The Holidays

This year marks our second Christmas without our sweet boy, but our first with our precious baby girl. To simply say that we are experiencing a myriad of emotions is a huge understatement. Since losing our son, my husband and I have felt such a range of differing emotions that we didn't even know we had. Now, we have our rainbow baby and even more feelings have come into play. I know I had certain expectations regarding how life would be after we had a baby that we could actually take home. I knew it'd be hard. Not in the typical "being a parent is a lot of work" hard, but in the "now you get to experience this amazing journey of motherhood and love it, but at the same time mourn the loss of the baby you didn't get to raise even more" hard. I had no idea I could feel such joy and sorrow all at the same time. It's actually really incredible in many ways and really, really heartbreaking in many ways too. I have one child in heaven, and one snuggled nice and warm in her crib, a mere two feet from my bed. It's like having one half of my heart within arms reach and the other half is pulling me towards the infinite; I constantly feel the pull of both my babies. This time of year is hard for anyone who has experienced the loss of a loved one. I always find myself missing my great-grandparents and my grandmother more at this time of the year. But the catch is, I always knew growing up that eventually it would be this way because that's the natural order of things. People are supposed to live long, fulfilled lives and leave a legacy of their children and their children's children, and so on. The young are supposed to bury the old, not the other way around. My husband made a very powerful comment tonight that really struck me with it's simple complexity: "I just want to feel normal." That's really what my soul has been yearning for and to hear it said out loud was so profound. Here we are, five days from celebrating Christmas for the first time with our baby girl, something that should bring overwhelming excitement and anticipation, yet we have to make a conscious effort to not be overpowered by the sadness that comes with realizing we never got to do this with our son. We decorate his grave, and we hang our Lizzie's stocking. This is our normal, and honestly...it really, really sucks. We are beyond thankful for our sweet girl and I would never want anyone to think otherwise. She has brought so much light and healing to our lives with her sweet spirit and happy countenance. She is probably the most easy going child and constantly smiles. It's like having a piece of heaven in our arms. But we mourn the fact that she will never know her big brother in this life. I don't think we'll ever feel "normal" again because we will always have that "but". There will always be someone missing. And especially missed at this time of year.

Lizzie's Birth Story

I figured I had better take advantage of my sweet baby girl's nap time to finally (6 weeks later!) document her birth before I forget absolutely everything. Most of that day is already such a blur, but I want to be sure and write down as much as I can remember. I don't know how many times I will be blessed with the amazing experience of giving birth, and I always want my children to know how special and empowering and wonderful the whole experience was and is. We found out we were pregnant with Lizzie on December 4th, 2013. That was still a good week before my period was expected, but I had been feeling nauseous and "different" since before Thanksgiving. In fact, I threw up Thanksgiving morning and I remember thinking how bummed I would be if I was sick on my favorite day to be gluttonous. I had taken two or three tests that had showed negative before I got that first positive test. I wasn't at all surprised, deep down I knew I was pregnant. We were just 4, almost 5 months out from losing Hunter, and just a few days past his due date. Emotions were running high, and I can't even describe the wave of emotions that swept over me when I saw the confirmation that we were indeed pregnant. Joy, fear, sadness, anxiety, hope, despair...such a wide range. I remember getting in the shower afterwards and just sobbing. I cried for my Hunter. I cried for fear that my body would fail us again. I cried in thankfulness, that we were being given another chance. I just cried and cried. For the longest time I felt guilty that I wasn't immediately overcome with joy at the thought of this new arrival. That's one thing that we lost when we lost Hunter. Fear replaced joy, and it took a long time to allow joy and hope and excitement to fill us during this pregnancy. It became even harder when at one of our appointments at 19 weeks, 4 days (one day further along then when we had Hunter), when my doctor put his hand on my shoulder and told us there was something wrong with the baby. We had been planning on doing a gender reveal party that evening, and didn't want the doctor to tell us the gender. After he said there was something wrong, he basically told us we might want to find out now what the baby was because what he thought was wrong, would be a fatal diagnosis. After we found out we were having a girl, I just lost it. I immediately thought "This cannot be happening! I am not strong enough to say goodbye to another baby!" It was the longest walk and wait down to the other office for another ultrasound. We were sitting in the waiting area, me, my mom, and my husband, all in tears. People walking by, probably wondering what was wrong. It was absolutely horrible. Thankfully, we were told my doctor's original diagnosis was wrong and our baby would live. This extra complication however, meant more frequent ultrasounds and did not help to ease our anxiety that came along with pregnancy after loss. I took all the extra steps I could to ensure Lizzie would get here safe and sound and to prevent an incompetent cervix from taking another of my babies. I had a cerclage placed at 13 and a half weeks, which is a procedure that involves essentially sewing your cervix shut. I began weekly progesterone injections at 18 weeks, and did so up until 35 weeks. Part of the pregnancy was spent on modified bed rest, with the remainder spent being very careful and cautious not to overdo things. Finally, at 36 weeks, my cerclage was removed (and OUCH, it was seriously more painful than would have thought). At my appointment at 37 weeks, my doctor decided that we would go ahead and induce because my blood pressure had been gradually going up. Normal BP for me is usually a perfect 115/60 and I was up to about 140/80. We were to go into the hospital sometime on Thursday night, July 31st. I definitely made a valiant effort to induce myself naturally, from bouncing on my exercise ball to busting out the breast pump to taking walks. Unfortunately, none of that worked. Thursday night rolled around and my husband and I spent the night attached to our cell phone, waiting for the call to come in and begin the process of induction. We were told they would call between 7 and 9 pm, and then 9:30 rolled around and still no call. Turns out it was a popular night to have a baby! Labor and delivery was full so we were told to continue keeping our phone close by. Finally around 2:30 am we got the call! We got to the hospital around 3 and by almost 4 am the process began with a lovely little device known as a foley bulb. By about 10:50 am I was dilated to a 6 and thought for sure this little girl was going to arrive within the next two hours. My goal for this birth was to go natural, which I knew would be hard considering pitocin would be involved. Tay and I had taken lamaze classes, which were such a big help, and I had my amazing doula by my side as well. I could not have been more proud of my husband! He was incredibly helpful and he and my doula were the best team! With their help, I made it to 7 cm without an epidural. Unfortunately, my labor stalled. I think I was at a 7 for nearly 2 hours, though it could have just felt that way. My pitocin dose kept increasing, and I swear, after each time it was turned up, the next contraction would feel so much stronger. Labor was such an amazing experience. Of course it was painful, but honestly, it was amazing for me to feel my body working to birth my baby. I had lost a baby because my body had failed me before. I have a weakness that I cannot repair, I can only essentially put a band aid on it. I have had a distrust of my body and it's capabilities since we lost our son, and there I was, laboring without pain meds, with my pitocin at a 15 or 16 (20 is usually the highest dosage, I believe). I felt empowered, and strong, yet weak all at once. Each time I felt the rise of a contraction I could imagine my baby getting closer and closer to her arrival. It was around this time, waiting and waiting for my body to continue to progress, that I started to get really emotional. I missed my boy with such fierceness, yet I felt him so close. I asked him for help with each wave of pain that overcame my body, to help me get his sister here safely. There is something so magical and spiritual about going through labor and giving birth. It's like the veil that separates our world from the other side is parted ever so slightly. This overwhelming rush of emotions, combined with my stalled labor and knowing the pitocin would be turned up yet again, led me to decide to get an epidural. I admit, I felt like I had failed. Especially when the anesthesiologist repeatedly poked me and would say things like "Whoops!" "That's not right!" etc. I really questioned my decision. When the epidural finally began taking effect however, I of course was grateful to have the pain relief, but it also allowed me to clear my mind and get my emotions in check. As well as try and take a little nap and rest up for the actual birth. After waiting and waiting, and coming too close for comfort to a c-section, we were finally fully dilated and baby was finally in position for me to start pushing. We had a whole team there, including this med student who we had met that morning when we first came in. He had told us that he hoped we were still there when he came back for his next shift, and he was so excited to find us still there. He joined in on the delivery, along with my doctor and another doctor. Before I knew it, baby was crowning and I was asked if I'd like a mirror brought in so I could see. I never thought in a million years I'd be one to say "yes", but I did and I am SO glad. It was surreal to me to watch as I was pushing. It felt like I was watching it happen to somebody else, but before I knew it my beautiful baby girl was here and on my chest. I have no words to describe that moment, because there are no words that are adequate. I think all parents must feel that way, but I think those of us who have previously lost a child experience it in such a different way. I immediately started to cry and so did Tay. Even our favorite med student had some tears. It was such an incredibly beautiful moment. And then Lizzie looked at us for the first time and it was like she suddenly became the anchor to Earth. It wasn't gravity anymore that held us here, it was her. And it we were tethered by this overpowering love. We had felt that love before with our Hunter, but that love was laced with the pain and anguish of having to say goodbye. Lizzie was born with a birth mark on her face that they call an angel kiss. When they told me that, I just smiled. Of course she would have an angel kiss. Her big brother had to give her one last kiss before he sent her off to us. Now here we are, a month and half later, and we all could not be happier. Lizzie is such a sweet, happy, easy going baby. We are so blessed to have her. We miss our boy maybe a little bit more now that we are raising another baby. We have a much better idea of what we are missing out on with him, and some days it's like the loss just happened. But the little broken pieces of our hearts have begun to heal a little more. We look forward to the future again, to holidays and birthdays. We will always miss our boy, but are thankful for the opportunity to fill a little of that void with his baby sister. There's no better way to make a bad day better than by snuggling up with a sweet little baby. And hopefully, God willing, we will go on to have a few more.

When Life is Bittersweet

As we're just about a week away from meeting baby girl (or less should she decide to arrive on her own), I find that so many different emotions are coming to the surface. Overall, I am thrilled. I am excited. I am grateful. But it's also immensely bittersweet, and even that word does not really do justice to the vast emotional landscape that appears. There's a sense of guilt that comes with that, and I'm sure other angel moms can relate. You feel like all your heart and soul and energy should be poured into love and excitement for the arrival of your new little one. Yet, your heart and soul is torn because half of it is aching for the child that you will never bring home. It makes you question your ability to love another baby the way you love your angel. It's a struggle to find a balance when half your heart is tied to Earth and the other half tied to Heaven. I never want there to be any doubt about how much I love my rainbow. How thankful I am that God saw fit to send us another baby, that she is healthy and has stayed put long enough to grow and be born at a safe time. I have cherished this pregnancy in a way I never thought possible. I remember being pregnant with Hunter and being so sick and saying "It will be a LONG time before I do THIS again." I have been through much more physically and emotionally with this pregnancy, yet I somehow managed to find joy in the struggle. Every time I threw up, every time I had an injection, I had a whole new perspective on just how lucky I was to even be experiencing this. The flip side to that is wondering what it would have been like with Hunter. That is the bittersweet. And it will always be there. I feel sometimes like people who are outside of this little bubble, this group of people who understand because they have also lost a child, think "Get on with your life! You're having a new baby! Be happy, move on, let the past be the past!". I sometimes feel that way too. Why can't I just be in the moment and just look forward? Why does everything make me think of the child who is no longer here? Why can't I focus completely on the journey ahead, instead of the journey that "could have been"? Honestly, I have no answer. It's just the way it is. I have no doubt that as time moves on, I will find a better balance. But the saying "time heals all wounds"? It's a lie. There is some hurt that just doesn't go away. So instead of trying to force the past to stay in the past, instead of trying to block out certain emotions and feeling guilty for feeling what I feel, I'm going to continue to endeavor to embrace it all. If there was no bitter, how could I appreciate the sweet as much as I do? And I have so much "sweetness" coming, I can just feel it. I have no doubt I will struggle. I know there will be times when I will peak in on my sleeping daughter and just watch her breathe and wonder about her brother. But you know what? That's okay. I look forward to finally being able to mother my child, to have sleepless  nights WITH my baby instead of sleepless nights longing for my baby. It's been an almost 18 month journey to get here, from the time we found out we were pregnant with Hunter. I know there are so many others who have waited longer and fought harder to bring home a baby, and we have been luckier than most. At the end of it all, I just want the world to know when I or another parent of an angel describe something that is usually just considered joyful and happy, like the birth of a new baby, as bittersweet, please don't think we are ungrateful, or living in the past. We live in a different reality, where life is simply...bittersweet. It just is. But because we have had so much bitter, please know how much the sweet in life is appreciated.

One Year

How is it possible that a year can pass in the blink of an eye, yet move so slowly it feels like eternity? I can hardly fathom that a year ago, at this time, I laid in a hospital bed and held my son; waiting for the inevitable final word from the nurse, who repeatedly checked his heartbeat, to tell us that he was gone. That was the longest and shortest hour and forty minutes, that continued on into the longest and shortest year. I wonder if every year will feel this way, short yet long, because I know without any doubt, every year that passes will be looked at in two ways: another year further away from the last time I held my sweet boy, and one year closer to when we will be reunited. A year. I literally cannot come to terms with that. I can't help but wonder what his little personality would be like. Would he have dark hair like me? Or be a toe head like his daddy was? He looked so much like my husband, would he have had his dad's eyes too? There are so many little things that I never would have thought I'd miss until it was taken from me. All the smiles, the giggles, the different cries, the milestones of the first year...I wish we had gotten to experience them all together. I read something recently about how in French, "I miss you" translates literally to "You are missing from me." When I read that, I cried. It was so much more accurate a description of what it means when I try to express the longing a parent feels for the child that is not within their reach. I have this piece of me that is missing. I hate to say that it's empty because it's not, it's filled with love, but there's a void that is so indescribable. Even a year later, it's still there. I don't think that time heals all wounds, we really just learn to work around the injury. Time helps you gain the strength you need to adequately carry the grief, to cope with the pain. But it stays, and sometimes it rages, and sometimes it's just like a little pebble in your shoe. I'm proud of this past year and all of the learning and growing that I feel I, as well as my husband and family, have done. And I hope Hunter is proud of us too. I strive to be worthy to be his mother because I truly feel that he was so special that heaven couldn't do without him. That's not to say that I don't have my "what ifs" and question some decisions made by doctors and hospital staff, but there's just something, it could be my motherly bias saying this, but my son was incredibly remarkable. I don't think our children are sent to us for us to raise them, I think we receive these amazing, innocent beings to raise us. And I know Hunter did that for me in just his short hour and forty minute life. I hope who I am as a wife, daughter, sister, friend and mother to his younger siblings makes him proud. I hope he can look down on me and say "Yup, that's my mommy!" with so much pride. I try to live my life in such a way that I can do that for him, because I sure am proud to be his mom. Today was a very special day and I'm so thankful we were able to celebrate this baby boy with our friends and family. I felt him close all day, and I hope as we continue on this week and some of the harder memories come flooding back, that he will continue to make his presence known. I think the closer we are getting to his baby sister's arrival, the closer he will be, or maybe I will just feel it more. There's something so innately spiritual and transcendent about the birth of a new baby. Heaven and Earth blur and in that brief moment the two become one. I know Hunter will be there and I plan on having him be a very central part of the birth of his baby sister. Without him, I truly don't think we'd be having her. 

Happy 1st Birthday Baby Boy.....

I'll love you forever,

I'll like you for always,

As long as I'm living,

My baby you'll be.

Mommy and daddy love you and miss you Peanut! 

Father's Day

After we lost Hunter, one thing I noticed very quickly was that people would always ask me how I was doing, how I was coping, and even with my husband standing right next to me, very rarely was he asked the same questions. It seemed most of the focus fell on me at that time, and I think it probably still does in many ways. People will ask me how I'm feeling about this new pregnancy, how I'm handling the emotions. And again, oftentimes, it seems the other half of this equation is left out. The thing is, it wasn't just me that experienced this loss, just as it isn't just me coping and working through the ocean of emotions that come with a pregnancy after the loss of a baby. There are still bumps in the road of our grief, but those days that are a little more tender and raw are definitely holidays. Mother's Day was a hard one for me, as I remembered how I felt last year, pregnant with my firstborn, and relishing what this year would be like with my 6 month old baby. It was a day filled with "what ifs" and imaging how different that day should have been. I was, and am, so appreciative of those family and friends who acknowledged the hardship of that holiday, who didn't just dismiss my emotions because I am now pregnant again, and who made me feel like a real mother. I want to do the same for my husband now. It's Father's Day and our baby boy isn't here. Our little girl is healthy and growing and will be joining us in just a few short weeks, but there is an emptiness that no other children will fill. I know my husband misses our son just as much as I do, maybe more in some ways. I think every man wants a son that he can build Lego's with and teach them to throw a football. Tay was convinced that Hunter was going to be a girl, and honestly, I think he was a little disappointed when the ultrasound technician pointed out that he was clearly a boy. But that quickly changed. He was, and is, so thrilled to be a daddy. He loves his babies more than anything, and seeing how he loves his children has only made my love for him grow. In a week we will be celebrating our first wedding anniversary. I've heard that the first year is the hardest, and in our case, I really, really hope that's true. We had only been married for 17 days when Hunter unexpectedly joined us for the hour and forty minutes of his Earthly existence. We were still getting used to being married, adjusting to living with my parents, and then this huge, life changing, soul shattering event happened. We could have easily been torn apart by this, but I have to give credit to my amazing husband for helping save me and pulling me back from the brink. He not only let me cry on his shoulder, he encouraged it. He made me open up about how I was feeling when all I wanted to do was bury my head under the blankets and shut everything out and keep everything in. He was truly my rock. And he still is. I'm so thankful for his willingness to cry, to share his emotions with me. He's never been afraid of being vulnerable. He talks openly about our son to anyone and everyone who will listen. Every night before he falls asleep he tells Hunter he loves him. He will never know how much that truly means to me. He mourns with me still, we cry together when we need to. And I know no matter what, he will never let our son be forgotten. I can't imagine being in his shoes during this process, keeping me from going off the deep end, while managing his own feelings and grief. In some ways, I think maybe the fathers have a harder time with the loss of a child. There are certain expectations placed upon them, they're supposed to be these pillars of strength and support, yet their hearts are just as broken. So to my love, my forever sweetheart, I honor you on this Father's Day, and every day. I know it will be a bittersweet day, but I hope you take pride in knowing that you are of the highest caliber of men. It takes a special kind of man to be a father to an angel, and husband to a woman who is not he same person you married. You do it all brilliantly, and though I know you have days where you feel down and like you're not succeeding in these rolls, I guarantee you are. Thank you for being who you are, thank you for my babies, and thank you for standing by my side through the darkness and the light. You make your son so proud. You make me so proud. And I have no doubt this baby girl will see you as the sun and moon of her world. This day is for you, and I hope you feel our boy close. We're yours, eternally. Forebers and ebers.

No One Ever Said It Would Be Easy

I have to admit, lately I've found it very easy to set myself up with a little pity party. It's been really difficult to pull myself up and not let the weight of my trials get me down. Being who I am, this struggle to feel grateful and appreciative of all the good has left me feeling guilty. Here I am, pregnant with my second child, a baby girl, and I can't get over feeling how unfair it is that I see so many others around me just having healthy babies, and having seemingly "easy" pregnancies. After Hunter passed away, I couldn't stand seeing a round, beautiful, pregnant belly. Seeing mothers with their babies just tore me apart. When I got pregnant with this baby girl, it admittedly helped ease that pain. As we've progressed with this pregnancy however, and have gone through various ups and downs, first thinking that baby girl had a fatal bladder blockage, to the diagnosis of it being a cyst but still not knowing where the cyst is originating from, in addition to the cerclage placement and weekly hormone injections....I just find myself wondering what it is like to have a "normal" pregnancy. I know all mothers feel some anxiety and worry during their pregnancies. I remember that anxiety with Hunter, though I also recall the immense relief I felt when I entered the second trimester and felt like I was completely safe and nothing could go wrong. I remember the joy and the excitement that was there as I relished in the life growing within me. It breaks my heart because that joy and excitement is tainted now by the knowledge of what can and does go wrong. The carefree innocence we had with that first pregnancy no longer exists and I yearn to be able to feel that same magic I felt the first time. I don't know if I'll ever be able to feel the same way about a pregnancy that I did with Hunter. I know from speaking with other moms who have gone through a loss that this all part of our new normal. It's hard to allow yourself to get attached, and I think especially when your only experience with pregnancy and birth correlates with absolute heartache and pain. I don't know what it is like to get pregnant, go through a full-term pregnancy, and bring a baby home. I always wanted a big family, I always said I wanted 6 kids, and with facing the reality of how emotionally and physically challenging my pregnancies will be, it makes me sad because I don't think I'll be able to have as many children as I always envisioned happening. Now that we're almost 24 weeks, I'm well into unknown territory. And I still am not at a point where I can really feel comfortable doing much planning for the future with a new baby. I love getting outfits and bows and pretty little girl things for this baby, and while these few things we have for her make me smile, there is also a voice in the back of my head that says "better keep the receipt, just in case." And without fail, every time we stop at the baby department, and we're oooo-ing and awwww-ing over the pink frilly items, my eye still wanders over to blue. Especially lately, and I don't know why, but the void of Hunter's absence has felt so fresh and raw. Easter was a lot harder than I had expected it to be, and maybe it's just the carry over of all those emotions, but many tears have been shed lately by not just me, but my husband as well. We're both missing our son so acutely, and I feel like as we get closer and closer to our baby girl being born, that emotion is only going to grow. It's very bittersweet getting to this point of viability in this pregnancy. It's comforting knowing that any and every medical intervention would be made to stop and delay labor should I go into preterm labor, not to mention the steps that would be taken to try and save baby girl's life if she did end up being born early. It does however, bring up so many feelings about what happened with Hunter, from the total lack of medical help we were given at the hospital, to being made to feel like he wasn't a person yet and therefore wasn't worth those steps to save because we were only at 20 weeks. I'm very thankful for a husband who is willing to be open and share his grief with me. It's such a comfort to know that I am not alone in this. There comes a point after a loss where it just really feels like everyone else has moved on, and when you're still treading water in your pool of grief, it starts to feel very lonely. I think especially now that we're pregnant again, it's like most people really do think it's like a magic band aid and that we should just be completely "over it" and just so thankful to have this baby. We are very thankful, and now how blessed we are. This is our second baby in the course of a year, and that's nothing short of a gift from above. But I cannot stress enough how unbelievably hard pregnancy after loss is. It's so much more than I could have ever expected, in so many ways. And some days I really find myself crumbling under the emotional weight and stress of it all. It gets frustrating at times because I feel like there are very few people who I can express these feelings to without getting a response of how thankful I should be, and how lucky we are to get another baby. Sometimes you just need to vent and have your feelings validated. I truly do know that this baby girl is a beautiful blessing, and I am SO thankful for this experience, but I think it's only human to wonder what this experience would be like under different circumstances. I had this notion at the beginning of this pregnancy that we'd get the cerclage, we'd do the hormone injections, and that would take care of all the problems and it would be a lovely smooth experience. I guess I just feel a little disillusioned because that is not how it has turned out. I lost Hunter because of a weakness in the way my body was made, and I didn't anticipate for a minute that we'd experience having a doctor tell us that there was something wrong with this baby. All a mom wants for her child is to be healthy and happy, and it really is so hard knowing that even with all these preventative measures on my end, this baby girl is not necessarily safe from certain hardships that could occur shortly after she is born due to this cyst in her abdomen. Whether she loses an ovary because of it, or a kidney, both will affect her life. There is still plenty of time for a miracle, for this cyst to just go away, and I will continue to pray for that. I will continue to pray for the strength to handle what has been given to me. I will continue to pray that I will learn whatever it is I am meant to learn from this. I will pray for a more positive and happy outlook. And I pray that I can keep my sanity for the next 3 months.

A Baby Girl

I really get emotional just thinking about it: I have a daughter. I have a son AND a daughter. It's been an interesting journey getting to this half way mark in this pregnancy. It's been, up to this point, familiar. But now we're in uncharted territory, a part of pregnancy I've never been to before. It hasn't been without it's eventful moments, most especially the emotional roller coaster we took a ride on the day we found out baby was a girl. I literally have no words for the moment when my doctor told me there was something wrong with the baby. I'm so thankful that what he originally suspected turned out to be something much less serious, and something that would not risk baby girl's life. As I sat in the hospital, waiting for my second ultrasound, watching the other pregnant mom's walk by, I felt so utterly and completely defeated. My mind was frozen yet racing, which I didn't think was possible. I was flooded with thoughts of another funeral, another little casket, but this time in pink. Another baby I would be laying to rest in the cold ground, instead of in a warm bassinet. I was broken in that moment. Up until this point, I have to admit that the bond I've felt with this baby has been different than it was with Hunter. I know I am not alone in this experience, as I've heard from other mothers who have had to bury a child, it is simply your heart's way of protecting itself from the pain it previously experienced. Pregnancy is the most beautiful challenge any woman can experience. But unfortunately, when you've lost a baby, some of the shine disappears. Before Hunter, I thought that it was all a pretty simple process, you get pregnant, you stay pregnant for 40 weeks or so, and then you have a baby. For many, many women that is indeed the case. For others of us, it is not so simple. I've often had moments of guilt, feeling like maybe I love Hunter more, or maybe I'm not capable of loving another baby like I love the one I never got to bring home. It wasn't until I feared losing my daughter that I realized the depth of the love I already feel for her. Maybe that is what I needed to allow myself to love as completely as I'm able to. I still worry about the safety of this baby, not just from her diagnosis of a cyst, but I also still don't trust my body as completely capable, though it definitely helps knowing I'm taking and have taken the necessary steps to assist my body in this process. Even with my fears, I'm going to allow myself to be excited. And I am. I am so overwhelmingly ecstatic to have a little girl. I also feel such an overwhelming responsibility knowing that we are going to have a daughter. It just feels so different from having a son, not better, or more exciting, just...different. I want her to grow up strong and independent, always knowing that her value is so much more than a number on a scale, or how many boys want to date her, or what the world's perception of her beauty is. There's something about a new baby that brings so much hope and promise. I want so many things for her, but most of all I want her to be free to be who she is. And to know that she will be loved unconditionally for herself. I have a feeling she is going to be a sassy little thing, and will probably give me a taste of my own medicine. I hope I can be the mother I want to be, and be the best example I can be for this little girl. She has her big brother Hunter who will always be watching over her, and though it breaks my heart that I'll never have all my babies in my arms here on Earth, I know as our family here on Earth grows, it will only make the reunion up above that more amazing.

It's Okay To Be Sad

Well, we had our cerclage placed on 2/12/14 for our rainbow baby. Like most things I've experienced throughout this journey of grief, I couldn't have anticipated the varying emotions I felt. It all happened in a relatively short time period; we saw our doctor on Friday the 8th, were told we'd do the cerclage the next week, waited and waited for the phone call telling us what day, and then there we were, all set to go on that Tuesday morning. I was also working a LOT because of the upcoming Valentine's Day holiday, which for florists is THE big day of the year, with about three weeks of prep work involved. So until that Tuesday morning, I hadn't really had time to stop and process what was going to happen and how I was feeling about the whole thing. And then there I was, in the shower, crying. The tears were laced with joy, guilt, fear, sadness, hope, regret...The thing is, people expect you to be "okay" when you have another baby on the way after you've experienced a loss. It's like a band-aid, that the wound should be covered up now and healing or healed. Every person and every situation is different, but I know that for me, the wound is fresh again. I know I grieved for Hunter in the minutes, hours, days, weeks, months since his passing before we became pregnant again. It was deep, all consuming, and at times, it was dark. I went through the motions, and I think I did a pretty good job of giving myself permission to feel whatever I was feeling. I didn't try to push away the grief, or ignore it. I gave myself over to it and I think handled it all as best I could. I had gotten to the point where I didn't cry every day. In fact, I remember the first time I realized that I had gone a full day without shedding a single tear. Of course, then I felt guilty because I felt like a bad mom, but I knew that was not a logical way of thinking. Then we found out we were pregnant again. We weren't really actively trying to conceive, but I knew well before that positive pregnancy test that I was expecting. When I did finally see the word "pregnant" displayed on the test, I couldn't breathe. I told my husband and then took a shower, where I wept under the hot water. I was scared. I wanted to be excited, and part of me was, but there was a really big part of me just didn't feel ready for this. Hunter was my first pregnancy, my first child. We didn't get to bring him home, we placed him in a little blue box and buried him. I don't know what it's like to have a pregnancy go full-term, to give birth to a crying, healthy baby. Because of our experience, pregnancy isn't directly associated with joy the way it is for the majority of family's who have had the chance to bring their little ones home and raise them. That's not to say that I'm not excited and happy that we're having another child. I am. But I am cautiously so. As the weeks creep closer and closer to the gestation when I gave birth to Hunter, I can feel the anxiety mounting. I am fearful of the cerclage failing. I'm afraid of going to an appointment and there not being a heartbeat. I'm simply terrified of losing another baby. I have faith, but that faith isn't in what I desire, I have faith that whatever God has planned for us will come to pass. And that includes the possibility that this baby will be called home like Hunter was. I'm not going to lie to you, it is exhausting going through a pregnancy like this. I ask God all the time to ease my fears, to ease my anxiety. Sometimes He does, and sometimes He doesn't. I only fear so much because I love so much. I love my baby's more than life. And I really feel like I will be able to bring this baby home. I just live in a reality where there is no guarantee. Cerclage's fail, it's a fact. But I'm thankful to know that I'm doing all I can to keep my baby safe inside me, until it's safe for him or her to arrive. I wish I could have done as much for my Hunter. The further along I get, the more I feel his loss. Feeling this baby start to move, that lovely little fluttering, just brings back so many feelings and memories. And as this pregnancy progresses, I realize how little time I really did have with him. I feel guilty because I feel so robbed, when I know I should mostly feel blessed. I am into my second pregnancy and I know so many good people who pray daily for the chance to conceive. I do know how lucky I am. But that doesn't diminish the sorrow that comes with not being able to see your child grow. I'm trying to savor every moment with this baby, even the morning/all day sickness, and heartburn. But try as I might to focus on the here and now, my Hunter is always present in my mind as well. Remembering my pregnancy with him as I experience this pregnancy. Comparing, and contrasting. And as this baby grows and grows, I will wonder what it would have been like with Hunter. When this baby is born, and I hear that first cry, I will be filled with so much happiness, but also a voice will say "I wonder if that's what Hunter would have sounded like." And it will go on that way until my dying day. I know that probably sounds over dramatic, but I know it's true. Every milestone my other children reach will bring pride and wonderment for them, and longing and sorrow for the milestones we missed with Hunter. I think part of the process of grieving is realizing that you won't ever truly stop. Especially when it's your child. I love my children, and I acknowledge to the universe how lucky I am. I often think of "It's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all." That's how I feel about my babies. I wouldn't trade any of this. I've never known a greater heartache, but I've also never known such profound love. Part of me resides in heaven, and that's a pretty big blessing in and of itself.

Rainbow Dreams of Jelly Beans

It still seems so surreal to me that we're pregnant with our rainbow baby. For those who may wonder what the whole "rainbow" thing is all about, here's a pretty good explanation.

"It is understood that the beauty of a rainbow does not negate the ravages of any storm. When a rainbow appears, it does not mean that the storm never happened, or that we are not still dealing with it's aftermath. It means that something beautiful and full of light has appeared in the midst of the darkness and clouds. Storm clouds may still hover, but the rainbow provides a counterbalance of color, energy, and hope."

This new baby will not,  nor ever could, replace our Hunter. He will always and forever occupy a very special and sacred place in my heart. Just like the rainbow does not mean the storm is over or forgotten, we are also still healing in brand new ways with this new pregnancy. I think the best word to use to describe my feelings is "vulnerability". I've never felt more bare, more exposed. It's unlike anything I've experienced before. I never doubted that I would want to try to have more children, but like most things, you can't anticipate all the feelings, experiences, emotions, etc. that come with being in that place until you get there. I'm opening myself up to the possibility of loss again, to endure the unendurable once again. Of course, I have faith that we will be blessed with a healthy baby this go around. But I also know the other possibility. And as much as I want to fight it, to ignore it, the knowledge of what can and what does unfortunately go wrong hangs around like a dark cloud. The thing is, it's not just our loss with Hunter either. It's all the stories of loss we have come to know that lurk and linger and haunt. Our innocence is gone in that we know too much. We've learned too much. We've experienced too much. Honestly, after you experience a loss and you become familiar with all the things that can go wrong, you almost feel like "How are there any healthy baby's born?". And that makes me so sad. As hard as it is though, and trust me, some days it feels nearly impossible, we are staying positive. When I start to get anxious, I just close my eyes and talk to my baby. Sometimes I just repeat over and over in my head "Healthy, growing, beautiful baby". Over and over. This is definitely the second hardest thing I've ever done. The first is for sure burying Hunter. But making the choice to try again....so hard. If there's a day where I wake up and I'm not quite as nauseous as I was the previous day, it freaks me out. That's how crazy I am! This is the second major test of faith. I pray every day, every minute for the opportunity to keep this baby. I fight back that little voice that whispers "You prayed for Hunter, and look how that turned out." At the end of the day, all I can do is give it to God. For whatever eternal reason, Hunter was not  meant to live beyond his miraculous hour and forty minutes (which truth be told, I feel like was for US then for Hunter). I have to have that same faith that no matter what happens, with anything in my life, it all happens according to His divine plan. So I will do all that I can, and hand the rest over to Him. I'm going to talk about my baby's future, the future of this pregnancy, regardless of that nagging feeling that I'm jinxing everything. Because this baby deserves to know how much he or she was loved from the beginning. Not how scared or nervous mommy and daddy were. I'm going to envision a long, healthy pregnancy, and count the days until I get to have a beautiful, joyous birth experience and welcome this amazing little person into the world. I know we will have bumps and hiccups in the road. I'm only discovering the tip of the emotional iceberg here. Being pregnant again has me missing my son in a while new way, and has me mourning and celebrating him in a whole new way. It really is a new path on the road of mourning and loss, and it has to be traveled. Ultimately, I think we will be healed in ways we cannot even begin to imagine, but we will have our share of tears and heartache and anger along the way. All I know is this: my love for my children knows no bounds or limits. Children. I have CHILDREN. Plural. Two. Two beautiful, sweet babies. My arms ache for them both, and I am so looking forward to August, when *hopefully* these empty arms will be filled. Not hopefully. They WILL be. (Positive thinking folks, it's a must in situations like these.)