned for our sweet boy's birthday Sunday. In spite of the red flags that had been raised Saturday, Sunday was different. We had actually started to believe everything was fine. All signs of concern were gone. Then, at 7:00 Sunday night, they came back. Things got worse. Justin was adamant that we would go to the doctor the next morning, and even offered to try calling the office for me if he was the first one up. We secretly continued to research statistics in the hopes we were just overreacting, but inside I knew. By the time we went to bed that night, I was in a great deal of pain. I knew that that would be the night. I no longer wondered if, or maybe. I knew. Justin and I kissed goodnight. I struggled to fall asleep, and debated moving the pillows beneath my feet. It seemed my last hope to have them there. I grew angry in the silence. If this happened, I thought, I wouldn't do this again. I would wait. I would wait a year like Justin and I had originally said. I couldn't do this again. There was nothing good in this. I laid there talking to God. I know it is foolish- beyond foolish- to be mad at Him, but I was. I was hurt. I knew He would turn our lives around, He would use this for His purpose for us. I knew He loves me, and that He would never want me to hurt. I knew He is a merciful Father and that He does not take life lightly. I knew if I lost our baby, they would be safely with Him. I knew I would see them again, and I knew God would not leave me. But all of that said, in that moment, I was fighting and begging and even threatening (not to listen, not to try again soon) in the foolish hope that He wouldn't let it happen. I knew I was being disobedient. I knew I was wrong. I knew I would listen again. We would try again. Next time He told me to leap, I would. I wanted to think I could help, I could stop this from happening though. Again and again, I heard my Father's voice though. Like a fighting whisper to every argument I had, He reminded me-  "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." - Jeremiah 29:11 I fought. I said no. I argued that I knew that, but this hurt. This would hurt me. I grew frantic, being fully aware of each passing minute and what I grew closer to. Again, He reminded me of another verse- one of my favorites.  "Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, with prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard you hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." It is easy to learn a verse, to read it, to like it, to find comfort in it on any given day. It is also amazing and humbling how when you are pleading and pulling so close to Him, how He will use the verses you once framed on an index card to speak to you. I wasn't remembering word for word. I typed word for word to validate the truth. The reality of it was that He was simply talking to me. In all of my fighting and all of my pleading, He met me with a loving calm. I wanted to fight, to think I could win, but He knew already. He knew what I felt, even though I was trying to convince myself He couldn't. Somehow this time, He must not have known. *Typing this now, I find some comfort. Where He could have, and by our standards should have, met me with anger, He met me with arms open. He loved me to the point not to remind me of my size or helplessness, but of His love and His power.*  Finally, the pain was too bad. I realized no matter what I did, if it was going to happen, there was nothing I could do. There was nothing I could do. I curled up on my side, and closed my eyes. I didn't go to sleep though. I stopped fighting and I prayed. I said my goodbyes and I made my requests. I asked one last time if we didn't have to do this, then to please not let it happen. I prayed until there was no more to say. As hard as that night was, I see now how God took over for me. He didn't ask me to do anything more than was necessary. He didn't ask me to decide, to think, or to feel anything more.  By the time I got up from that sleepless night, I just wanted an answer. I knew, but I needed to KNOW. I needed to know if I should grieve or was there still hope. Had I just endured a hard night, and perhaps overreacted? In spite of our immediate efforts to see the doctor that day, her office and her nurses were so busy that we didn't hear back from anyone until nearly 5:00. I couldn't spend the day dreading and worrying- neither of us could, so we did the only thing we could think of. We both found articles online about what we were going through, and we saw what we already knew. Our worst fear could have happened, but there was actually just as much chance that everything was fine with our baby. It seemed foolish to grieve when we didn't know for certain. I pushed the night before behind me, and prayed that if I had been wrong in suspecting the worse that God forgive me. When I finally got in touch with the nurse, I was so excited that I didn't care at first how she offered no advice and no encouragement. I was simply happy to hear her offer me an appointment for first thing the next morning. It wasn't until I hung up the phone and looked at Justin that I realized how scared I really was. Hearing back had been the "job" that day, the task keeping us from thinking too much on what likely had happened. Having finally gotten the appointment, Justin and I just looked at each other with these mutual smiles. Neither of us admitted right then what we already knew. We were still trying to hope.  My doctor is truly a gift. I cannot imagine that anyone else could have confirmed the news for us with such empathy, as well as provided us with such hope in the end. Justin stood beside me as I looked up at the ultrasound screen. I had already seen her face; noted what she had halfway said, but then stopped herself from saying as she continued to look. Still, I searched that fuzzy screen for that little circle I remembered. It was the only thing that I could notice on my own. It was all I knew to look for. There was one, and for one brief second I was hopeful. She must have known what I was thinking; caught a look on my face, because she immediately pointed it out and explained it was the empty sack of where our baby had been. It is strange how emotions can join together in the same instance. On the one hand, there was relief that I hadn't misread my pregnancy tests or imagined any of it (because, yes, this had crossed my mind). On the other hand, there was comfort in seeing something, somewhere, my baby had been. My baby had been right there, inside of me. Then there was the sadness because my baby wasn't there. It was empty. I was empty. The nurse left immediately after the ultrasound- a fact I only know because I remember seeing her as I laid down, but never did I see her in the conversation that followed. My eyes were glued to our doctor as she spoke to us. I almost felt bad for making her give us the news that, at this point, I could acknowledge I had already known. At first she tried to give me the statistics, assuring me that this was common, but I know the look on my face must have told her I hated that stupid statistic for ever putting fear into my pregnancies in the first place. She quickly acknowledged it doesn't change how personal this felt to me. She left no room for questions. Anything I could have thought to ask by now or in the days to follow, she answered over the next several minutes. Honestly, I still don't know how she did it, but she somehow managed to give us hope going forward. She made it okay to grieve. She made it okay to try again- later or as soon as possible. She made it okay to come back to her office, to be happy again, to try again, to be hopeful. She made it okay to know this baby, and to know the one to follow. She even made it okay to find comfort and joy as often as possible in the precious boy that stood in the room with us. This is the second time that I have thanked God for putting this doctor into our lives. As I said at the beginning of this, I don't know how to do this. I have caught myself smiling at our precious boy one second and crying the next. Sometimes the pain is what starts it. Sometimes it is just too strong a thought. I don't need to hear the world's responses to judge my grief. I know that I was just 5 weeks. I know that we had only known this baby for 1 week. I know that we never saw them or heard their heartbeat, and I know for some people that should somehow make this easier. I know that some women know and feel so much more than I did. I know. I also know our story- Justin, myself, Reagan, and this baby.  *For 1 week, I slept in in the mornings and attempted naps (usually only within the last 10 minutes of Reagan's naps) because I was so tired from this pregnancy. *I hated sweet food in that time. In fact, most food left me feeling icky- not nauseated, but icky. The only thing sweet that I could eat without feeling sick were the leftover fruit chew candies from Reagan's birthday party. I joked with Justin that I thought it might be a girl because the baby seemed to be teasing me more than Reagan ever had. I would literally take the longest time picking out food because nothing sounded good. It was almost as if I would catch myself  thinking "What about goldfish crackers?". When I was pregnant with Reagan thoughts like that were immediately met with a yay or nay, but with this baby I always felt like the response was more "Sure, Mommy, go ahead. Try it out and I'll tell you what I think.". Again, nearly everything left me feeling not so great and I would be on the hunt for something to fix it. For all that was up in the air when it came to meals, I could not get enough meat though, or those pretzel goldfish. Justin teased me about how many breakfast sausages I had gone through in just a few days. I was so excited to find some Quaker Oats cranberry and almond oatmeal last Thursday when we went grocery shopping. It had sounded so good that I had had to make some the minute we got home. It was so bland, but perfect for the baby and me. Oh, and peaches! Peaches and bananas were also on the good list. I had been so happy, so relieved, to make up some of my new oatmeal and dive into our breakfast sausages Friday morning and it immediately ease my icky feeling stomach. I felt like I had made a break through- like this baby and I had come to some small understanding.  *We had told Reagan about the baby, and it was not uncommon for him to bring up the baby at random all on his own. He typically mentioned what toys of his the baby could play with (which was just about everything he owned, even his most prized toys).  *I had already made up a list of what we needed to move around in order to make room for this baby, and Justin had even helped me make up a list of baby items we actually wanted to update or purchase for life with this baby.  *We had already started conversations and daydreams about what our two babies would look like together, how they would play together, how they would greet Justin at the door each day together.  *We took 5 pregnancy tests with this baby. The 1st, I took one week before I was even late. It was negative, and while I took the news well, I couldn't quite shake the feeling it was wrong. The 2nd, I took on the night of what should have been when I started. It was the faintest line, but it was there all the same. I was so mad at the thought of not celebrating all of our babies to the fullest the second we knew, that I took Reagan out the next morning and purchased a digital test just so it could be confirmed under no uncertain terms. It came back negative, which I read is normal if your HCG levels aren't high enough to be detected yet. Apparently the digital tests require higher levels, so I didn't let it bother me and stuck to my gut. Tuesday I took a 3rd test, this time the line was darker. I was pregnant. I actually went out to tell my family- who already seemed to have had suspicions of their own. Thursday, I took my final pregnancy test. It was truly just so no one could question in the least if we were. It was the last digital test I had, and I knew if it was positive then my hormone levels were going up. It came back positive.  *I had no dreams or feelings (other than with the food situation) to tell me if we were having a boy or a girl. Since Sunday night though, I cannot shake the feeling that our baby was a girl. We only had one month together, and only one week of celebrating it. Reagan hasn't mentioned the baby since it happened (which I am counting as a blessing at the moment). Reagan only knows that Mommy is hurting. He doesn't know anything else. He has no idea how much he is helping his mommy and daddy just by going about his business as he does. Still, Justin and I are struggling. Justin is trying to look forward, trying to remind me on occasion of what we hope to follow. At the same time, he is grieving with me. He loved our baby, too. He had already found a place for them in his life and in his heart. This hasn't been easy on either of us. He has been careful around me, trying to make it as easy as possible. Tuesday, when we came home from the doctor's office, he made us up a lunch of sausage and eggs, knowing breakfast foods are my favorite and hoping it would help. He isn't pushing me to get over this or to rush through it. We are just talking about it, even if a minute before we were discussing what Reagan did today or what we are having for dinner. We don't know how to do this or what will help us. We don't know when this will be as okay as it will ever be, so we aren't making rules. We are just being honest with each other, even as raw as all of this is.  We know no one knows what to say. We would never have known what to say until this week. We know it is hard for people to understand this. We know some people mean well, but they don't get it. We understand. We will never forget this process and what we are feeling now.  My family said it best just by saying they were so sorry and then giving us space. I have regretted telling them about the baby only because I know that this means they are hurting, too. At the same time, I am grateful they knew. I am grateful that our baby was celebrated and loved by the people who would have loved them most, even if only for a few days. I am grateful that my family appreciates life no matter at what stage it is in during creation, and that they recognize how unique and how precious our baby is to us. My family has also been here before. My parents know how this feels, and they know nothing can be said or done to fix what we are feeling. Surprisingly, one other person we know simply told Justin that there was nothing that could be said. That acknowledgement in itself was relief to the pain we are feeling. What we are feeling can't be cured with gifts or actions. It can't be healed with a band-aid. There is nothing that can take the place of who we have just lost. Even being told something as simple as "Well, y'all still have a lot to be grateful for." brought pain unintentionally. It literally sent me into a spiraling conversation with Justin as I pointed out the truth of the matter. This baby wasn't the result of greed. They weren't an addition to the bookshelves, or that collectible peace we found on sale, but had to back out of because of circumstance. This baby was another person we were thankful for. We were grateful for them- the promise they were adding to our lives, the future we would have with them, all of the love we would have to give them. This baby was specifically chosen and created to be a part of our family- even for a short time. This baby was not a replacement or an upgrade from Reagan, and for as much as our sweet boy is helping us to find joy even in all of this, he is not a replacement for his brother or sister. We are having to learn to be grateful for someone we loved but cannot meet in this lifetime, and we don't know how to do that overnight. We just don't know. Yes, as I said in the beginning, I am still feeling angry. I am not angry at God, but I am angry at the circumstances. I am angry I am in this position and that I know this loss. Justin asked if it would have helped me had I not known, but truthfully I am grateful.  I wouldn't want any of our babies to come and go without me knowing. I am trying to take comfort in what I do know, but I know it is going to take time. Another mother who had been in the same situation pointed out in her blog post a truth that I had forgotten in all of this. We do not suffer alone. God tells us He hurts when we hurt. He knows my pain and is with me in this. Knowing not only my baby is safe with our Father, but knowing He still feels my pain for who I have lost actually does make this just a little bit easier.  At the beginning, I wasn't going to say anything. I was just going to keep this between us. This is personal. I know there will be another baby. I know that Reagan is not our last. I know that this baby, somehow, has helped us make room in our family for their younger brother or sister. They have helped our family in a way no one else could have. God didn't use their precious life for just one week. He has made certain their purpose will always be with our family. I share about our life with Reagan almost on a daily basis because he is ours, and he is loved, and we are blessed to know him and to have him in our lives. To not share about this baby, felt like we would be ignoring they were here for a time. Even as this gets easier, and I am praying it will get easier, we won't ever forget this baby. This baby was ours, and we will always love them.