I'll Love You Forever, I'll Like You For Always, As Long As I'm Living, My Baby You'll Be

Dear Hunter,

I can't believe the day has finally arrived. Your due date. I always knew you wouldn't wait until the 30th, but never in my wildest imagination could I have expected you to arrive so soon. We said our "goodbyes" at the same time we said "hello". Sometimes, it still feels like a dream. Like I'll wake up tomorrow with a huge pregnant belly, and we'll be packing up our bags to go to the hospital to welcome you to the world. Daddy and I try to not be sad, but our arms are aching to hold you. I never knew how you could physically miss someone, how your arms could reach out for someone who is not there, how the emptiness can fill you up and you feel drawn to something you cannot have. Then there was you. I never knew I could miss someone so much because I never knew I could love someone so much! You are a part of me, and I am a part of you, though you are out of my reach here on Earth. We are eternally connected, and sometimes, I truly do feel you so close...your beautiful spirit fills up the emptiness inside me and we are one and whole again. I try and imagine what you would look like today, and I'm sure you'd be a chunky little thing. Would you have daddy's eyes? I wonder if you'd have my dark hair, or if you'd be blond like daddy. You did have daddy's nose, his mouth, even his feet. I never knew how much I loved daddy until I saw just how much daddy loves, and still loves, his son. He's a good man, and I know that's why you chose him. You probably had a hand in bringing mommy and daddy together, in fact. We hope you know that you will always be a part of our family, we hope you send us little brothers and sisters someday, and we will tell them all about you, their big brother. We'll tell them how you were so special, how you defied what doctors said and fought and kept your little heart beating for an hour and forty minutes, and we'll tell them how now you are our guardian angel, always with us and always watching over us. I long to hold you my son, and I know I will someday, but it just feels so far away. I like to think that for you, my sweet boy, it will be just like a blink of an eye. You're wrapped in the love and light of all our loved ones who have gone before, and I'm sure there was a beautiful reunion when you returned to them all. Do you know how much we love you? I'm sure you do. Every time I think of you, my heart swells, and sometimes that love runs out of my eyes. But every tear is just a message from me to you saying "I love you". You will always be our special little guy, our firstborn, and I cannot wait until the day we are together again. I'll probably never let you go, sorry in advance ;-)

Love,

Mommy

Why It's So Much More Than Weight Loss

When my husband and I first started seeing our grief counselor, one of the topics we discussed was how Hunter's loss had affected me and my body image. As a woman, you have certain expectations about pregnancy and childbirth, it's what your body is made for after all, right? When your body fails you, especially the way mine did, you question your value as a woman. In fact, I had a serious hatred for my body at first. I couldn't appreciate the fact that I had conceived a child, carried that child for 20 weeks, all I could focus on was the negative. My body had failed me, it had failed my son, and his loss affected so many others around me. I put the weight of his immense loss on my shoulders, and wore the shame of my body's ineptitude like a heavy coat. Not only had my body failed me, but now it was permanently changed. I looked different. Stretch marks on my stomach, pants that didn't fit though my weight quickly returned to pre-pregnancy status because I could barely bring myself to eat for weeks after Hunter's passing. When my milk came in, I sat and wept. It was the final straw. When you're pregnant and see your body going through these changes you have the mentality of "Well, it'll all be worth it when my baby is here." My baby wasn't here. And the anger and distrust I had towards my body only increased with every noticeable physical change. As time went by, and I was given the all-clear from my doctor to return to normal activity and resume working out, I was frustrated that things that used to require hardly any effort or energy were now exhausting and difficult. In discussing all these feelings with our counselor, she reminded me of something very important: these feelings of worthlessness, of not feeling deserving or of value all come from the adversary. She reminded me that this is how Satan works to try and tear women down, by making us feel like because physically we don't match up with some form of ideal, that we are not worthy of joy, of love, of happiness. These words have stuck with me. I'm still a work in progress, I am slowly learning to trust in myself again, to love who I am, and love my body and that is why this journey is so much more than seeing a number on a scale go down. I'm taking the power back. I had no control over losing Hunter. My body has a weakness, we all have them to varying degrees. I might not be able to control THAT particular aspect of my life, but I can control how I treat my body. My body carried life, and I so desperately want it to be able to do so again. I can't fix my I.C. without a cerclage, but I can sure as hell ensure that I am otherwise mentally, physically, emotionally, and spiritually in a much better place. I want to nourish and take care of my body; it is sacred, it is beautiful, and it is deserving of care and love. It's not going to be about how many pounds I lose one week, or how long I run for tomorrow, it is all about how I feel about myself. I want to fall in love with me again and I am bound and determined to find that serenity again within my own skin. This is all part of the healing process, and I know that every step I have taken since Hunter's passing has only made me stronger and a more powerful force in this world. I hope that end up a better wife, daughter, sister, cousin, friend, and ultimately, a better mother because of it. As Dory says, "Just keep swimming" and I intend to.

There Is More Then We Can See...

On Sunday, my amazing husband paid for me to get a massage and some energy work. What is energy work you might ask?

"Energy work helps to restore the healthy balance of the energy field and its associated energy pathways, clearing blockages and addressing imbalances, thereby facilitating health and wellness, keeping the healthy flow of energy moving through your energy field. Energy work can also help release energy patterns that interfere with the healthy functioning of one's energy systems."

Now, if you're like me, you're just a natural born skeptic. I used to think of things like energy work, crystals, essential oils, etc and just automatically discredit the benefits. We have modern medicine, so that should be good enough, right? Well, a few years ago I discovered otherwise. At the time, I thought I was going through the most difficult trial I could imagine (which now seems like absolutely nothing compared to recent events). I was searching for a way to help myself feel better. I started going to the gym, started praying more, tried to meditate, but something just still felt off. So, my good friend suggested I go see her friend who is a massage therapist and an energy worker. Long story short, I was sold. It was, oddly enough, one of the most spiritual experiences of my life. Some people might roll their eyes at that, and that's fine. But who says you can only have a spiritual experience at church, or in a temple? You can have a spiritual experience just by taking the time to admire a beautiful sunset or sometimes just listening to a certain song can bring about a powerful connection to the divine. Anyway, this miracle worker, who also happens to be named Jessica, helped me find my way through a dark period, and truly helped me help myself by becoming more aware of my thoughts, my actions, and what kind of effect those things have on how I feel. And in light of the events of the past few months, I felt like it wouldn't hurt to go and see her again. BEST DECISION EVER! First off, if you've never had a massage, you need to change that. Like, right now. Pick up the phone, look somewhere up online, just go get yourself one. You will not regret it. I think we often forgot how healing touch can be both physically and mentally. Now a little bit more about my experience. My husband and I got to Jessica's new location (Soul Source Massage is the name), and even just the ambiance is tranquil: it smells delightful, there's soft music, those adorable little waterfalls with the trickling water....you just literally feel better even walking in the door. I went back into the room, we chit chatted for a minute about the changes in my life this year, nothing in too much detail, and then it was massage time. I got a half hour massage and then a half hour of the energy work. So what happens when Jess does your energy work might sound weird at first, but just follow me here. She stands holding your feet and then "connects" if you will, with your energy or chakras. She goes through each one, reminds you if you need reminding what each one is and what its function is, and then you work through fixing the energies that are imbalanced, clouded, or flowing incorrectly. I know, I know, it sounds weird. But trust me, this girl is the real deal. So I'm laying there, and we're going through my chakras and then Jess stops and says she has something to communicate with me and she just can't ignore it. Over my shoulder, was an older woman, holding a baby boy. This older woman was spunky, fiery, a real go getter type of person. And they were there to reaffirm to me that Hunter is safe. He's protected. He is with loved ones who have passed on before, and they are loving my baby and holding him until it's our time to reunite. I have two great-grandmothers and my grandma Leaf on the other side, and in some ways, she could be describing all of them. She could even be describing my great-great-grandmother who I never met, but who I've sure heard plenty of stories about as she was a ball of fire and personality. Jess then told me that I have a little girl who follows me closely and is most likely my daughter. She's apparently a spunky one too, will be such a fun, outspoken little girl, and will probably give me hell when she's a teenager. I guess if I get my little girl, my mom's wish of "I hope you have a daughter just like you someday!" will in fact come true. Jess also told me that Hunter, though he may look like his daddy, has his mama's personality and strengths. We are the same color, as far as auras are concerned. I was also told, big things are in the works for me and my family. Right now should be a time of preparation and planning because, according to Jessica, we will be preparing for baby number two to come along. If I'm not pregnant in the next 3 to 6 months, it would be surprising because that's just what the universe has in store for me and my husband! Now whether you think I'm crazy, or that I'm just grasping at straws here, doesn't matter to me. I had an amazing experience, once again, and feel more in tune with myself and with the divine because of this. If you're at all interested in visiting Jess yourself, just let me know! I'd be more than happy to pass along her information and help someone else have a relaxing and rejuvenating experience! Just keep an open mind, that's all I ask :)

People Always Ask, So Here's the Answer

People often ask me (or want to ask and don't because they're too worried about my reaction) why we lost our Hunter, after what was a perfectly healthy and normal pregnancy up to that point. I have what's called cervical incompetency. During a normal pregnancy, your cervix begins to thin and dilate because of contractions. With incompetent cervix, the growing pressure in the uterus causes the cervix to open, oftentimes without any pain or contractions, and usually occurring in the second or third trimester. It's a rare thing, only around 1-2% of pregnancies have this issue, but nearly 20-25% of second trimester miscarriages are caused by this. This is something I had never heard of, but after our loss, some of the things that happened at different OB visits made sense. I never completely understood why the nurse was pushing on my stomach during an internal ultrasound, or what it meant when they said "Oh, good! Cervix is nice and long." All I knew was "OK, well they said it was good so whatever that means, at least it's good!" Most of the time, incompetent cervix can only be diagnosed by experiencing what we experienced: preterm labor. After we had Hunter, we had the option of having an autopsy performed, but decided against it. We did, however, go with testing the placenta which showed I had chorioamnionitis, which is a bacterial infection in the womb and most often associated with prolonged labor (the good news is, it's kind of like chicken pox. Get it once, probably won't get it again.) Whether the incompetent cervix caused the infection, or whether it was a combination of the two, we'll never know.  But, we do know that things will be very different the next time we get pregnant. For starters, most women don't see their OB until around week 10, or at least before week 13. I will be seeing my doctor immediately. Like, placing a phone call to his office right after I see a second line on that pregnancy test. I will not only be seeing my OB, but a high-risk OB as well. I will most likely be taking weekly shots of progesterone during my second trimester, as well as bi-weekly ultrasounds during weeks 15-26 of the pregnancy. Before I hit 14 weeks, I will have a surgical procedure done to place a cerclage, which is where sutures are placed in your cervix and then removed when you hit about 34-36 weeks ( Most of the time, an emergency cerclage can be placed up until 4 CM. By the time doctor's checked me in the ER, I was dilated to 5 CM.) There will most likely be no sex during pregnancy, limited physical activity period, and my doctor has told me that strict bed rest (sometimes starting in the second trimester) is often prescribed. That could mean months of staying in bed, only getting up to use the restroom and to go to doctor appointments. It definitely won't be an easy experience, but I am willing to do anything and everything to make it to 40 weeks and deliver a healthy baby that we can bring home and raise. It's slightly terrifying to think of trying again, knowing the possibilities of complications and with the loss that we've already experienced. Sometimes these extra steps don't prevent another loss, but I refuse to let the fear chase away the possibility of joy. Someday, and hopefully someday soon, we will start on this journey again, and with the proper steps and help will hopefully give Hunter a little brother or sister. I want to share this information, not just to answer the questions many family and friends have, but also to bring awareness to this. I'm not the first to lose a child to an incompetent cervix, and unfortunately, I won't be the last. We are not alone in this, and this is something that more awareness needs to be brought to. It's treatable, it's possible to have a healthy baby, and if there was one thing, one piece of advice I could give to any first time mom it would be to listen to your body. I knew something was wrong, and even though my first visit to the ER left me with doctor's saying "You're fine", I knew that something was not okay. Listen to that voice. It won't lead you astray.

Finding Faith Through Adversity

I'm a big fan of reading, especially things that pertain to my current life situation. When I first found out I was pregnant, I got my "What To Expect When You're Expecting" book, I read articles online, other books about pregnancy, etc: I wanted to be "in the know." After I lost Hunter, I started reading about loss, particularly losing a child. One thing I noticed was that the loss of a child had the power to either break some one's faith, or strengthen it. I'd like to think I fall into the latter category. I've always had a deep faith in my Savior, in my Heavenly Father and always knew they were there. I wasn't always the best at talking to them, or attending church. I've definitely made mistakes in my life. I don't fit the cookie cutter mold of what a Mormon wife and mother would be. I have tattoos, I use the occasional curse word, I don't go to church on a regular basis, and I like a good cup of coffee. But regardless of whatever sin I've committed, my faith in the Divine remained intact and I knew I was loved unconditionally. When I was laying on that hospital bed in the ER, hearing that I was going to be giving birth to my son at only 20 weeks, and of course knowing what that meant because I read all I could get my hands on about pregnancy, I prayed. I prayed harder than I thought I would ever be capable of praying. It was probably the most sincere, heartfelt, prayer I've ever uttered. It echoed through my body and shook my soul: "Please, Lord, please don't take my baby. There has to be something you can do. I cannot live through this." I was wracked with guilt. I felt I was being punished. My husband and I weren't married at the time we became pregnant, and for a brief moment I forgot that my Heavenly Father isn't a vindictive being. I then proceeded to deliver my son a few hours later. But then, miraculously, he lived for an hour and forty minutes. Against all odds, against everything the doctor's told me would happen, his little heart beat for longer than any of us could have imagined. I was told he probably wouldn't even survive delivery, and if he did, he'd only live for minutes afterwards. My son was placed on my chest right after he was born, I got to see his little arms and legs move, and he even grabbed my finger. I think that was the answer to my prayer. There is Divine purpose in everything, and that hour and forty minutes wasn't for my son, it was for me as his mother and his father and our families. I had the privilege of seeing my son live. I think I was given that because Heavenly Father knew that the road we were embarking on would not be easy. It would be bumpy, rough, at times dangerous, and it would be exhausting. There is no prayer ever left unanswered. Sometimes, or it may seem even most of the time, we don't get the answer we want. But an answer always come, in some form or another. That's not to say I don't have my moments where I'm angry with God, where I feel that I didn't deserve this, my husband didn't deserve this, and neither did our families. There have been times where I've been alone, driving in the car, aimlessly roaming the roads trying to escape whatever emotion it is I'm feeling and I've yelled and screamed "Why? Why us? Why didn't I get to raise my son and so many others have that opportunity?" and the feeling I get afterwards is always the same. Comfort. It's as if I can hear the words in my head, "I know what you're feeling. I too know the pain the loss of a child brings. I weep when you weep, my heart aches when your heart aches. But someday you will understand. Someday you will have Hunter again." This can truly apply to any trial or hardship we come across in our lives. We all have our own "cross" to bear in this life and we all at times question "Why? Why us?". But this truth will always remain, we will not be required to carry that burden alone. As I reflect on everything we've suffered with losing our Hunter, there is a part of me, deep down, that feels I was prepared for this. Somewhere along the way, before I even came to this Earth, I was prepared. I knew this would be a major trial in my life and I knew why it had to be this way and I chose to be Hunter's mommy. And someday, I will have that knowledge and understanding again. I'm not alone in this trial, I am being carried. So let the bad days come, and they will continue for the rest of my life, hopefully  more sporadically than they appear now. I'll allow myself to grieve, to feel every emotion I feel, and I will not beat myself up for it. I am entitled to these feelings, just as I'm entitled to be called a mother. What could be more divine and more beautiful than a tear shed by a mother over the grave of her son? Didn't Mary weep when Christ was crucified? The fact that we have faith in the outcome of death and life after this one does not erase the emotions we feel when we lose someone we love. And you know what? It's completely okay. When Christ was summoned by Lazarus' sisters, he wept with them before he raised Lazarus from the grave. He knew that Lazarus would live again, yet he was so touched by their emotions, He himself could not help but weep. I know that the tears I shed are for myself, because my son doesn't know what pain or heartbreak is. He's surrounded by love and light always. And I will see him again.

Two Months and a Lifetime Later

It's been such an emotional week, for many reasons. The two month angelversary of my son returning to his heavenly home, me returning to work, the anniversary of the worst attack on U.S. soil....just so many emotions and lots of reflection. Tomorrow will also be mine and my husband's third and final counseling session. Going to counseling has been such a positive thing for us and I'm so glad that we decided to take that step for ourselves. It's not easy starting out a marriage with such a huge loss and all the stress that comes along with it. Thankfully, we already had a strong foundation for our relationship and we have only grown closer together, a conscious choice we made, refusing to let our loss tear us apart. Our counselor has been wonderful and feels that Tay and I are handling things very well. Sometimes, I think you just need affirmation that the things you are feeling and thinking and experiencing are all "normal" parts of the grieving process. Even the times when you feel like you aren't handling things with the grace that you would like to, you're still grieving "normally", whatever that means. We've been able to really talk through certain feelings we both have, and have that third party, outside input that comes from an unbiased and educated place. It's been a real blessing for us I think. As we are slowly starting to pick up the pieces of our lives and work towards becoming somewhat functioning human beings, I have to say that I am SO proud of myself and of my husband. We are surviving what I felt was unsurvivable. I still remember so vividly the events of July 9th and 10th, and then burying our son on the 15th, and thinking "There is no way I'm strong enough for this." And yet, here we are. Is it easy? Definitely not. Our lives are forever altered and changed. We will never be the same people we were before, and we will be grieving this loss for the rest of our lives. It won't always be as intense as it has been, but that loss will ALWAYS be here. That alone is a very bitter pill to swallow. Coming to the realization that we aren't just going to wake up one day and be okay and be our old selves has been part of this process. We aren't only grieving the loss of our son and the future with him, but we're grieving our old life, our old selves. It's a complete and total loss of identity, and we're having to find who we are again. But we are doing it and we are doing it together. We are moving forward, some days slower than others, but we're working on it. And that in and of itself is such a huge accomplishment. We both still have our triggers that bring the pain to the surface so easily, but I think we are able to recognize WHY we are feeling what we feel and that is such a powerful thing. Some days we both put on a smiling face, though we're dying a little on the inside, but sometimes you have to "fake it til' you make it". My husband has been my rock and my lifeline. And I hope that I have been a support to him as well. I'm just so immensely proud of him and how he has handled this trial in our lives. One of the emotions that I still have to work through is feelings of guilt, and Taylor has been so amazing with talking me through the times when I feel that emotion so strongly. I could not have been blessed with a more perfect match. I miss my son immensely and some days my arms ache so much to hold him and that feeling of loss becomes a deep empty pit in my chest, but I feel so strongly that Heavenly Father has more children waiting for us. I can't wait to be able to experience motherhood again, and hopefully we will be blessed with healthy pregnancies and children. It's scary to think about getting pregnant again, knowing the depth of pain we experienced with the loss of our first son, but the desire to add to our little family far outweighs the fear.

The New "Normal"

It's hard to believe it's been almost a month and a half since Hunter was born and passed, yet it also feels like a lifetime ago. When my husband and family and I were preparing for our recent getaway to Bear Lake, I was so excited to get away. I didn't think that I'd forget everything that has happened, but I thought a change of scenery and having different activities going on while we were away would help take my mind off of things. I guess I had certain expectations, that this trip would help me get out of this rut I'm in. I didn't expect to have such an emotional time. There's a song by Kenny Chesney called "Who You'd Be Today" and one of the lines from the song says "Sunny days seem to hurt the most", and that couldn't be more true. As I was on the beach, watching families, seeing toddlers splashing around in the clear turquoise water, my heart ached. I was there with my family, but my family wasn't complete. I'm trying to adjust to this constant feeling of loss, and I know in time it will lessen, but even as more children (hopefully) join our family, there will always be the knowledge and pain of someone missing, a feeling of it being incomplete. I guess I'm starting to realize that it's just something that I am going to have to learn to face and deal with, and strive to find my new normal. It's hard to go out in the world and see families and babies and pregnant women, but the only other option is to just to lock myself up and disengage from my life and the world around me. And that really isn't an option. I want to live for him, not just exist. And I have to learn that it's okay and a natural part of the process to have breakdowns. It's okay to cry. It's actually a good thing to let it all out, rather than letting the hurt, anger, and sadness just stew. This is all such new territory, and though it's terrifying to explore the darker aspects, I realize you sometimes have to fight through the darkness to find the light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak. This isn't something that will ever go away, I won't ever get over it, but I will learn to live with it. The thing that people who haven't experienced this kind of loss don't fully realize is that you didn't just lose your child, you lost every hope, every dream, every plan you had made for your child's future and your family. The moment that doctor in the ER told me I was going to deliver my son, my world stopped. It was not the joyful experience I had anticipated and planned on. I had to go from planning a nursery to planning a funeral. Instead of picking out a bassinet, I had to pick out a coffin. When my child was brought into my hospital room the morning after he was born, he wasn't wrapped in soft blankets, wheeled in by a nurse,  he was carried in and given to me in a body bag with a tag on it. When you have an entire lifetime envisioned, and that lifetime is suddenly erased, there's an emptiness that weighs on you like a ton of bricks. Where you once knew where your life was heading, you now find yourself desperately lost. But I now have an angel who will be my compass and will guide my footsteps. I know the road ahead will be bumpy. I am already dreading the holidays because I was so excited to have Hunter's due date be right around Thanksgiving, and then have his first Christmas. Now he'll be having Christmas with our Savior. I try very hard to focus on where my son is, and the fact that he didn't have to know the suffering and pain that can accompany a mortal existence. But no heavenly thought can take away the physical ache that occurs when you just want to hold your baby. I realize I have been very open and honest about my experience with losing my son, and in doing so, I hope to help others who are traveling this same path with me, and possibly those who will experience this in the future. I hope that no one ever feels offended nor is it my intention to depress those around me with my story. I only want to tell my truth.

It's Easy to Say...

There's a unique kind of awkwardness that accompanies the loss of a baby. The onlookers, who always want to take away your pain somehow by saying something magical and healing. Unfortunately, there are few words that bring comfort when the grief is so all consuming. I've heard it countless times, and even though I know it's true, the fact that my son was "too good and pure for this world" or that "it was meant to happen this way, he just needed a body" doesn't change the fact that I selfishly want him with me. It doesn't take away the physical ache of wanting to hold him, or the emptiness you feel. It's easy to tell someone "God needed another angel", when he didn't need yours. There are no words, no ways of explaining the pain of losing a child. Unless you've been here, you simply can't understand. You can try, but the loss of a baby or child is unlike any other. And those of us who, for whatever reason, are chosen to carry this cross, hope that you never do understand. This is something I would not wish on my worst enemy. Ever. When my son passed, truly a part of me did too. There's a quote I read somewhere that said something to the effect of "To make the choice to have a child is to also make the choice of having your heart walk around outside of your body." So what does that mean when your child dies? How do you continue on with life like you did before? I think the answer is that you simply don't. How could you possibly be the same person after experiencing this? Having a child changes you forever, and when that child is called back to their heavenly home, you're altered even further. I will never be the person I was before. I know that I will know happiness again, but I don't think it will ever feel quite the same. I know that there will be days where I won't cry, but there will never be a day I don't think about what I've lost. I pray that there will be other children that I will be allowed to raise, but I know already that whenever I see them, I will also see my son. I will wonder if he would have had the same eyes. Would he have smiled the way they do? Would his cry, his laugh, his voice have been similar? Every milestone my future children reach will be a reminder of my son. I certainly don't think that his loss will diminish my joy in raising other children, in fact, I'm sure it will only make me love and cherish each moment with my future children that much more. But I will always mourn the loss of what could have been. When Hunter left, there was no shaking of the Earth, no noise, no trembling. Just quiet. Though my soul was screaming and shouting at God, at the Universe, and it seems impossible that the sound of my heart breaking could not be heard, there was just quiet and peace. My heart still cries out to God, wanting answers, wanting relief. But that's not how it works, I suppose. This is the ultimate test of faith in Him. To trust Him enough to let my son go. To trust Him enough to take care of my sweet boy. I'm learning. Slowly, but surely. And though there will most likely not be a sudden healing of my pain, I know my Heavenly Father weeps when I weep. He hurts when I hurt. And miraculously enough, He still loves me when I'm angry at Him for taking my son from me. It's the unconditional love of a parent, of which I now understand so greatly. Who better to understand the pain and suffering of losing a child then our Father in Heaven? The only comfort I will be able to find is through Him, and though I appreciate all the kind words of support, I hope none of my loved ones will take offense if I simply nod and smile when you say something to me in an attempt to help heal the wound. I know they all come from a place of love and concern. But at the end of the day, the only peace I will find is from within and from Him.

Thank You, Son

My Dear Son,

I want to say thank you.

Thank you for teaching me that love at first sight does exist.
Thank you for that precious hour and forty minutes of life you gave to us.
Thank you for allowing us the memories and joy of knowing you your entire life.
Thank you for being so strong, and being such a fighter.
Thank you for defying the odds.
Thank you for reaching for my finger, and holding it as tightly as your little hand would allow.
Thank you for showing us all that miracles do exist.
Thank you for being MY miracle.
Thank you for bringing me and daddy even closer than we already were.
Thank you for making me a mother.
Thank you for renewing my faith in the Divine.
Thank you for showing me and daddy how strong we are, and can be.
Thank you for teaching me and daddy, all our family, and all our loved ones to cherish life more dearly.
Thank you for giving me hope for brighter days.
Thank you for being my reason to get up in the morning.
Thank you for those moments where I can feel you so near.
Thank you for walking by me and daddy and our family as we struggle to understand why we couldn't keep you.
Thank you for saving us a place in heaven.
Thank you for watching over us.
Thank you for taking care of your brothers and sisters in heaven.
Thank you for being such a pure and loving spirit.
Thank you for touching my life in a way that I will never be the same, and would never want to be anything other than your mother.
Thank you for the joy that comes from being a proud parent.
Thank you for trusting in your Heavenly Father, and showing me and daddy how to do the same.
Thank you for showing us all the depth of love we can feel for you, and for each other.
Thank you for being part of everything around us, a breeze, a butterfly, a star in the sky.

But most importantly,

Thank you for choosing me and daddy to be your parents.
We are honored, and blessed to call you our son.

Love Forever and Always and All Eternity,

Mommy

One Week Later...

I can hardly fathom that it's already been one week since my sweet Hunter came into this world, and quietly left it. It feels like it just happened minutes ago, yet somehow, despite all the sorrow, the anger, the grief, time has managed to keep passing. Part of me is amazed that we have survived this time, but the other half of me almost mourns that the world has somehow continued to keep turning while I still feel so...stuck. It truly amazes me, the few times that I have been out in public, how happy people are. My loss feels so consuming that I cannot imagine how the entire world hasn't felt some sort of shift, that life has continued on as if nothing ever happened. I've had my moments where I almost feel "normal" again, times where I've smiled and laughed, and I am forced to fight the feelings of guilt that accompany those brief moments of happiness I've felt. The logical part of my brain tells me that it's irrational to feel guilt, but my heart feels otherwise. I know my son would not want me to stop living my life, but it feels unfair that I get to keep on living and he was only granted such a short period of time. I'm thankful that he has surpassed the pain and suffering that accompanies this world, but that doesn't change the fact that my arms physically ache to hold him. There's a profound sense of loneliness, though I'm surrounded by those that love and care for me. I miss having him inside me. That is where the sense of emptiness comes from. I miss feeling his movements, the reassuring flutters that were like unspoken words between the two of us, "Yes, mommy, I'm here, I'm ok." With how sick I was during the majority of my short lived pregnancy, I never in a million years would have thought that I'd miss being pregnant. But now, oh...I miss it. I long for that flutter in my belly, that unspoken camaraderie with other women who are pregnant, that sense of never being alone. It's hard going out in public, or watching TV, and seeing pregnant women or women with their babies. It tugs at my heart in such a painful, longing way. And I'm finding myself really struggling with the "what if's". I was told Hunter came early due to an incompetent cervix. I've been doing some research about this condition, and I can't help but feel that if I had only been given a pelvic exam the first time I was taken to the ER, or at least immediately when I was at the ER the second visit, my Hunter could have been saved. I'm trying to trust in my Heavenly Father, and that this was all part of some divine plan, but right now, the comfort that brings me is minimal. It doesn't do much to ease the overwhelming sorrow my heart feels right now. I'm trying so hard to be strong, to rely on my faith, but I just want my baby. Being a mother has been my lifelong dream, and when we found out Hunter was coming, I felt as though all my dreams were coming true. Now, they're just shattered. I want to have another baby so badly. But I'm terrified to set myself up for the possibility of going through this pain again. I know that there are steps that my doctors and myself can take to prevent this, and I pray to God that He allows me the opportunity to have a healthy, full-term baby. I don't know if I could handle going through this again. We're told that God doesn't give us more than we can handle, so I'm going to try and trust that. Though most of the time, I feel as though I'm breaking, and can't bear this cross that I've been asked to carry. I know that I will see Hunter again, but it won't be soon enough, and that's what is hard. I've got a lifetime to live, though I know for him, it will be like just a few hours apart. Mommy misses you baby boy!

Hunter's Story

I will never forget March 25, 2013 as it was the day that my husband and I first found out we were expecting. So many emotions filled our hearts; fear, shock, excitement, joy, anxiety...but most of all an immediate and consuming love for our unborn child. It was not an easy pregnancy in the beginning, I experienced horrible morning (which was really ALL day) sickness, which led to me making the difficult choice to leave a job where I was blessed to work with and for people I truly care about. Our first appointment was at 10 weeks gestation, on May 7, 2013. At first, no heartbeat was detected using the doppler, which was the worst feeling I thought I could experience, but was shortly lived as we had our first ultrasound that same day and I was able to see my little Peanut. Our ultrasound on June 27th, showed we were expecting a healthy baby boy, who was growing perfectly, heart beating as it should, and a healthy mom who could not be more excited about the miracle growing within. We were given a CD of that ultrasound, which will forever be near and dear to my heart. My son waved to us at that appointment, and you could easily see each of his five little fingers moving. Early in the morning of July 8, I got up to use the bathroom and was experiencing things that I felt were not quite right and were concerning to me as a first time mom. Taylor took me to Riverton Hospital ER at around 4 in the morning, where we were checked in, and quickly seen by the staff there. No pelvic exam was performed, but an ultrasound showed a healthy heartbeat, placenta right where it should be, a baby boy that was growing exactly as he should be for 19 weeks gestation, and a cervix that was long and closed. I did, however, have a UTI and was sent home with a prescription for antibiotics and orders to stay in bed for the next few days. I went home feeling somewhat relieved, but still on edge. Around dinner time that night, however, I started to experience some mild cramping which I associated with the UTI. By 2 or 3 in the morning of July 9, that mild cramping was turning into more severe pain, so much so that it woke me from a deep sleep. As everything from my previous ER visit had shown that my baby was healthy, and I was too with the exception of an infection, I chalked it up to needing to push the fluids and get the rest I was prescribed. The pain continued to grow more intense, and the decision was made to take me back to the ER around 4 that afternoon. I'll never forget sitting at the kitchen table, waiting as my husband gathered a few more of our things before we left, and he tried to get my dog to go outside quickly before we left. That dog would not leave my side. I now believe that he knew something was wrong.When we got to the ER it was a little bit busier, and took much longer to be seen. The doctor was worried that my pain was caused by dehydration so I was immediately given an IV and pumped full of fluids. After the first bag was given and I was still in severe pain, the doctor decided to try one more bag, and gave me a Lortab to try and ease my growing discomfort. After none of these treatments brought any relief, I brought up to my nurse that I was concerned that these might be contractions, but as this was my first child, I had absolutely no idea what those felt like. I think I had feared that what I was experiencing from the get go was labor pains, but I didn't want to believe it. Finally, the doctor came in and performed a pelvic exam. I laid on that hospital table and prayed harder than I have ever prayed in my life. With tears filling my eyes, I asked God to please not let me be dilated. Please. Unfortunately, that prayer was not answered in the way I had hoped. I was informed that my cervix was indeed opening, and that an OB would be coming in to see me immediately. At this time, I knew what this meant. I tearfully asked my husband to call my mom. You're never too old to need your mother, and I needed her more than I think I have needed her in a very long time. When the OB came into my room, she didn't have to say a word for me to know what was coming. She checked me again and confirmed that I was about 5 cm dilated, and at this early in a pregnancy, there was really nothing that could be done. My heart shattered at that moment into a million painful fragments. My mom arrived about this time, and when she came into the room I couldn't even answer her question of what was going on. I was sobbing, trying to handle a pain that I never anticipated I could feel. The doctor told my mom what was going on, that I was dilated and losing my baby. They called Intermountain Medical Center in the hopes that perhaps they could stitch my cervix closed, but I was just past the point of saving at that point. Tay had stepped out to get some fresh air and gather his thoughts, and when he came back all I could do was apologize. I felt like I had failed him, that I was disappointing so many of our friends and loved ones who were so excited about this new little boy that would be joining our world. He quickly assured me that I had done nothing wrong, this was just something out of our control. I was then quickly taken upstairs to Labor and Delivery, a complete blur of lights over head and voices that sounded miles away to my ears. Next thing I know I'm in a delivery room, nurses hooking me up to machines, offering me their sincere and kind condolences for my situation. At this point, I had most likely been in labor for 24 hours. I had always wanted to give birth naturally. That was a goal I had made for myself. But when an epidural was offered to me, I quickly accepted. The emotional pain I was experiencing was beyond any physical pain that I had experienced, but I hoped that the epidural would slow down my labor. I could still feel my son moving around within me, and I wanted to keep every last minute I possibly could with him. I was not ready to part with him, not ready to let go of the precious and special bond that is created when you are carrying a child. The epidural went in without a hitch, and within minutes I felt nothing. What I had hoped would take hours, unfortunately only took about 30 minutes and before I knew it, I was fully dilated and being prepped to push. My mother, my mother-in-law, and my husband were with me for the delivery. Hunter came quickly, I think I only pushed about 4 or 5 times, and before I knew it my precious son was placed on my chest at 11:38 pm on July 9. I have no words to describe the emotions I was feeling. Everyone always talks about this moment, how much love you feel immediately for your child. None of it is exaggerated. If anything, it's just not something that can be put into any language. It was the most spiritual, life changing moment I have ever experienced. But it was also the most heart wrenching. I had been told my son would only have a heartbeat for a few minutes, at best. I quickly examined him, he had perfectly formed features, all 10 tiny fingers, all 10 toes, and he had his father's nose. He is the most beautiful sight I have ever beheld. I witnessed a miracle, I participated in a miracle, and my miracle was a perfect baby boy. The light and love of my existence. And he grabbed my finger. I had so looked forward to that moment, ever since seeing his little hand wave during his ultrasound. I never anticipated that we would meet this early, but I had loved him and wanted him since the moment I knew he was coming into my life. The other members of my family were brought in and I am so thankful that they were able to share in this experience with me and my husband. This pregnancy didn't just happen to me, it was a much anticipated event for my parents, brothers, sister, sisters-in-law, aunts, grandparents, in-laws...they all loved my son, and I'm eternally grateful that they were all given the chance to hold Hunter, to love on him, and get to share in his brief life. Hunter miraculously held onto life for about an hour and 40 minutes. At 1:20 am, on Wednesday July 10, he was declared passed. I didn't think my heart could take anymore, but hearing the words out loud...I lost a piece of myself. When he went, I feel as though a part of my heart and soul went with him. I was blessed to have a wonderful nursing staff who encouraged me to keep my son as long as I wanted. I was able to kiss his handsome face, hold his little hands, rub his tiny feet, and snuggle him close to my heart. Seeing my husband hold our son, is a feeling that will never leave me. I didn't think it was possible, but the love I have for him grew in those moments. There is something to be said for a man who truly loves and cherishes his child, and my husband is one of those men. We held onto our son until about 5 am, when we decided to try and get a few hours sleep. I cried when I handed my son over to our amazing nurse Wendy, and was quickly reassured that I could call her at any time and she would bring my son to me. I think I slept for maybe an hour and a half, my poor husband and mother-in-law got no sleep whatsoever, and we soon called for my son to be brought back to us. With the shift change, we no longer had Wendy, but a new nurse. When she brought my son to me, she brought him in his little body bag. My heart sank so far into my already shattered chest, and then she tried to hand him to me like that, a white body bag with a tag on it. I had no words, no movement. I was shocked that this was actually happening, and my husband and mother-in-law were livid. No mother should ever have to see her baby like that. Then, after asking her to please take my son out of the bag, she warned us not to handle him too much so that he wouldn't fall apart. Again, no mother should be told that. I don't want to be made afraid of holding my child. I have such little time with him as it is! Soon, more family arrived, and I am so thankful that Taylor's grandparents, and aunts were able to meet our sweet boy. We were also blessed with a visit from some amazing volunteers for a group called Share, who deal with child loss. They gave me the greatest gift: they took my Hunter and made casts of his precious hands and feet. What a blessing this is to me now, and a comfort for the future. I will cherish the moments that me and Tay were given alone with our son. We were able to hold him together, cry together, and I was able to rock my baby in a rocking chair, tears streaming down my face, something I had been looking forward to doing when he was to be born in November. Before we knew it, however, it was time to pick a mortuary and send my son away. Of all the traumatic experiences of the last 24 hours we'd experienced, none will compare to the moment when I had to hand my son to the funeral assistant, watch as she gently wrapped my sweet child in a blanket, and look on as she carried my son out of that room.  My arms ached to hold him. My spirit felt utterly defeated. I sobbed and sobbed on my husband's shoulders, I felt like my knees were going to give out at any minute. I just wanted to yell and scream that it wasn't fair, I wanted my baby. After he was gone, I couldn't get out of that hospital fast enough. I needed a hole to crawl into. As I was wheeled out to my waiting husband and the car, I saw that there were two other vehicles in front of ours, both of them loading up their brand new babies, ready to head home and begin their journey as parents. I longed for their experience, and a part of me felt so envious it bordered on hate, if I'm to be completely honest. They got to go home with their children. Why couldn't I? Why was my baby, who I had waited for for 25 years, on his way to a mortuary and not to our home? I know life is unfair, and I know there is a reason and a purpose for this experience. But I want to shout it from the highest mountain, it is not fair that I don't get to raise my son. I have faith and trust in God that there is divine purpose to this pain and suffering. But I feel that I am entitled to experience the emotions that I am feeling. And I have to constantly remind myself that its okay to feel this way. If anyone can understand what it feels like to lose a son, I imagine it's our Heavenly Father, and I believe he weeps for His children here on Earth and the suffering they experience. I am trying to not be angry with Him, to trust in His plan for me and my husband. Someday we will have full understanding of this trial, and we will have the opportunity to raise our son in the next life, but I am not happy. And I feel as though happiness will take some time to find its way back into my soul. Each day, each moment is a struggle, and the upcoming years will have it's moments of continued heartache and sorrow. On Monday July 15, I bury my firstborn. We picked out his little casket today, a beautiful light blue fabric covered casket. We looked at headstones. And I felt my son's spirit so strongly through it all. It's still so surreal to me, like I'm watching from a distance as someone else goes through the motions. Then the waves of hurt and anger and pain and sadness wash over me and I'm brought back to reality. No parent should have to bury their child. No matter how much time a parent is given with their little one, I imagine the grief is the same. And that grief is all consuming. I am trying to not allow myself to get caught up in the "what ifs"...but it's hard. I feel guilt, though the situation was out of my control, my son came early because of a problem I have with my cervix. It will effect future pregnancies as well, but at least now that we know this problem exists, I can take proper steps to ensure future healthy babies that will make it to full-term. No other child I will ever have will replace my sweet Hunter. There is a place in my heart where he will permanently reside, and he will live on in the hearts of his parents and family who love him and miss him immensely. My arms ache to hold him, I miss feeling him moving around inside of me, and I'm mourning the loss of the life and experiences we would have shared together. My husband has been my rock, my saving grace. Without him, his loving and constant support, and the simple act of just letting me cry in his arms every five minutes, I'd be lost completely. I know he is mourning just as much as I am, and this experience is making our relationship so much stronger and the love we have for each other has grown and evolved to something much deeper. I hope that I can be as much of a support for him as he has been for me, and that he knows that this is just as much his loss as it is mine. I think sometimes dads get a little bit forgotten when the loss of a child occurs, and I hope he never feels that way. We love our son, and we are still parents, we just happen to be the parents of an angel. I take comfort in knowing that our son is with his Father in Heaven, and his brother Jesus Christ, along with the family members we hold so dear that have gone on before us.

Until we meet again my sweet boy, mommy and daddy love you more than anything else in this world. We will miss you every day of our lives, and we know that you're in heaven looking after your brothers and sisters. Please watch over us son, guide us through our grief. Visit us in our dreams, and know that you are constantly in our thoughts. You will never be forgotten, and we will always celebrate the miracle of your short, yet so important, life. We had so many hopes and dreams for your Earthly life, but God sent us such a perfect spirit that you didn't need to experience this world. I know that you are clothed in eternal glory and are your mommy and daddy's guardian angel. I pray that you will always feel of our love for you. I promise to talk to you often, to send you my prayers and love.

I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living, my baby you'll be.

English Class Memoir

This is a copy of the Memoir I wrote for my writing class. Enjoy :)

If you ask my mother to tell you about me as a child, she just might tell the story of a two year old me, running around a church gymnasium at a family reunion asking my cousins who they were going to marry when they grow up and how many children they were going to have. I think it is rare to know one’s purpose in life, and I seemed to have my path in life worked out at two years old. Becoming a mother was the utmost desire of my heart. For a while, I wondered if that dream was ever going to become a reality. We all, I believe, have to experience the bad in life to truly appreciate the good. That belief definitely applies to relationships. After a few frogs, and a few “knights in shining armor” that turned out to be more like “court jesters in tin foil”, I found someone who I could share my life with. And it all started with a Facebook Friend Request, the last place on Earth I expected to find “the one”. I never would have thought that a year later, we’d be starting an unexpected, but welcome journey together. Taylor is his name, and he is my very best friend.

                For some reason, beginning in October 2012, my body decided it was time to catch every cold, flu, or random infectious disease. I’d been to the doctor a total of 4 times by the end of the year, including a very unpleasant night spent in the ER dreading the possibility of having to have emergency surgery to remove my appendix. By March 2013, I had been to the doctor an additional 3 times. This last illness however, was different. Coughing, fevering, and a sore throat were only the tip of the influenza iceberg. The thing that really had me worried, however, was my incessant need for sleep. Never before, in any illness, had I ever experienced this kind of sheer exhaustion. Sleeping for 18 hours straight, waking up for a brief period of time to eat and down some cold medicine, only to return back to bed as tired as if I hadn’t slept for days. It was what I thought at the time, the worst experience of my life. After doctor’s orders to rest and “push the fluids” were still unsuccessful after a week, I returned to the doctor. I was absolutely convinced I must have some sort of unheard of disease, because to me, I was dying. I didn’t feel at home in my body, and my body just wasn’t functioning anywhere near normal, whatever normal is. Tests were run, temperature taken, throat swabbed, and all sorts of poking and prodding ensued. Taylor was quite concerned, as was I. When you live with someone, spend nearly every waking moment with them, they tend to get to know you nearly as well as you know yourself. And he knew something was off.

                Time never seems to tick at more of a crawl then it does when you’re waiting for the doctor to tell you what is wrong with you, and what magical pill or liquid he can give to make you feel all better.  Sitting on that crinkly paper they put on the exam tables, the sterile air still and quiet, just waiting, waiting, waiting. Finally, the doctor enters the room. You’re filled with both relief and worry all at the same time. “Well, it’s not strep. It does look like you have a bronchial infection, and….take a look at this test here” he says, with almost a sheepish grin. I look down at his clip board, and sure enough, there is a pregnancy test. I look back at the doctor, confused. He asks “How many lines do you see?”, “One…” I reply. And he tells me to look again. Time stopped. I’ve never truly experienced that feeling before. The moment the Earth stands still, everything freezes. I believe it’s also referred to as shock and as sure as I’m living and breathing, there were two lines on that test.

                This is where the fog settles in as well. Everything moves into slow motion. I looked up at the doctor, I looked at Taylor, and I looked back at the test. “Surely, this can’t be right.” I think to myself. I’m blinking rapidly; perhaps there is something wrong with my eyes? And then the doctor confirms what I’d been trying to process, but had been unable to thus far. “You’re pregnant! Congratulations! That explains a lot of things here!” he says. I’m still in lost and confused mode, and I look at Taylor for confirmation that I’d just heard correctly. One look at his face said it all. He looked exactly how I felt.

                The next thing I know, we’re in the car and the waterworks have begun. This wasn’t our plan, our plan was to get married next year, go to school, save for a house, and travel together before we started a family. We had a plan! Well, life decided otherwise. After the initial shock wore off, a feeling of joy began to spread. It was like walking into the sunlight and the warmth of the rays slowly warms you to your bones. Tears of fear and shock quickly turned to tears of joy and wonderment. A baby was coming. My lifelong dream was coming true.

                One of the first things I did after this news was make my first appointment with my obstetrician. I was counting down the weeks, days, hours, and minutes until that appointment. I’d get to hear my baby’s heartbeat. I’d heard stories from my friends about how magical that moment is. I’d been waiting for most of my life to get this experience, and waiting for this appointment was like being five years old and waiting for Christmas. Little did I know that the wait for this moment was going to be made even longer by the dreaded arrival of morning sickness. Now, here is the thing about this so called “morning” sickness. It can, and does in fact, appear at any hour of the day or night. Or, in my case, it lasts all day and night. I had many days where I could not keep a single thing in my stomach. It was horrible. And to make the experience even worse, you are overwhelmed with worry and concern for your baby because you don’t know if you’re giving the baby the proper nourishment it needs.

                Finally, after weeks of waiting, the big day arrived. May 7^th, 2013 is a day that changed my life forever. Bright and sunny, it was perfectly beautiful. I had hardly slept at all the night before, excitement and worry filled me up like a balloon. I felt ready to burst at any minute. I’d come to realize that pregnancy, and eventually motherhood, equated to constant emotion. And more often than not, the emotions that dominated were worry and anxiety. Taylor and I arrived at the doctor’s office, and were quickly taken back into an exam room. Finally! The moment I’d been dreaming of. The doctor got out his Doppler, a machine used to hear the baby’s heartbeat, and…silence. All you could hear was my own blood flowing through my body. My heart sank. The doctor wasn’t too worried about the viability of the pregnancy, I was still losing every meal to the porcelain throne, and every indication showed that there wasn’t any issue with the pregnancy. But, sensing Taylor and I’s instant panic, he asked if we’d like an ultrasound. I believe we replied to his question before he even finished it, of course we wanted an ultrasound! Not hearing that baby’s heartbeat was the most fearful moment of my life.

                The doctor called down to the hospital, and scheduled the ultrasound. Unfortunately, there was a two and a half hour wait before any relief would be coming our way. We decided to go to my parent’s home and wait it out. Seconds turned into hours, an hour felt like an eternity. How was I ever going to be able to make it? My mind kept turning to the worst case scenario. I pulled up Google and started doing my own research. This was a bad idea. If there is one piece of advice I could give to anyone in a similar situation, it would be to stay as far away from the internet as possible. It does absolutely nothing to reassure you of anything positive. I was convinced that I was going to go to that ultrasound and be given the worst possible news.

                What seemed like years later, we finally found ourselves going through the motion of getting in the car, and driving back to the hospital; another slow motion event. It was like I was watching the movements we were making from a distance. I wasn’t there. Mentally I was miles away, preparing myself emotionally, finding the words to tell my family. “How was I going to look at Taylor after this? Would he blame me somehow? He’s been so excited”. Guilt was racking my soul. “Had I done anything that I shouldn’t have before I knew I was pregnant? There was that one weekend I went out with my girlfriends. I shouldn’t have had that wine!” I was being totally illogical and was beating myself up internally.

                Thankfully, once we reached the hospital we didn’t have very long to wait before we were called back to the sonogram room. Hospitals have always given me goose bumps; it’s too sterile and clean for me. That did nothing to settle my nerves. The sonogram technician was a bubbly, friendly woman, probably about my age, and I could tell she was trying her best to lighten our moods as we prepared for the ultrasound to begin. After all, she knew why we were there. She had the order from the doctor. I was truly thankful for her attitude though. She helped bring a little glimmer of hope back to our little world. The little room we were in was darkened, a big flat-screen TV on the wall so we could have a good view of our little one. It was a sensory experience at this point. Cold gel, squirted on my belly for the sonogram wand, Taylor’s rough yet soft hand holding mine, the crinkly paper that always seems to accompany any medical table crumpling softly beneath me, and then the “whoosh whoosh” of the sonogram.

                Time stopped, I held my breath, and then the most wonderful, beautiful sound filled that little room: a tiny, very rapid, heartbeat and the miraculous flutter on a TV screen of my little baby’s heart. Tears filled my eyes; Taylor kissed my hand and squeezed it hard. Relief, pure unabashed relief, poured through my veins.  Nothing I have ever heard in my entire life, thus far, was as beautiful or cathartic as that heartbeat, beating at a healthy 172 beats per minute. In that instant, I fell in love. It was like I’d been living in darkness, and suddenly I see a flickering candle. Hope, joy, wonderment, gratitude; it was a symphony of feeling and delight. The greatest moment of my life.

Excitement and Mourning

Being a mother has been my life long dream and ambition. I've always had a hard time answering the question "What do you want to be when you grow up?" because I never had any real professional desire other than motherhood. So when I discovered that motherhood was indeed in the near future for me, I was elated. Tears of absolute joy flowed freely, and I knew this was what was what I was born to become. As time has gone by, I still feel that joy, but I've also experienced something I didn't really anticipate. There have been times when I've felt downright depressed. And that feeling has caused a lot of guilt. Why am I feeling like this? Am I really that selfish? Then I read something that gave me great comfort. I was simply mourning the death of my old self, my old life. And it is totally normal. My life has drastically changed with this pregnancy. My body is no longer my own, I no longer have my weekends out with friends, having a few drinks, living my life for myself. The day I knew I was carrying life, gravity no longer held me to this Earth, the love and overwhelming devotion for my growing child did. Its the absolute "growing up" moment. And it has been hard. I don't see or talk to a lot of my friends, we're in different places now, we have different priorities. But I miss them. And I miss feeling like I'm a part of a group. I am trying to find my new identity as a wife and mother, and I know that with a little patience, and a lot of prayers, I will get there.

Love At First Sight: The Ultrasound

Tuesday was my very first appointment with my OB and everything was going perfectly. Until...the Doppler was put into use. The doctor just couldn't seem to find the heartbeat. Now, I had had serious anxiety about this happening for weeks. I just didn't want to have that moment of panic. And here I was, experiencing exactly what I had been dreading since finding out I was pregnant. The doctor really wasn't too concerned, everything during his examination was as it should be, I've still been sicker than a dog 75% of the time, and I hadn't experienced anything to suggest a miscarriage. But, thankfully, I think he could see the panic and fear in both my face and Taylor's, and was kind enough to send us down for an ultrasound for our peace of mind. As a first time mama, I have found anxiety and worry to be a constant pebble in my shoe. It lingers like a fog behind all the joy and excitement I feel, just waiting in the wings to overpower my sunshine-y day. So we were ecstatic to be able to have an ultrasound, but utterly disappointed and frustrated to have to wait almost 3 hours to have said ultrasound performed. Those were the longest hours of my life. I made the mistake of doing my own research on possible reasons for why no heartbeat was found, and really nothing I found did anything to ebb my growing panic and worry, it just increased every fear I could imagine. I had come to a point of preparing myself for the worst, which is typical me. By the time we left to go back to the ultrasound, I had to tell myself "Don't throw up, don't throw up" I was so tightly wound and jumpy. All I wanted was a healthy, growing baby. It's amazing the love you feel for your child, from the very beginning. I knew I'd be shattered if that ultrasound did not go well. Thankfully it didn't take long for us to be called back to the U/S room in Radiology, and I think I held my breath the entire time the tech was prepping me and the machine for the ultrasound. Now, from the lowest of lows, the most anxious moments of my life to the absolute most beautiful and surreal: seeing that little heart flutter. I thought that I'd experienced the greatest flood of emotion when I was first told I was pregnant, and boy was I wrong. I wish I could capture the overflowing of love and joy my heart felt at that moment, and keep it in a bottle. It was perfect. I was there with Tay, holding my hand, and we were watching our miracle. Hearing that heart beat was like every wish and dream I've ever had coming true. I know this is just the beginning, that there are many more milestones to come in this life and my role as a mother, but I want to always remember this moment. This moment where I first realized the depth of a mother's love, just the very tip of that ocean, and how it changed me forever. I'm so glad that Tay was there to share this moment with me. It was the most spiritual, life-altering experience. I feel humbled and blessed to be given this opportunity to be a mother, and I pray for the guidance and strength and wisdom to help my child grow into the person they are meant to be. And I hope my child always knows that I wanted them, that I prayed for them, that I loved them more than my own life from the minute I knew I was expecting them.

2013: The Year of Change

This year...wow. My life is completely changing this year. All for the better, but even good change, is still change. And change is HARD. I'll be gaining a husband and giving birth to our first child all within a few months. I made the decision to leave my job of almost three years. I'm going back to school to better myself, for my child. I'm moving out of my apartment in June, and moving back into my parent's home, with my new husband. With all this change, I can't help but recognize how immensely, richly, abundantly blessed I am. God has always been good to me, but especially this last year. Starting with my love, my other half, my husband to be, my everything: Taylor Scott Eldredge. He is the physical manifestation of an answered prayer. Never, ever, before have I felt more loved and safe. When he looks at me, I can see his love for me reflected in his eyes, in the softness of the smile he gets when we make eye contact. Love radiates from him, and that love has changed my life completely for the better. This is a love that I didn't know existed, but I sure hoped it did. We're best friends, we're lovers, we're made for each other. It's fun, it's playful, it's meaningful, but most of all, it's real. And it's mine. And this love has given me the greatest gift. Ever since I was little, little I've always known I wanted to be a mom and a wife. When I was 2 years old, I was going around a family reunion/party asking my other little cousins who they were going to marry when they grew up. It's always been an inate part of my identity. And now my dreams are coming true. It wasn't necessarily in the timing I had always hoped for, after all, we "had a plan". But life doesn't always cooperate, and now we're counting down the days until our little boy or little girl arrives in November. What a HUGE blessing. I really don't know what I've done to deserve this happiness in my life, but I will thank God with every breath for blessing me so profoundly.

Prego Problems

Well, finding out I was expecting my first little bundle of joy was quite the surprise. I don't think I have ever felt such shock and so much joy all at one time; it was powerful and looking back, a beautiful moment in my life. I think I always had had certain expectations about pregnancy. Yeah, it'd be hard, it'd be uncomfortable, but I think I imagined that I would feel....holy? Powerful? Feminine? I don't know, I just expected to feel like I was in some sort of exalted state. A "sacred vessel", etc. etc. etc.
Let me tell you...I have yet to feel that. Here is what I have been feeling:

• Irritability: Oh boy. And how. Ask my fiance. I'm not a nice person like....65% of the time. I yell at other cars when we're driving, I yell about most everything, I just am no longer my sweet self. I'm a "b". To the max sometimes. 
• Nausea: I hate my stomach. I dread eating. 
• "Morning" Sickness: Okay. Let me start by saying that whoever named this so-called "morning" sickness, needs to be shot. It's more like "all day, every day, puke festival". Let me reiterate: I DREAD EATING. I know I need to feed my body, to feed my baby, but I swear, if I throw up one more time, I don't think I'll have any more lining in my esophagus. This morning, I puked SO hard, my throat AND my back immediately were so sore. Not to mention that constant tug at the back of your throat that you usually just experience right before puking. Oh, no. It's all the time. And forget about all the little tricks like eating saltines in bed before you get up, drinking ginger ale, even taking prescription anti-nausea pills....know what my body says to that? "HAHAHAHAHA sucka!" I'm counting the days until my second trimester, in the hope that I will start to feel somewhat human again.
• Fatigue: Let's just add this to the pile of WTF symptoms. I understand my body is changing drastically. I'm growing a freaking human for crying out loud. But this isn't just fatigue. This is like a whole new level of exhaustion that I've never experienced before. And it doesn't dissipate. I can sleep for 20 hours straight and wake up still feeling tired. I'm sure my morning sickness from hell doesn't help at all with this, but dang. Maybe it's natures way of letting you get as much sleep as possible to prep you for the many sleepless nights that lie ahead once baby arrives. 
• Boob Issues: I'll be brief. But I'm afraid of what's going on in this area already. My boobs are going to get big. Scary big. They're already larger then most....and we're only 9 weeks in and have already gone up a bra size. We're into triple letters at this point. It's frightening. And painful. 
• Hormones: I cried the other day because I threw up my saltine crackers. Did I cry when Tay proposed? Nope. Did I cry when I picked out the dress I would marry my soul-mate in? Heck no. Cry over crackers? Yes ma'am, best believe it. I cry pretty much every day, for any number of reasons. And it freaks my fiance out. It's a great time. 

Okay, that's just a small taste of my short pregnancy experience. I know that this will be so worth it. I cannot wait for the day that I get to meet my little one. (Not gonna lie, I'm hoping it's a girl. I'll be happy with a boy, of course, but....please, please, please be a little girl!) I've dreamed of being a mommy my entire life, and I still cannot believe this is actually happening to me and Tay. I couldn't ask for a better father for my children, he already loves our peanut so much and talks to my tummy every day. It melts my heart and just makes me love him even more. Let the countdown begin! Only 219 days to go!