Here We Go Again…

Because I had now miscarried two babies, my doctor wanted to run some blood work on me to check for certain things: hormone levels, blood clotting disorders, etc. After what seemed like ten vials of blood were drawn from my terrible veins and nearly half an hour with the world’s best phlebotomist, Jackie, I was sent on my way to await the results. Luckily, I didn’t have to wait long. Two or three days after my labs, my doctor informed me that some of my blood work came back abnormal and she wanted to repeat again in three months. My progesterone level was low, as it had been with babies #2 and #3 (we supplemented) and my labs for certain blood clotting disorders was also abnormal. Uh-oh…I was a little terrified but my doctor assured me that it wasn’t anything we couldn’t work with so that Mike and I could become parents again.

Mike, Harper, and I moved on with our lives pretty much like clockwork. We were told that we needed to wait at least three months before “trying” for another baby so that is exactly what we did. As soon as I was given a time limit, my need for more children became ever present in my mind. Those were going to be the longest three months of my life.

We enjoyed the beautiful fall weather, the winning football season of the Cardinals, everything that the beginning of the school year had to offer, the pumpkin patch, etc. while we waited those three agonizing months. I repeated my blood work in October and everything came back normal. My doctor told us that now was as good a time as any to start trying again. Doctor’s orders in hand, that’s exactly what we did.

Now, as any mother or woman who is trying to get pregnant knows, it is not easy to wait the two weeks between ovulation and menstrual cycle to take a test. The hours and days tick by until the test can once again be taken out of its box and meet its destiny. Mike and I weren’t “trying” per say, but we were definitely hoping that we would be graced with two pink lines once again, and VERY soon.

The second week in November met me with a nagging feeling that our grand plan hadn’t taken shape. I was bloated, crampy, and generally not feeling well. Darn! Maybe next month would be “our” month. I know my body well enough to know that, before I start my period, I am met head on the day before with a ton of symptoms. I was due to start on Saturday, November 12, 2011. I woke up that Friday morning feeling….well….REALLY good. Something wasn’t right. Ever the eternal optimist, I grabbed one of the pregnancy tests from its box (I always have a pack laying around, just in case I or a friend needs one). I hadn’t told Mike what I was doing because, honestly, I expected to see only one pink line, but I wanted to be sure. Apparently, luck was on our side, because two pink lines appeared while I was brushing my teeth the morning of 11-11-11.

I woke Mike up to tell him I was going downstairs to start getting ready. He started to give me a hug when I told him, “Don’t hug me too tight; you don’t want to squish the baby.” His expression was priceless! I watched as his eyes turned from shock to surprise to sheer delight. He was the one that reminded me the day was 11-11-11 and that we would never experience this day again. He said it was fate. Fate, I guess, has a funny way of creeping up on us.

After that, the next few hours were a blur until I waited for my doctor’s office to open. I knew the drill: I had to call, they had to order a blood test which I would repeat each day for nearly a week.

At 3:00 that afternoon, I trekked off to the lab to have my blood drawn, knowing that I wouldn’t receive the results until after the weekend; what a nerve racking weekend that proved to be! I called my doctor first thing Monday morning and found out that my hcG levels were good, but my progesterone levels were low. She had already called in a prescription for a supplement and faxed over more blood work information. I was to repeat my blood work again that evening and two days later. Each time, my hcG levels were increasing appropriately. By the end of that week, she had set up an ultrasound appointment for me the week of Thanksgiving. YES! This was good news!!

Stay tuned for a PERFECT ultrasound story and the story of our Christmas season! Thanks for reading!

Grief and all that jazz…Part 2

After the official diagnosis of my Blighted Ovum in July, my doctor informed me that eventually my body would expel the pregnancy on its own. However, she suggested that maybe I undergo a D&C, a procedure to remove the pregnancy. This was an awfully big decision to make in a room filled with pictures of babies. I told her that I would talk to my husband later that night and call her office in the morning. I had a lot to consider.

True to form, I made a list of pros and cons. Pros to letting my body take care of things on its own: no invasive procedure, no anesthesia, no visit to the hospital. Cons to going the au natural route: it could take one to two weeks for my body to take care of things on its own, and even if it did, the chances of things being “left behind” were greater. Umm…no, thanks. I didn’t want to play the waiting game as to when my body would expel pregnancy #3. I also didn’t think it would be healthy for me to grieve the loss of this pregnancy now and then have to go through the grieving process again when my body “decided” it was time.

Mike was easy to convince. While he didn’t want to see me go through an invasive procedure (we did our research before making a decision), he also didn’t want to see me in pain for who knows how long. We made the decision and I called my doctor the next morning. My D&C procedure was schedule for Thursday, July 14, 2011 at Covenant Hospital, the same hospital I delivered our miracle baby and miscarried baby #2.

The few days in between our fateful diagnosis and my procedure were a nightmare, to say the very least. Not only was I dealing with the loss of my second pregnancy in less than six months, but I was also dealing with the fact that there was no baby there in the first place. I was in limbo in my mourning. Plenty of people were telling me that it should be fairly easy to grieve because there was never a baby, but my heart was breaking. As I’ve said before, this was still a loss for my family, and the second loss in less than six months. I didn’t even know where to begin with my grieving…

My husband was much more emotionally involved in this loss than the first. He was incredibly supportive and tended to my needs even if that meant sitting with me for hours while I cried and dreamed about what could have been. I was nowhere near finished grieving when I went to the hospital that Thursday afternoon.

I won’t go into the details that surround my procedure as my husband and I experienced some very personal things that day, but will tell you that it was pure emotional hell. I was walking into the hospital with all of the makings of a baby but no baby, and walking out without any of those things.

While I am good about putting on a brave face, there was no being brave in the days and weeks that followed this loss. I always tried to sound positive and upbeat when speaking to someone on the phone but would immediately fall apart as soon as I hung up. I didn’t go anywhere for weeks. I spent most of my time sitting in the same spot on the couch staring into space.

To say that I was depressed was putting it nicely. I was SEVERELY depressed. I really think that there is a permanent butt print in my couch from my backside. I would attend to Harper’s needs throughout the day but I always ended up in the same spot when I was finished. Thankfully, I was so good about putting on that brave face that Harper never suspected a thing. But when Mike got home, I would retreat to bed and sleep for hours.

I might still be sitting there if it weren’t for my husband and my grandmother. They both told me on a daily basis that I needed to get my ass off that couch and start enjoying life again (Their EXACT words!!). One day, I had a small epiphany, not unlike my first one with baby #2. God did have a plan for us and, while I couldn’t see it yet, someday I would know why He led us down this road.

When I finally decided to roll myself from the imprint left in my couch, I realized that summer had almost completely passed me by. I started doing things again: having a tea party with my daughter, sitting in the kiddie pool splish-splashing around, going on dates with my husband, generally enjoying life altogether. It didn’t hurt that August was quickly approaching and that meant the beginning of my school year, a time of the year that my brain was on overload with everything I needed to plan and organize, and not thinking about the losses of the past months.

While I will never forget my experience that hot July, I had accepted it and moved forward (not on, but forward, see previous posts). Our summer drew to a close with Mike coaching football, Harper returning to daycare and all of her friends, and my school year beginning with a brand new set of students. Life was good.

Even with life returning to normal and becoming ridiculously busy, I started to think again about our missed opportunities at more children and the plan God had for us. Maybe He saw that my husband and I were struggling in our marriage before baby#2 and again in between baby#2 and baby#3 and decided that we needed something to bring us closer together. Maybe He decided that I needed to be able to see my self-worth through the face of adversity. Maybe He wanted to make me a more attentive and better mother. Maybe He just wanted to draw me closer to Him. These are things that I will never know but have seen as a result of the losses of babies #2 and #3. Mike and I have never been closer and more in tune with each other’s feelings; I realize that I have a purpose in life and do mean something to people, strengthening my ever dwindling self- esteem; I am thankful each day for the beautiful blonde miracle that runs around here and spend more time with her now; and I have a renewed sense of Faith. 

I was now a mother of three: one blonde-haired, blue-eyed miracle and two guardian angels.

Just as I did with the loss of baby#2, I started thinking about my Grandfather. I remembered what a wonderful man he was and how excited he would get when he walked into a room filled with children. I again imagined him in heaven with my precious babies (I still count baby#3 as a “baby”). I could guarantee with unmistakable certainty that he was in all his glory with his great-grandchildren and watching down on us, most likely throwing a wink in my direction. I would blow him a kiss each night and tell him to take care of my angels as he took care of me.

I think that’s enough for tonight. Thank you again for reading and stay tuned for the greatest and most heartbreaking news of my young life.

This CAN not be happening to me…AGAIN…

The excitement that set in after the results came back from my bloodwork with what we now refer to as Baby#3, was uncontrollable. We had no reason to doubt that this was a successful and healthy pregnancy. My hcG levels were increasing at a rapid rate, I was experiencing every pregnancy symptom in the book, and I was starting to show JUST a little. NOTHING could have prepared me for what I was going to hear from my doctor on July 11, 2011.

Due to my ever increasing and high levels, the nurse estimated that I was somewhere between 10 and 12 weeks along….HOLD THE PHONE….this was now July and I had taken a test in May that came back negative. And I thought I had a period in June…or did I?! Ten to twelve weeks would mean we would have conceived….around our anniversary in May?! Oh man…I was never going to live that down. You see, we know the exact date that Harper was conceived…Mike’s 22^nd birthday – August 22, 2008. I had yet to stop hearing the end of that one….

I had an ultrasound appointment scheduled for sometime in the morning (the exact time escapes me at the moment). My husband wasn’t able to get time off work to go with me so I enlisted my best friend. I didn’t see any reason that I would need Mike there so I sent him off to work that morning with a kiss, a smile, and an “I’ll text you a picture later”. Instead, my friend and I had planned to have lunch and spend the day shopping, after my appointment, of course.

I arrived at the doctor’s office fifteen minutes prior to my appointment time with a VERY full bladder and a skip in my step. I had waited two years to be pregnant again. After a minor setback in February, today was the day I was going to see our next miracle (again, always the eternal optimist). Luckily, I didn’t have to wait long to be called back into that tiny, very cheerful room. One of the things that I had come to love about my doctor’s office, at that point, was that a lot of the exam rooms reserved for expectant mothers and parents were plastered with pictures of babies: on the walls, the door, even in the ceiling tiles.

The ultrasound technician got all set up while I prepared my belly. I made sure that I had a talk with Baby#3 that morning about not being camera-shy as his or her big sister ALWAYS was on “picture day”. The ultrasound technician got started and confirmed that by the position of my uterus and size of my placenta and amniotic sac that I was 11 weeks, 5 days. That’s about where the good news stopped.

Now, I’ve had my fair share of ultrasounds to know that, by 11 weeks, things should be taking shape. I.didn’t.see….any…thing…in…there…NO! That couldn’t be! My uterus is tilted so it’s harder to see. The ultrasound technician just wasn’t looking in the right spot. We just have to look HARDER….

I could see it not only in the ultrasound technician’s eyes but in my best friends. This was a pregnancy with no baby. All of a sudden, I couldn’t see anything at all. My eyes were FILLED with tears.

“SERIOUSLY, God?! Why are you doing this to me?! I’m a good woman; I am a loving wife and would give the world to my daughter. Don’t you see that? Why won’t you give me any more children?”

I know that to be mad at God made no difference in the outcome, but for a minute I had somewhere to place my anger because I just couldn’t understand what was happening and why.  The ultrasound technician took a couple of more routine pictures and then explained to me that I had a perfectly healthy gestational sac but that a baby never made it to the “baby” stage. It was called a blighted ovum. She took everything out to my doctor who scheduled an emergency appointment as soon as she could squeeze me in about an hour later. In the meantime, my doctor ordered some bloodwork to see if there was anything abnormal in my panel.

My best friend was a Godsend! She cried with me and comforted me. She held my hand and dried my tears. She helped me make a VERY difficult phone call to my husband who was unable to speak. How could he say anything? He was 40 miles away from me, at work, and HAD to finish his day. Not only that, he had a mandatory meeting that night that he had no choice but to attend, knowing that he would be leaving me to grieve another loss alone. Trust me, neither of us wanted that, but food had to be put on the table and the roof over our heads had to be kept. So, he told me how much he loved me, said he would be home as soon as he could tonight, and that he would call in a little while to make sure I was okay.

And then we waited for what seemed like the longest hour of my life. When the nurse finally called me back to ANOTHER room filled with pictures of babies, I was far from finished crying. I was able to compose myself long enough to get the official diagnosis…a blighted ovum. My doctor explained that a lot of times this is the body’s way of fighting off an unhealthy pregnancy. I know that she also explained other reasons this could have happened but, in all honesty, I stopped listening after that. I had already experienced an unhealthy pregnancy that ended in loss; WHY WAS THIS HAPPENING TO ME?! I had a dream pregnancy with my daughter, not a single complication. This made no sense.

After a very confusing visit with the doctor and a lunch that my best friend FORCED me to eat, I returned home. That very same best friend convinced me that I needed to help her figure out how to make some custom hair pieces that afternoon (I think she just wanted to make sure I was okay and didn’t have to spend the afternoon alone; I love her more for coming up with an excuse to stay with me). Thanks to her, I was able to laugh, even if just for a moment, and get my mind off the rollercoaster I had spent the day on.

When she left, however, my world immediately turned upside down. You see, I am VERY good at putting on a brave face, even in times of adversity and pain. So, while I could have cried my eyes out and leaned on one of a few people in my life for support, I decided it best not to and quietly fall apart later.

Here’s the thing about this pregnancy: when I tell people about it, some have reacted with “Well, at least there was no baby”. REALLY?! I don’t care that there wasn’t a baby in there; this was just as much of a loss as my first miscarriage, second baby. This was a chance for another child, baby or no baby. The thing about women is, when they see those two pink or blue lines, that immediately signals a bonding period for them with their pregnancy. This was no different. I saw two pink lines, or well, six pink lines (I didn’t tell you about the pregnancy test I took after we came home from camping, test #3!), and immediately started “feeling” pregnant. I started the bonding process…

Let’s get one thing straight: this was a HUGE loss for my family and I. To all of you naysayers out there, baby or no baby, this was a missed chance at another child. For the time being, please stop telling me that this was not a “miscarriage” because there was no baby, you really aren’t helping. This was just as painful as my previous loss and I still count that baby (or lack thereof) as one of my guardian angels. There is a reason that God didn’t give me that third baby. Maybe one day I will understand it, maybe I won’t. We’ll just have to wait and see.

To my best friend: I dedicate this entry to you. Without you that day, I wouldn’t have made it home safely or realized that sometimes things have to happen for a reason. Without you, I wouldn’t have seen even the smallest light at the end of the tunnel. Without you, I wouldn’t have had a shoulder to cry on while I waited for my husband. Without you, I would have had no one to dry my tears or ask difficult questions of my doctor. Without you, I would have been lost. I love you more for being there for me that day and every day since!

To all of my loyal readers: thank you again for reading and stay tuned! My next post will be difficult to write, and most likely, difficult to read. But you all keep me going.

Fourth of July...and a surprise

I absolutely LOVE the Fourth of July! I think it has a little bit to do with the fact that it is literally THE ONLY holiday during summer vacation that I can enjoy, and a lot to do with the people I enjoy it with. Ever since Fourth of July 2009 (a.k.a. Harper’s 1^st Fourth of July), a small group of friends and us camp for the entire weekend and do absolutely NOTHING! It’s bliss….However, this is not your everyday average camping trip. You see, we camp in a friend’s parent’s backyard….literally five miles from home. We treat it like any normal camping trip and take everything with us, but know that if we forget something, it takes ten minutes to run home and back.

We set up camp Friday during the day and spend the whole day lounging around the pool and indulging in board games and books. When Friday night rolls around, the real fun begins. The boys are home from work and camp is ready…now we can cook around a camp fire, share funny stories, and play telephone (one of our favorite childlike camp fire games, with an adult twist!).

This most recent Fourth of July (2011) was spent like many holiday weekends in the past: camping, reading, playing, and lounging. However, I had this nagging feeling something wasn’t right. I chalked it up to the fact that I was probably just coming down with something and vowed to enjoy myself to the fullest extent. Because of said “yucky” feeling, I didn’t enjoy any adult beverages the first night…ah…well, we still had two more nights there and I was sure I would feel better in the morning. That was the funny part of the “bug” I had suddenly come down with, it rears its ugly head in the morning. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right and spent most of Saturday sitting and/or laying in a chair reading the occasional good book and playing with Harper.

We were preparing our annual Saturday night pot luck dinner, when it dawned on me. This wasn’t just any “bug”: this was nausea, hot flashes, a stuffy nose, and tenderness in my chest. Wow, I was an idiot….here I had been thinking for nearly two weeks that I was just getting a mid-summer cold.

As my friends were enjoying their frozen beverages and a good game of Farkle (one of our faves), I decided to tell them how I had been feeling and why I thought so. I LOVE my friends, but they didn’t believe me for one minute….I was always that woman that thought every bout of nausea was a possible pregnancy. And, given what we had went through in February, and the people that had stood by our sides, my friends were afraid of my taking a test and being disappointed in the results. So…it took me about four hours to convince them that I wouldn’t be partaking in any frozen drinks until I knew for sure.

Here’s what I love about my friends….one of them had an extra pregnancy test at home “in case” a friend ever needed it! What a girl! We went to her house and grabbed the test that would eventually change my life for the third time.

The seven minute drive back to the campsite was the longest of my life. My husband knew I had left, but didn’t know why, and I wasn’t going to take a test until I could get back and discuss my suspicions with him. On the drive, however, I thought about how fun it would be to surprise him with possible good news. When we pulled back in the driveway, my friend went back to the campsite and let me pee on my stick in peace.

I hadn’t even finished doing my business before two VERY pink lines appeared….Uh-oh….here we go again! I think the same type of shock from baby #2’s pink lines set in times about a million that calm, warm summer evening.

My husband is no dummy….he knew something was up so he was waiting for me when I walked out of the house. There was no denying the surprise on my face, nor the smile. We were once again faced with an oh-so-familiar road….another baby!

Mike summed everything up in one simple sentence, shortly after seeing those defining pink lines we had been faced with twice before, “But….we weren’t even trying!!” That’s the beauty of my husband: he is Captain Obvious in his finest. Of course I knew we hadn’t been trying, but that was our plan all along.

Our friends know us better than probably anyone and while we tried, they picked up on something immediately. Of course, all of the girls knew what I had been up to so they swarmed me as soon as I walked around the corner. While we didn’t have much time to discuss our surprising news, we did make one decision: we weren’t going to tell anyone until we had seen the doctor. Let’s just say that didn’t happen. While we are good at many things, Mike and I can never keep an exciting secret for long. This secret lasted precisely seven seconds.

Our friends were, of course, thrilled for us! The entire night consisted of questions and answers we didn’t have and sheer joy at the thought of another baby to love and spoil. In all reality, the rest of the weekend was spent trying to absorb our latest news. Mike was THRILLED; literally, he couldn’t stop smiling. It was cute, really. I loved how excited he was at the thought of being a parent again.

I was really having a hard time believing that the line could show up that quickly and started to get skeptical about the validity of the test. So, because Meijer is open 24 hours and I wanted to be absolutely sure, four of us girls trekked to Birch Run around midnight. I bought a pack of two pregnancy tests, and twizzlers to celebrate. I decided to wait until morning to test again so we returned to the campsite, test and twizzlers in hand to enjoy the rest of our night.

The next morning, I couldn’t pee in peace. I think there were five big, and one little, bodies waiting anxiously outside the bathroom door. Yet again, wasn’t even finished, before those lines showed up. I couldn’t deny it this time….God had decided to give us another miracle!

After our relaxing weekend spent with people we love, we were forced to return to reality. Tuesday morning was spent trying to get a hold of my doctor’s office. Due to our loss in February, I knew she would most likely order some bloodwork and want to see me. Here was the thing…I wasn’t exactly sure when we conceived because I didn’t really have a normal period in June and I had taken a pregnancy test in May which came back negative. Also, I have a fantastic friend who is in the medical profession who convinced me that the quick (and VERY dark) positive would show up for one of two reasons: I was further along than originally thought OR we were expecting more than one! GREAT!!

As I suspected, bloodwork was ordered. I anxiously awaited the results and the sound of the phone ringing one mid-July day was music to my ears. The nurse had good news: my hcG levels were through the roof, like 12-13,000 and I was going to retest the next day. Hallelujah! I tested again the next day and yet again, anxiously awaited that phone call. This time, my levels were 26,000 and climbing. Uh-oh…twins?! That was the only thought running through my head because there was NO way we could have conceived earlier and I not detected it. Due to my increasing levels, my doctor ordered an ultrasound and checkup for the next week. YES! I was going to be able to see my baby and know that everything was fine! I COULDN’T WAIT!

Mike was ridiculously excited; I really wish all of you could have seen him. He was glowing more than I was and I was the pregnant lady! To celebrate our good news, he decided that he and I needed a getaway. We dropped Harper off with her grandparents and went on a Mommy & Daddy camping trip. Time to ourselves?! Really? And a WHOLE weekend?! WOW…..

We enjoyed ourselves and were able to bask in our latest news. Mike treated me like royalty and I was over the moon to be expecting a child again with a father that I couldn’t have hand-picked for our children, he was THAT good!

Our weekend was, of course, way too short and we returned once again to reality. We picked Harper up from her grandparents and went home. My appointment was on a Tuesday so I only had a few days to wait……a few days for something like this made me feel like a child waiting for Christmas. COME ON TUESDAY!!

Stay tuned for the story of an ultrasound and doctor’s visit that would change my life! Thanks for reading!

Moving forward…not on, but forward….

To date, blog entry #3 (Grief and all that jazz…) was the most emotional and hardest to write. I’m telling you this because I think it’s important that you know that these experiences have substantially changed my, and our, lives. Even though we are quickly approaching the one year anniversary of our second child’s passing, it is still incredibly emotional and I find myself on that rollercoaster every now and again (like the night I write said post). Hopefully, you will find this post much lighter and easier to read (I’m also hoping to be able to get through it without crying).

Before I can even begin to think about the healing process following baby #2, I must thank some very key people. I won’t name anyone by name, but I don’t know that I have ever personally thanked each and every one of the people that made it possible to heal.

To my husband, the most loving man I know – You are my rock and I don’t know how I could have done it without you! We not only created this child together, but also lived through its passing, and came out on the other end a stronger team. You convinced me that life was still worth living and helped me renew my faith. For that, I am eternally grateful. You are my partner in everything and I wouldn’t have God’s most precious gift without you. Also, I wouldn’t have a guardian angel without you either….I love you!

To Harper, my most beautiful gift – You are the reason I breathe and the reason I kept going when I felt like giving up. You put a smile on my face when there were tears in my eyes and love in my heart when it was heavy. You put a spring in my step when my feet didn’t want to leave the ground and never left my side when I was convinced I needed to be alone. You will always be my miracle baby and I’ll love you forever.

To my grandmother, a woman who survived three miscarriages and can still talk about it – To date, you are one of the only people that has been open enough to discuss these losses with me. You let me cry and be angry, all the while telling me that “This too shall pass”. Thank you. I love you a bushel and a peck!

To my family – Thank you for understanding when I didn’t want to leave the house or answer your phone calls. You were never angry, but VERY patient!

To my best friend – You heard the most of it….and still love me! You were my shoulder to cry on and my punching bag for when I was angry. You truly are the BEST!

To my dear work friends – You are some of the kindest people I know and I never have to worry about crying on your shoulders; you are always there. You made it easier to come back to work. Knowing I had listening ears waiting for me made the days following baby #2 bearable.

To my boss, a caring woman who never blinked at the time I needed to take off to heal – Thank you for allowing me to worry about me, and not work. Thank you for being a shoulder to cry on, if needed, and for offering me as much time as I needed.

To anyone who offered condolences, kind words, and sent prayers – You truly are a blessing to my life and I can’t thank you enough for thinking of my family in their time of need!

Now is as good a time as any to admit that I didn’t make it through any of the above without crying. Eh….I guess I’m feeling emotional tonight. I PROMISE the following will be much lighter (Well, I’ll do my best, at least).

Now, on to life after baby #2, loss #1….

Once I had made my peace with the loss of baby #2, life pretty much continued as normal. However, there was this tiny hole in my heart that was only filled by the thoughts of my beautiful child in Heaven.

Because our pregnancy was a quick one, we never told Harper that she was going to be a big sister. This made it a lot easier in the days following the loss of baby #2 because she didn’t have any questions that were difficult to answer. However, we have a very strong and sensitive child, who knew something wasn’t right. She never left my side and would spend hours sitting on the couch with me, completely content to just sit. For a child who had never sat still from the minute she was born, that was saying a lot. I loved that, with her, I didn’t have to talk. She was the one person in my life that didn’t want to talk about how I was feeling, offer condolences, or ask countless questions about how this could have happened. I owe a lot to that sweet little one and a half year old because, in reality, her silence gave me the time to reflect and heal.

But, I digress. On to the reason I am writing….moving forward. I realized early on in the healing process that I would never move on. I think that’s important for any woman who has been through a similar situation to realize….you will never move on. You will only move forward. And, that’s what I did. I moved forward with my life. For a few short weeks, life passed me by. It didn’t care that I was wallowing in self-pity and had no motivation. My life was still moving at the same speed it always had and I was missing most of it. So, I vowed to move forward with it. All the while, I never forgot our sweet baby #2.

Following baby #2, as a family, we were as strong as ever. Our faith was renewed and our marriage was rock solid. My husband and I really found each other following that baby. We had no one else to rely on but each other and we made sure to do so. Although we had always known that our precious Harper was a gift, we didn’t cherish the little things the way we did following baby #2. Instead of coming home and making dinner alone, I would include her in the process. Instead of standing at the sink staring blankly out the window while I did dishes, I would talk to her. Instead of grading papers while she was playing, I would play with her and grade after she went to bed. Not that we weren’t in tune with parenting before, but it always seemed that we were so busy and sometimes, if I’m being honest, Harper didn’t get the attention she deserved. Following that fateful day in February, Mike and I vowed to cherish each day with her and not let a moment slip past where we didn’t tell her how much we loved her.

We celebrated the holidays, big and small following the loss of our second baby: St. Patrick’s Day, Easter, our anniversary, Mother’s Day, and of course, Harper’s 2^nd Birthday. Harper’s 2^nd Birthday, to me, was even more special than her 1^st, given what we had lost in the meantime. We didn’t do it up as big as her 1^st, but we definitely did it in style. We celebrated with family and friends at our home, and boy, did that child get spoiled (mostly by us, but hey….she was our only one at the moment! Why not?!)! I think it’s safe to say that the adults had more fun putting together all the cool stuff that we didn’t get to play with as children, than Harper did actually playing with it. Her party was a success and, at the end of the day, we had a beautiful two year old sleeping soundly in her bed.

Guess what decided to creep up on me the night of Harper’s 2^nd birthday, precisely at 8:48 P.M? Ding, ding, ding…you guessed it - that ever present itch for more children. However, this time I was a bit more cautious, given everything my family had endured the past few months. Mike and I started discussing the idea of more children and leaving it up to God once again. Our doctor assured us that it was completely safe to start trying again. Well, not “trying” because we said we didn’t want to “try”, but not preventing either.

In the meantime, we also celebrated birthdays big and small as well as Father’s Day. And, of course, my favorite holiday: Fourth of July…stay tuned for more on that weekend in my next post (you won’t want to miss it)!

Thanks, once again, for reading!