Curveballs

I wasn't going to write about it on here.  Not because I don't want to share it with you all, but because I just wanted to get through it, to not have the "I'm so sorry" and "Don't worry, it will be okays" thrown my way.  I don't feel sorry for us, I know that it will be okay...that, and I thought I was dealing with it.  I guess in some ways I am, but in some ways I'm not.  The pendulum swings toward the sun shining, me being happy and okay with things, and moving forward one day...then being afraid, sad, and worried another day.  Mostly I'm writing about it because writing is therapy for me.  That, and maybe if I get it out there my poor husband won't have to stay up late listening to me ramble about it late at night, wondering if this is a moment where he is supposed to try to "fix" things or simply listen.

We had another miscarriage.  This happened about a month ago, right around the time we were moving into our new home.  It came at me like a curveball going about 99 mph.  I was in the middle of big things.  Starting a new job, moving into our first home, just general busy times.  The pregnancy was going well, or so we thought.  I was at 10 weeks, and going in for a dating ultrasound.  We had already had our first doctor's appointment, and at that time we learned that everything was going great.  I was still feeling sick when I went in for the ultrasound, still tired, still all of those things that make you think you are pregnant.  I had no worries going into it...for probably the first time since my very first ultrasound with my very first baby.  That ultrasound was bliss.  We saw our little one on the screen, heart beating away at 8 weeks.  After that, ultrasounds were never bliss for me anymore...there was always a tiny fear that I would go in there and hear those dreaded words, that something was wrong.

This time, it was different.  Maybe it was because we were so busy, or maybe it was because we thought we knew what had caused the other miscarriages, and I was on a supplement for progesterone.  Maybe it was because I was still feeling very pregnant.  I don't really know.  All I know is, I had no idea.  The ultrasound tech did her measurements, not saying anything...but that didn't really tip me off.  Sometimes they don't talk, sometimes they do.  She went out to get my husband, brought him back, said she had to check the things with the tech...then she came back and told us, "Your baby is either VERY early in the pregnancy, or it has stopped developing."  We didn't even know what to do.  I looked at her, stunned, not believing that we were hearing these words again.  It was the same room we had been in when we found out the same exact news about our first baby.  The same room.  I never want to see that room again.  She said her sorry, then left the room.  At first I didn't even know what to do.  I just looked at Kevin, and then said, "We are going through this again?"

We left, called my doctor, and the next few days were a flurry of doctor's appointments, blood tests, and trying to figure out what had happened and why my body was still holding on to the baby.  About a week later, I actually lost the baby.  About a week after that I got a bad infection that caused me to lose a lot of blood, my blood pressure dropped, I wasn't doing great.  Finally, that was all done.  In the middle of it all, I don't know if I was really processing things.  I think I was just trying to survive.

I held Rusty tight when we heard the news, thanking God that we had this precious little boy to get us through this time.  There were differences between this miscarriage and the other two.  This time, we had a sweet boy to give us kisses and hugs and to get us through it.  At first, it seemed like I got through it with no problem.  I think Rusty was the determining factor in that.  We KNEW that my body could have a baby...we had done it before.  We were thankful to have at least this one baby, that was what we had asked, begged God for in the midst of those first two losses, just one baby, Lord.  Just one, please.  My heart seemed to be healing faster, it seemed that my body was finally healing as well.  I thought, soon, soon we will be ready to try again.

Now, that time is here.  We can try again.  We have the doctor's okay...and I am afraid. I swing so dramatically from one emotion to the next.  One moment I want to try right away.  I want to be pregnant, I want to be excited.  I have so many friends that are pregnant, and I am excited to share that with them.  I am excited to think of holding a little one in my arms again.  I'm excited to feel the kicks and wiggles within me.  I am anticipating watching that sweet little baby grow up in front of my eyes.  I think I will be more relaxed this time around.  I won't worry so much about sleep schedules, what the baby is eating, whether or not it seems to be hitting milestones on time.  I will be that relaxed second time around mom that I want to be.

Then, in the next moment, I am afraid.  I am afraid of seeing that positive sign on the pregnancy stick.  I am afraid of trying and NOT getting pregnant and going through the pain of the constant wait.  I am afraid of finding out I am pregnant, feeling all of the symptoms, yet wondering...is the baby really still alive or is my body playing a harsh trick on me again?  I am afraid to go through it all again, because here's the thing...this time it was harder and easier all at the same time.

Easier, because we had Rusty.  Easier because I had been through it before, and knew the things that made me feel better.  Easier because I know, I know that I know that I know, that God has a bigger plan.  Easier because I can look at Rusty, and know that this amazing creature would not be in my life if either of those other two babies had.  Easier because we were in the middle of a move, and I was in the middle of the excitement of setting into a new house, not to mention a new job.  Easier...maybe because not very many people knew, so when we were in the middle of it there weren't that many people to tell.  Just a little easier.

At the same time, it was so much more difficult.  So much harder.  Harder because I can look at Rusty and know what I am missing out on.  I wonder what that baby would have looked like.  Would that baby crinkle up its nose and giggle the way that Rusty does?  Why wouldn't I ever have the chance to smell the sweet scent of that baby.  Why wouldn't I have the chance to hear the little sigh when it fell asleep in my arms?  Why wouldn't I get to hear that baby's giggle?  Why wouldn't I get to see that baby grow up and say "Mama!" and "Dada!"  Why?  Harder because now there is a bigger fear.  We thought we knew what was wrong.  We thought it was the progesterone...but then the same thing happened that happened with the first baby.  How many more times can I do this?  Harder because now the fear is bigger.  I don't think that I will get to be the happy go lucky pregnant woman that has no fears.  I will try, ever so hard to NOT be afraid, but I think it will be there, in the back of my mind...my baby might not be alive.  Harder because now we know what we are missing out on.  Harder because I have a few friends that got pregnant around the same time as me...and I am thrilled for them.  I can't wait to see their babies, I am SOOO happy to go through this time with them...yet every time I see them, I am reminded of where I would have been.  I am reminded of what could have been.  I will watch their babies grow up and wonder how mine would have been doing at that same stage.  I am not jealous of them, nor do I wish that they weren't pregnant, in fact quite the opposite.  It's something that I don't think you can really understand unless you have been through it yourself...how you can feel so much joy and so much sorrow at the same time.  How you can want to be there and experience something with someone, but have it be so painful at the same time.  It's just harder.

So, here I am.  I wonder what to do.  I wonder how to handle it.  I hate the pendulum that swings back and forth.  I love my husband, I love his commitment to me and to helping me through this.  I love his words to me when he tells me that I am strong, and that I am happy, and that I am handling it.  I love his words to me when he says it is okay for me to be sad, to be afraid, to wonder and to worry.  I love my son.  I love that he is a constant reminder to me of God's miracle of birth.  I love that his snuggles and kisses can make me feel better when I am sad.  I love my God.  I love that when I am scared, when I question, when I worry he is right there, reminding me that he is in control.

I don't really know what will happen for us.  I don't know what the future holds.  I don't want to go through it again, but I can, if I have to.  I do want to have another baby naturally, but if I can't, I am ever so thankful to have had the chance to have one baby naturally and I am completely open to adoption.  My own adopted brother has taught me that adoption is amazing, wonderful and that I will love an adopted baby just as much as a baby that comes from us naturally.  I will go forward, one day at a time, reminding myself that there are so much worse things in life.  I will remind myself that some women never get to have a baby.  I will remind myself that we live a blessed life and we are loved by many and we have the beautiful opportunity to love many.  I will trust that God is in control and, should I get the chance to be pregnant again, I will daily give that fear over to God.  If I get to have another baby, I will spend the pregnancy the same way I did the last, rejoicing when I am sick because it is-hopefully-a reminder that all is well.  Being excited to see my belly grow, even if it means getting stretchmarks, or gaining a little extra weight, or getting my allergies back or seeing my hair go all funky, because it means that I get to have another baby.  I will remind myself to be thankful for every little thing that comes along.

I write this not for your sympathy, because I'm ok.  I write it not for attention, because I hate that...I write it because if I didn't, I wouldn't feel like myself.  I think that I have to write about it to move forward, to try again.  I have to write because it is who I am.  I have to just trust and keep moving forward.  Meanwhile, I give thanks.  I will smile.  I will hug my little boy and my husband.  One of my best friends asked me the other day how my heart was.  I said that it was okay, that I was doing all right.  I wasn't lying...it is okay.  I am doing all right.  I go back and forth, but my heart is more okay than not okay.  Hopefully, after writing this, it won't just be okay, it will have a little bit of that fear chipped away and the sun will shine through.  I will have hope.  My hope lies in God, and whenever that hope falters...I will just look at this and give thanks.  I will take that curveball, and I will hit it out of the park.  Because I can.