Where to go From Here....

It seems several months have once again gone by since my last post.  I cannot blame this completely on the sleep deprivation and adjustment to two kids, though that is certainly part of it.  But the truth is, I am just not sure where to go with this blog from here.  There was a time when I needed this outlet.  I needed to scream from the roof tops as loud as I could to anyone who would listen, to anyone who was brave enough to go to the deep dark place with me, I needed to pour my pain out.  I wanted to share my journey because I wanted to make a difference for others going through the same pain, because I wanted to help end the silence that surrounds miscarriage but more than anything I wanted to share it because I just needed to get it out for my own healing.  I needed it to matter.  I needed my babies to be real to someone other than just me.  And the only way I knew to make them real was to talk about them, to write about them, to share the intense pain I felt when I lost them.  I needed this blog for my own healing.  But not so much now.  I don't so much feel the need to scream it, but maybe just perhaps to whisper it now and then.  This blog was a journey through our attempt to have another baby.  We had our baby....so what now?  I have just not been sure where to take it from here.

The most natural place to take it is to where my life is now...mother to two young children.  I have not wanted to take it there.  Because I know there are people who read this who find it incredibly painful to read about mothers and babies.  Because they long to be mothers of babies, the kind of babies that survive long enough to be held in their arms.  For many of my followers their babies did not make it that far.  So how can I possibly write and share about my two healthy, living children when I know the pain that causes a mother who has recently miscarried and is still struggling to have a baby.  But tonight it occurred to me that maybe I can do both, write about my life as it is now and also continue to write about the pain of miscarriage and maybe sharing my life as mother to two rainbow babies will offer hope to women still aspiring to have their own rainbow baby.  Maybe I am just not sure where or what this blog will be now.  But if I just keep writing maybe it will just evolve into what it is meant to evolve into, of which I am not even sure yet.  So if you are still willing to journey with me, let's see where we end up....

My miracle rainbow baby is six months old today.  I feel such an intense love for her.  I am elated that our little baby is growing and changing every day.  I am sad that our little baby is already half way through her first year. This is my last baby.  I will never again rock a baby in the wee hours of the morning.  I will never again fall in love with chubby thighs and the giggle that comes when I tickle them.  I will never again feel the pride and joy a mother feels when her baby smiles, rolls over, crawls or does a dozen other things for the first time.  I will never hold her little body against mine swaying back and forth to lull her to sleep.  I will never nurse again.  I will never look into baby eyes so bright with wonder and excitement at this new world she learns more about every day.  And it is all flying by so fast.  I vow to cherish every moment.  But the moments come in the midst of every day life, hectic, busy and frazzled.  I cherish many of them, but I want to stop time and savor them even more.  I found a book that I gave to my girls for Easter this year.  It is called "If I Could Keep You Little".  It talks about all the things we mothers love about our kids when they are little, but all the things we would miss if they didn't grow up.  It is both a joy and a heart breaker to watch our children grow.  But oh how blessed we are to watch these little people grow up.  I once again remind myself that this time of getting up with a baby three and four times a night will soon end and I feel new resolve to just love these next six months of Vivienne's life, her last six months as a baby. 

And as for our little Riley.  What a stinker she has been the last two days!  Battles over clothes, hair, shoes, what cup to drink out of, everything...everything is a battle lately.  Today she refused to stay in time out and she kept getting out of the chair and running away from me when I would follow her to put her back in the chair.  She called me "yucky", told me she didn't love me anymore and informed we were not friends anymore.  Then she scratched me.  All this right after returning home from the Disney store where she spent her birthday money on new toys.  So a mere 30 minutes after returning home from our shopping trip, we were back in the car headed back to the store to return her new toys because girls who behave like that do not get new toys.  She handed the toys back to the cashier and told her what she had done and why she could not keep them.  We headed back home and she went straight to bed.  I then retreated to my patio to de-stress over a beautiful Spring evening and a glass of wine....only to have a little four year old join me before even one sip of wine had crossed my lips.  And what did I do when this little one who had pushed me to my breaking point showed up?  I decided another battle was the last thing she or I needed.  I cuddled her up in my lap, told her I was sorry we had such a bad day, told her we would try to have a better day tomorrow.  I then sent her to the trampoline to jump with her daddy.  I sat back, sipped my wine, and marveled at my beautiful girl and amazing husband playing together and I thanked God that even on our hardest days I can still hear the voice in my heart telling me that the best way to handle this feisty little girl is with love. 

I love you always and forever and no matter what.

Life After a Miracle

After years of disappointment, years of heartache and loss, years of unending doctors appointments, endless tests, searching for answers, years of hoping and praying, years of refusing to give up, after all this, on October 23, 2013 Vivienne Faith was born.  She is healthy and perfect.  I remember the moment she was born.  I covered my eyes, too scared to look at her.  It was so unbelievable to me that my baby had survived 9 months inside me and could really be here.  It was so unbelievable that I couldn't look, because if it was true and she was finally here, then it would be the culmination of years and years of sadness, grief, hope, faith and fight all wrapped up in one little miracle life.  If it was true and she was really here I would be unequivocally, unconditionally, head over heals in love with her and that terrified me.  Because I know that great risk comes with loving someone that much.  I heard my doctor firmly say my name, "Morgan".  I looked up at her through exhausted and hot tears.  She looked me right in the eyes and said, "Morgan, look at your baby."  And I did.  And I fell unequivocally, unconditionally, head over heals in love with her.  They laid her on my chest and in an instant I knew I would die for her, my sweet, precious, miracle, rainbow baby.  Were those tears I saw in my doctor's eyes as she hugged me, congratulated me and then slipped out of the room to see her next patient?

We took our little Vivienne Faith home a few days later.  She had a pretty serious case of jaundice and we spent the weekend holding her all wrapped up in a photo therapy blanket hoping she would not have to be readmitted to the hospital for treatment.  The jaundice got better over the next few days and those days turned into weeks and weeks into months...

Many quiet nights spent peacefully rocking her as I marvel at her perfectness, first smiles and first giggles and first times rolling over, cuddling up together for afternoon naps, nursing sessions that forge a bond between mother and baby like no other.  It is a fairy tale ending...a little bit.  But let me be the first to tell you that mothering a rainbow baby, two rainbow babies, is hard work.  It is the reason for my three month hiatus from blogging.  I didn't mean to take that long of a break but I am tired, no, exhausted.   I am adjusting to two children which I have learned does not double the work, it triples it.  I stay home with my girls so most days I am in sweats all day long.  I don't get to take showers or even brush my teeth a lot of days.  And it is all so complicated when you are the mother of a rainbow baby....you don't have the luxury of feeling overwhelmed by your baby....she is a miracle after all.  A miracle who you wanted more than anything in the world.  How can you possibly complain when your prayers have finally been answered?  The guilt of feeling so tired and overwhelmed was eating me up.  So back to my therapist I went.  And she tells me this is oh so common among mothers of rainbow babies.  Our babies are miracles.  Our babies were wanted and fought for more than most.  But they are still babies.  Babies who are fussy.  Babies who don't sleep.  Babies who spit up and poop all over you all day long.  Babies who generate an inordinate amount of never ending laundry.  Babies who change your whole life and leave you dreaming of just one night of uninterrupted sleep, just one hour at the gym, just one night out where I get to dress up and talk about something other than breastfeeding, diaper brands and sleep training, dreaming of the day I can drink just one cup of coffee all the way through before it gets cold, wondering if the day I will fit back into my skinny jeans is ever coming.  They are miracles but they are still babies.  We are incredibly thankful for and in love with our baby, but we are still just human.  We are still mothers of newborns and face all the same challenges all mothers of newborns face, but we face it with the knowledge that all this craziness almost wasn't and so we add guilt to our list of challenges.  The books tell you to let your baby cry it out if they aren't sleeping but you can't imagine doing that.  I didn't fight for years for this baby just to leave her alone in her crib crying.  The books tell you not to hold them while they sleep and not to nurse them to sleep.  But you can't imagine not doing the things that feel the most natural to you, holding and nursing your baby until she is peacefully asleep in your arms, especially after you worked so hard to get her here.  And you wonder if you are setting up bad habits and ruining her for life.  You treasure this baby so much and you want to break all the rules.  You find yourself doing a delicate dance between breaking the rules and just loving your baby to pieces and trying to still follow the rules a little and have a baby who the books define as "good".  

And it doesn't help that Vivienne was born into an atmosphere of chaos.  That's what happens when you are born 6 days after your Mimi passes away...it's a bit chaotic when you get here.  Your daddy is sad and grieving,  your mommy is trying to hold it together for the both of you, your big sister is adjusting to losing her Mimi and having a new sibling all at once...chaos.  This is the reality of life since Vivienne got here.  In many ways it is just like life when I was pregnant with her, a mess, but a beautiful mess.  Vivienne has terrible acid reflux (which is why she does not sleep well) but even so, she is the happiest little baby.  She smiles and laughs all the time, sometimes at nothing.  She is such a joy to mother.  Riley has adjusted and is turning into such a sweet big sister.  The days are a mixture of feeling tired, feeling overwhelmed, feeling like I'm never going to be the "all-together" mom I once was when I was mothering just one child and feeling my heart melt when Vivienne smiles at me, thanking God when Riley says something cute and then kisses her baby sister on the head and runs off to play, feeling like I just conquered the world when I take a shower and make dinner all in the same day and as of recently deciding to throw the books, the rules and the guilt out the window.  I nurse my baby to sleep, I hold her for naps sometimes, I go get her when she wakes up crying after she has been put to bed for the night and I let her sleep in my arms while Jason and I talk or watch a movie.  I put her in her car seat and we drive around while she sleeps and I drink my Starbucks, I slip her in bed with me in the wee hours of the morning and let her cuddle right up next to me.  It is pure heaven when you disobey all the rules and enjoy it and don't feel guilty about it.  A sweet little baby sleeping on your chest is always heaven.  This is so different from the way I parented Riley.  I followed all the rules with her (I broke them a little here and there :) but I tried to do what the books told me for the most part.  Maybe I will pay for all this cuddling later when Vivienne is two and still doesn't sleep through the night.  Or maybe it won't bother me, because that's the thing about rainbow babies, they change who you are as a parent and as a person.  They change your perspective.  They make you break all the rules and just love them.  Love them always and forever and no matter what.  Welcome to the world miss Vivienne Faith.  You were born into a family who is sad and grieving and messy right now.  You were born into a family that loves you more than you could ever imagine.  Thank you God for this crazy season of my life and the two sweet little girls who make it all possible.
  

Because pictures are worth a thousand words, Vivienne's birth story probably says it better than anything I could write. A link to it is below. My epidural did not work with her at all, not one bit.  So I went through pitocin induced labor with no pain meds what so ever.  It seems a fitting end to her journey into this world.  I had to fight to get her here for years, might as well keep fighting through the labor part of her journey too :)  And a word on birth photography.  This is a relatively new type of photography and we were skeptical to hire a birth photographer at first.  But ultimately I decided that our journey to have her (our story begins here if you don't know) was big enough that I wanted it captured.  It was the best decision we ever made.  I highly recommend birth photography.  You will never regret your decision when you see the precious moments that are captured when you have your baby's birth photographed.  I highly recommend Grassroots Photography

Vivienne's Birth Story

The Last Day I Will Carry You

I have carried you for nine long months.  This morning when I woke up it was the first morning in nine months I didn't have to get up by my alarm to take medicine at the right time, the first time in nine months I didn't have to give myself a shot this morning, the first time in nine months I just laid in bed with nothing I needed to jump up to do to keep you safe inside me.  I just laid there feeling you wiggle around, until I heard "Mommy, Come get me!" coming from your big sister's room :) Yes, I have carried you for nine months.  I can remember when we weren't sure I would even carry you long enough for your heart to start beating, when we weren't sure I would carry you past 16 weeks, when our goal was just for me to carry you to 24 weeks when you would be viable outside of me.  I remember being so surprised when I started feeling you move at just 16 weeks and how strong and frequent your kicks were that early.  I remember finding out you were a girl and the joy it brought my heart (I secretly hoped you would be a girl).  I remember surprising your Mimi and Papa with a cake that told them you were a girl and how happy they were.  I remember all the many ultra sounds that showed you were growing, developing, thriving and doing well.  So many anxious days, so many sleepless nights, so much fear that I would lose you,  so many desperate moments of checking to make sure your heart was still beating, so many needle pokes and bruises on my tummy, so many band-aids stuck to my tummy after a needle stick, as if they were a physical announcement that this tummy is broken and doesn't work so well when it comes to carrying babies.  Moments of joy, moments of sadness, moments of sheer hope and faith.  It's been quite a ride baby girl and it's almost over.  This is our last day to be connected to one another, your last day inside of me.  So bittersweet.  I won't miss many aspects of this pregnancy, but as hard as it has been, I will miss carrying you, your kicks, your rolls, a tummy big and round from blossoming life, the reality that against all odds I have a little miracle inside of me.  I will miss this part my dear one.  Very much.

It is still unreal to me that tomorrow I will hold you in my arms.  Tomorrow the hope and faith of you will become reality.  I don't know how I will feel when I see you...relieved, completely smitten as I was the first time I saw your sister, scared or just numb.  That is my biggest fear. That I will feel numb from the overwhelming emotion of the last nine months and especially the last week.  I want feelings that live up to the heartache we have endured to have you.  I don't want it all to have been for nothing,  I want joy and overwhelming love at the sight of you sweet girl and I fear I may not be able to feel those things because of recent circumstances.  Maybe I just still can't believe you are real.  I feel you.  I know you are in there but my heart has been hurt for so long, perhaps I have forgotten how to feel pure joy. Perhaps you will remind me.  That is my hope. 

This is the last day that I will carry you.  I will never again carry a child but because of you amazing baby I will end my child bearing days with sweet victory over this struggle.  Tomorrow I will see you.  I will know you. We will start our life together.  I can't wait to hold you, kiss you, feed you, rock you, sing to you, tickle you, see you laugh and smile, watch you grow up, walk, talk, play and grow into the amazing little girl God has destined for you to be.  I can't wait for Christmas mornings, notes in your lunch box, Halloween costumes, first days of school, late night cuddles when you are afraid, Saturday morning pancakes and cartoons, Friday night movies and popcorn, vacations on the beach, I can't wait for life with you.  You are life.  You come to us when we need you most.  You are our sunshine amidst the storm.  You are proof that God gives just what we need, just when we need it.  You are love.  You are a fighter.  You are our girl and a special angel watches down from heaven as you come to us tomorrow.  I can see her smile, see her tears of joy.  I can hear her voice and feel her hug me at the sight of you.  I can see her holding you, gazing with a look of pure love.  She would literally rather have died than for you to not have made it here.  She prayed for you and God answered her prayer, my prayer, so many prayers.  This is the last day I will carry you.  But tomorrow is the first day of your LIFE. Enjoy this gift that has been given to you, the gift of life.  Enjoy it, treasure it and honor God with it.  Be happy.  That's what she would want and that's what I want.  There is no pressure to live up to the standards of a miracle baby.  You don't have to do anything but just be you and be happy.  And though this is the last day I will carry you inside me, tomorrow starts a life time of me carrying you in my arms, carrying you through trials, carrying you in my heart the way only a mother can.  I will carry you forever and I will love you always and forever and no matter what.

Emotional Pregnant Lady - Party of One

We sit in church this morning and I sob so hard that the girl (who I don't know) sitting in front of us hands me a package of tissues.  A very sweet gesture and I gladly accepted one, but it was embarrassing none the less.  What prompted my 50th sob fest of the week...one of our Deacon's prayers during service for my mother in law.  I listen as he updates the church that Vickie is in her final days and will be going to heaven soon.  I think about my baby who is coming soon.  He starts to pray.  It hits me just the right way and the water works turn on.  This has been my life the past week, especially since my last doctors appointment.  Baby girl passed her bio with flying colors.  She's measuring great, 6 lbs 5 oz,  not too big, not too small.  I then sit and wait to see my doctor.  When she comes in she asks how I am doing.  She can tell just by looking at me how tired I am and then I go on to describe this pain I have been having in my stomach and how uncomfortable it has been (just muscles being stretched) .  So she says, "How do you feel about being induced?"  "Yes please.  Today please." I answer.  She says we can't do it yet but when I am 38 weeks we can.  I feel bad.  Is it awful to induce a baby early if you have no good medical reason?  What if she's not ready?  My doctor's answer is spot on...."After everything you have been through, why not?  No point in taking any chances.  She's ready.  You're ready.  Let's just do it".  October 23rd is the date she gives us.  Jason pulls out his phone and checks his calendar, "That day is good for me.  I don't have much going on."  I can't help but sigh and laugh a little...and gently remind him that even if he did have something going on he would cancel it...men :)

I feel relieved that our baby will be here in just 10 short days.  I even feel excited and happy.  But sadly, those positive feelings are hidden beneath a mountain of more powerful negative ones.  I worry that induction is not the right decision since we really don't have a good medical reason, I worry that she might not be ready and she will have complications after delivery, I worry about the effects pitocin could have on her.  I worry that I am taking this out of God's hands and putting it in my own.  I worry that Vickie will pass and Jason will miss our daughter's birth or I will be sitting in the hospital alone with my new baby while I miss her funeral. This is why I have been the most emotional pregnant lady ever.  The smallest things set me off.  I cry for no reason.  I think I am going crazy.  I try to talk to people about it but no one really gets it.  "Oh you are just hormonal and at the end.  Everyone feels this way at the end."  and then they go on talking about something else.  But no, everyone does not feel exactly this way at the end.  I  thank God for a therapist who has to listen to me (because I am paying her to :) and a husband who doesn't have to but does because he loves me.  My therapist asks me how I cope with such overwhelming stress.  I tell her I cry, I sleep and I shop...usually in that order.  She says that is actually a pretty good way to cope and I should keep crying, sleeping and shopping to my heart's content until my baby is born.  So I guess that's the plan for the next 10 days.

You may wonder why I agreed to be induced if I am so worried about it.  The answer is because I am just as worried about not being induced.  I do have gestational diabetes which is one good reason to induce early.  If I have her earlier Vickie may get to see her before she passes, another good reason for her to come a little early.  Really, I will worry no matter what plan of action we take.  But the thought of just waiting on one more unknown to happen all the way into 40 weeks is so daunting to me right now that I just can't help but want to be induced, even if it does scare me.  So this is it, the day I long thought would never come is fast approaching.  It terrifies me and excites me and elicits a full range of emotions all at once.  I am a ticking time bomb, just waiting for the tears to explode at any time.  But since I have professional approval from my therapist to cry as much as I want, that is what I will do.  I will cry this baby into my arms for 10 more days.  And I will keep sending up prayers that maybe I won't have to be induced or wait until 40 weeks...maybe, just maybe, she will decide to come early all on her own.  That is my prayer. 

I love you always and forever and no matter what.

P.S. In case you are wondering from my last post, I did finally get my new medicine, preservative free.  I started it about 5 days late and it was quite the ordeal learning how to use the weird contraption of a needle and needle dispenser.  The nurses couldn't even figure out how it worked.  In the end it was Jason who just grabbed it form the nurse, put the thing together in about 1 minute and said "There, that's how it works.  I will help you do it for the first time tomorrow.  Let's go."  (To anyone who knows Jason's father, does he remind you of someone??)  I guess 3 1/2 hours in the OB's office was enough for him.  So I am on my new medicine and though it still does not guarantee I will be able to have an epidural, my chances are much greater now :)

Beautiful Prayers

I sit here in my bedroom, fighting back tears.  Riley is down stairs watching TV, too much TV, but it is all I can do right now.  Just let her watch TV.  I am overwhelmed and angry.  I have to switch one of my medications this week, 36 weeks, because it is not safe to take it and have an epidural.  It could cause paralysis if I did.  So I am supposed to switch to one that is safe to take with an epidural.  I have to search and try five pharmacies before I can find one who has it and when I finally do the medication comes in multi dose vials that I have to draw myself, rather than the pre-filled single dose syringes I have been using with my old medicine.  I ask the pharmacist if these vials have preservatives in them as I know they usually do.  He says he will check and call me.  Sure enough, he calls me back later and tells me it does have a preservative that is not recommended in pregnancy.  I research it and the FDA clearly states pregnant women should not take this preservative.  I am so mad.  I have to check, check and check again all the time or doctors and pharmacists will just give you this stuff without a second thought.  So I refuse to take the medicine and have a call into my doc to get a script for the preservative free form of the medicine.  This could take days.  I will keep taking my old medicine until then.  If I go into labor in the mean time then no epidural for me, which actually seems like a pretty good idea right now.  Anything that poses a risk of paralysis to me and harm to my baby is just not worth the pain relief.  I have been through enough pain just getting to this point.  I'm sure I can handle labor and delivery without pain meds.  All this just makes me feel anxious.  I don't want to have to take all these meds and worry about them hurting my baby or paralyzing me...can't I Just have the baby now??!!  Babies born at 36 weeks do quite well I am told. 

My mother in law is in her final days the hospice nurses tell us.  7-10 days is what they expect.  A baby, a birth, a new life.  A death, a good bye, an ending.  All at once.  It is so much.  It overwhelms me.  I fear every day that I am going to lose my baby.  This past week has actually been harder than the last several months.  I am so far.  I can't lose her now.  The stakes are so high and so the fear is much worse.  I just want her here safe and healthy...now.  And I don't want to take any more medicine that could hurt my baby but "the benefits outweigh the risks".  Great, that is a lovely place for a mother to be in...this medicine could hurt your baby.  Yet, if you don't take it, you could lose your baby all together. 

I think of the lyrics to Amy Grant's "Better Than a Hallelujah":

God loves a lullaby
In a mother's tears in the dead of night
Better than a Hallelujah sometimes

God loves the drunkard's cry
The soldier's plea not to let him die
Better than a Hallelujah sometimes

The woman holding on for life
The dying man giving up the fight
Are better than a Hallelujah sometimes

The tears of shame for what's been done
The silence when the words won't come
Are better than a Hallelujah sometimes

We pour out our miseries
God just hears a melody
Beautiful, the mess we are
The honest cries of breaking hearts
Are better than a Hallelujah sometimes

This describes my prayers for the past five years, but especially lately, not so much words formulated into sentences and requests put before God.  But more desperate pleas, cries in the middle of the night (or afternoon while your child is watching too much TV).  Prayers come in the form of exhausted sighs, feelings that have no words to describe them, broken prayers that Jesus takes to God and makes perfect on my behalf.  I hope God really does love those kinds of prayers better than a hallelujah sometimes because He has been getting a lot of them from me.  What do you pray for when your husband's mother is suffering and has no quality of life...a miracle or mercy that takes her swiftly?  What do you pray for when your choice is to take a drug that may hurt your baby but if you don't you could lose your baby?  How do you ask God over and over and over to please bring your baby safely into your arms without starting to feel like a broken record?  I suppose you don't. And your prayers become formed out of "the beautiful mess we are and the honest cries of breaking hearts".  Thank you God, that you can turn my mess into a beautiful prayer. 

I love you always and forever and no matter what.

Being Carried in the Weakness

Riley and I have a new favorite song, "Carry Me" by Josh Wilson. I love it because it is about God carrying us through trying times, times filled with an unclear future and anxiety.  Riley loves it because it's catchy, because she likes to be carried, because I sing along so passionately as we drive along in the car and she gets a kick out of mommy's singing, or perhaps for a deeper reason...I don't know, but she requests it all the time and I am happy to oblige her...it is a song that is good for both of us right now.  All that I write in this particular post is not from my own mind.  I am paraphrasing some of it from our minister, Curt Spark's sermon this morning, but it just goes so perfectly with a truth I have been struck with lately that I had to share.  I just love it when God takes my own life experiences and truths He is revealing to me and then reaffirms them with a Sunday morning sermon, as if to put a final explanation point at the end of the lesson.

"My grace is sufficient for you.  For my strength is made perfect in weakness" 2 Corinthians 12:9.  I have heard many people say of a trying time in their lives, "I didn't know how strong I was until (insert trying circumstance) happened."  I have found that to be absolutely not true for me.  The truth is I didn't know how weak I was until I lost 6 children to miscarriage.  I didn't know how badly my heart could hurt.  I didn't know I could be the type of person who would struggle to get out of bed, or cry for the better part of my day, or withdraw from my family and friends.  I know it is not popular in our culture of self sufficiency where depending on someone else is viewed as weak, but the truth is I was weak and I was depending on someone else to carry me through.  No, I didn't know how weak I could be...but what I learned was how strong God could be.  I didn't know that in my weakness and suffering the perfect platform for God's strength was being created.  If I have shown any strength at all throughout this whole ordeal, it was not my own, but God's shining through me.  El-Shaddai is a name for God meaning "strong", "powerful" and at the sane time also "comforting", "nourishing" and "providing fruitfulness".  I have come to intimately know God by this name.  He is certainly El-Shaddai to me.  When there was no way, by His strength and power He provided a way.  When we thought life could never be produced between Jason and I again, He made us fruitful and created life out of the two of us.  When this world told us it was impossible, God made it possible.  If that isn't strength and power then I don't know what is.  And when I needed to be carried, during the long, sleepless nights of worry and anxiety, during the moments of uncertain futures and crushed dreams, during the times when my arms ached for babies I never got to hold and I just begged God to let me know if my babies were boys or girls, if they were blonds or brunettes, if they were lively and energetic little people or quiet and reserved little ones, all the things I would never know about them, I asked God to let me know them somehow.  The moments I doubted God and His word and His love, during those moments when I was completely weak, He was comforting me, providing for me and carrying me.

It takes a lot of faith to say all this, because it is written from the viewpoint that all has turned out OK at the end of this storm.  But we don't really know that yet.  I have six weeks to go before we will know what God's plan is for this pregnancy and this baby.  I still fear I will lose her.  Day by day I am learning to trust God more and more, but it's a process and I still struggle with this fear and anxiety.  Despite that fear, I am writing in faith that El-Shaddai is going to complete this good work He has started in me and deliver this baby girl to us healthy and safe.  I am writing in faith and believing in His strength and power and love and provision.  The thing I am most humbled by and most thankful for is this realization that I don't have to be strong, I don't have to have it all figured out, I don't have to have all the answers.  And we didn't have any of these things when we closed our eyes and jumped off the cliff.  I didn't know how strong God was going to have to be for me throughout this pregnancy, I didn't know what the right option to pursue was, do we do this treatment or that one, do we trust this doctor or the other one, there was no clear answer for us and we had no idea how to move forward to have another baby.  We did not have all the answers we wanted so that we could make that decision (We probably never would have.  There is just too much unknown in this world of fertility and unexplained miscarriages and the new science on immune related pregnancy loss).  We were so weak that our only choice was to finally, in a moment of desperate faith, throw our hands up in the air and give it to God, take the terrifying jump, not knowing exactly how we would land, but trusting that the landing place would be God's arms no matter what.  We had no answers.  We had no plan.  We just put or faith in a miracle providing God and jumped.  And we have been allowing Him to be our strength ever since.  We have been depending on Him to carry us ever since.  I have been asking Him to carry me and to carry my baby and to allow me to carry her safely for almost 9 months now.  In retrospect I see that God equipped me to act out the lesson before I even had learned it...it is only by God's strength that that is possible.

So I fully admit my weakness in all of this, in all of life.  And I praise the God who is powerful and strong and loving, the God who is my strength, my El-Shaddai.  I stand in awe of the miracle He is giving us.  The words of many doctors are seared into my heart, "There is nothing more we can do for you.",  "We just don't know why you keep miscarrying." and of the baby I carry now a doctor said to me in the early weeks when the pregnancy was struggling along..."It is unlikely we can save this one."  God looked down at us all and in our weakness He created our Vivienne and made the impossible happen.  "With man it is impossible.  But with God all things are possible" Matthew 19:26.

I love you always and forever and no matter what. 

Pink Walls

What says "welcome baby girl!" more than pink walls?  This weekend we were blessed to have several good friends come over and paint our baby's room for us.  I sat in the room today, the empty pink room. I looked around and just took it all in, the room, what the room means, the thought of who will soon occupy the room, the little blessing that makes this room necessary, and all the girly pinkness of it.  I felt happy, relieved to check another task off my ever increasing to do list.  I also was struck by the permanence of it.  There they were staring me right in the face, pink walls, a permanent mark on our house that will forever shout that a baby girl was expected for this room.  Sure, I can always paint over it, but the proof will be there beneath the surface never the less.  Her mark on this house, proof of her existence will always be here.  I feel sad and scared.  Sad that I can't just paint my baby's room and feel excited about it.  Scared that even now, with just 9 weeks to go, what if we don't end up needing a pretty pink room?  I can't help the tears that slip past my eye lids even as I write this, a mixture of joy, disbelief and fear.

My therapist once asked me at what point in my pregnancy would I finally feel confident that everything would be OK with the baby.  I answered her, "When she is born."  And this is the realization I have come to, pregnancy after a loss is hard, unbelievably hard.  Pregnancy after six losses is almost as hard as the losses themselves were.  You feel so much pressure to enjoy it and take in every moment because you know what a blessing and gift it is.  You know how many other mothers are out there hurting and longing for a baby, grieving for ones they have lost.  You know their pain and you know how incredibly blessed you are so you should be thankful, you should be happy.  And you are.  But you are also terrified.  You are stressed. Simple decisions like should I get the flu shot or not keep you awake at night, even though you know you should.  But you are scared to do anything at all while you are pregnant.  You lay on the couch and anxiously wait for your baby to start kicking.  You become panic stricken when she doesn't and then feel silly a few hours later when she is clearly learning how to kick box in there.  People ask how you are feeling all the time and you lie and say "oh good" or "I'm tired and have a lot of heartburn, but otherwise I feel pretty good" when all the while you only think about how emotionally hard it is on you and you know that is not what they meant when they asked the question and they are not prepared for the real answer to "How are you feeling?"  Most of all, you just want this baby here, safe and healthy.  You love that you are pregnant and carrying this little life but the emotional tole is becoming very heavy and you just want her here.  You want to look at your pink walls and only feel joy, not because you are expecting a baby girl to be sleeping in there soon, but because she is and she is here and she is perfect.

Pregnancy after a loss is hard and the more losses you endure the harder the subsequent pregnancies become.  It has taken me almost my whole pregnancy to learn this, something that can really be applied to many situations in life and that is this...It's OK that it's hard.  It's OK that I am scared.  It's OK that this is not the ideal pregnancy I hoped it would be.  It's all OK.  Accept it and embrace that this is the pregnancy I have, hard though it may be, it's mine and it's bringing a miracle into this world.  It has taught me faith and patience.  It has taught be to press into God and put trust in Him like never ever before in my life.  It has taught me what it feels like to step out of the boat and know my survival depends on Jesus alone and how to cling to Him with the smallest amount of energy I have left.  And it has taught me that the smallest I have is enough, enough for Him and He will fill the gaps for me.  It has taught me that one child does not replace another and that is how I know they were each so precious to me, each individual baby that was lost was a baby I loved and still grieve for even though I carry this one.  I know this now for sure.  And strangely this mess of a pregnancy is beautiful.  It is a mess of a mother who is scared and weak and weary, and hopeful and faithful and relentless in her pursuit of her dream.  It is a mess of tears and stress and sleepless nights and knowing it really will be a miracle if this baby survives nine months inside this crazy lady, and it is weeping tears of joy at the very thought of finally seeing her and holding her, it is thanking God for the little princess clad three year old who talks to my tummy and tickles the baby and sings her songs, It is the awe of seeing her on ultrasounds every week, it is the sheer joy that comes every single time I feel her move.  It's crying alone in a pink room, it's starring at those pink walls and slowly starting the process of tearing down walls of fear and sadness around my heart.  It's a mess.  It's mine.  It's beautiful.

It's OK to be sad.  It's OK to be happy.  It's OK to just feel what I feel.  It's OK that pregnancy is hard for me.  It's OK because God has removed the walls that stood between us and our long awaited baby.  He has removed the walls between defeat and victory.  He is removing the walls between my pain and healing and He has made pretty pink walls a reality in our home.  He has made this life, Vivienne, and whatever mess it makes out of me to get her here is just simply OK.

I love you always and forever and no matter what.