Here it is, nearly time to meet our fourth child and third son, Syler. This time last year, we were in the "not trying but not preventing" mindset of another pregnancy, and a month later, I would find out we were expecting, which sadly ended in the first miscarriage I've personally experienced.
Just ten months ago, in early September, I was in one of the darkest times of my life, trying to deal with the emotional devastation of losing a pregnancy. I couldn't know what was to come, and thinking about becoming pregnant again seemed out of reach for some reason, but just two and a half months later, we learned we were expecting our rainbow baby.
This pregnancy has flown by, and now that we are in the last few weeks, things are really hitting me. There's been a fear in the back of my mind the entire pregnancy that something is going to happen to him and that I'll lose him like I lost the last one. Irrational, maybe, but normal, I suppose. When hours go by that I don't feel him move, I worry. Then I sit and feel his reassuring rolls and kicks and am overcome with relief.
Then I think about what it will be like when he's in the world, no longer in the safety of my womb. Will he have CF? Will we have created another child who must deal with all the crappy stuff that comes with having a chronic illness? It's nothing we can't handle, and it's nothing we aren't prepared for, but I definitely don't have a "ho-hum" attitude toward it. Just because we have two with CF and have been used to a life with the work that comes along with it does not make it easier to cope with knowing every child we bring into the world could have this disease. We pray and hope and have faith that God knows what he's doing, and we leave it at that. We are in no place to question His will, and even though it may be hard to accept at times, we must pray for that acceptance and know that understanding of that will may not come at all in our earthly lives. And we will still praise Him, no matter the situation, no matter the storm.
This isn't to say I'm not scared. I'm completely scared of being told Syler has CF. I'm scared of how life will once again change. I'm scared of the judgment we will no doubt face from those around us. I'm scared of my sweet Kyden being the only child without CF, who could grow up feeling like the outsider. I'm scared of once again having a child that my husband I could potentially outlive.
As much as I am afraid to face the reality of the possibility of CF, I am anxious to meet my son...to welcome him into the world and into our family...to see my other children interact with him...and to watch another miracle grow and thrive.
Syler, I can't wait to meet you, my little rainbow boy. No matter what follows, you are loved, so very loved.
Tuesday, July 15, 2014
Friday, April 25, 2014
A letter to the child I never got to meet...
To my precious angel baby,
It is the end of April, and I would be lying if I didn't say it has been a difficult month. Though I have rejoiced in watching so many friends bring life into this world and have celebrated with them, it has been a painful reminder that you would have been among those new lives. If you had stayed with us, you'd be days old. I'd be holding you in my arms right now. You'd have a name. Your sister and brothers would know you. We'd all be head over heels for you. I'd be so happy you were finally here. Would you be fair and blonde like your sister and Kyden? Would you have dark hair and dark eyes like Cohen? Would you favor your Daddy or look more like Mommy?
It's a bittersweet feeling. If you were here now, your baby brother Syler, the one who God sent two months after you had gone, would not be in my belly. He did not replace you, could not replace you, but he is a reminder that even after a dark and difficult time, there is a light at the end, a rainbow after the storm. I'm grateful to have him and feel more blessed than I can express, but it doesn't mean I don't still grieve over losing you. To others, this may sound selfish, or that I'm being ungrateful, but I know my feelings are justified, and that it's ok to miss you, even though I never met you. I don't question God for his ways, for his plans and purpose will always be greater than our own, but it's ok to wonder how things would be different. After all, God made us human. He made us feel.
My dear angel, I know you are in Heaven, filled with more joy and peace than anyone here on earth could ever possibly perceive or comprehend. You know more about God and Jesus and Heaven than any scholar or prophet could. You know no pain...no heartache...no sickness. You have all the answers to all the questions that could ever be asked. And I rejoice and take comfort in this, for aren't all these things more than a mother could ever humanly provide? You are loved, both here and in Heaven, and that is enough.
There will be plenty of opinions from others, whether they are voiced or not, who will tell me that I should be over it by now. Most of those opinions will be from those who never had to walk a day in these shoes. I don't think a mother can ever fully get over losing a child, and others may forget you, or that you happened, because you were here for but a whisper...a blink. But you were mine, and I will carry you in my heart until I reach where you are, and I won't have to wonder anymore.
Love Forever and Always,
Mommy
It is the end of April, and I would be lying if I didn't say it has been a difficult month. Though I have rejoiced in watching so many friends bring life into this world and have celebrated with them, it has been a painful reminder that you would have been among those new lives. If you had stayed with us, you'd be days old. I'd be holding you in my arms right now. You'd have a name. Your sister and brothers would know you. We'd all be head over heels for you. I'd be so happy you were finally here. Would you be fair and blonde like your sister and Kyden? Would you have dark hair and dark eyes like Cohen? Would you favor your Daddy or look more like Mommy?
It's a bittersweet feeling. If you were here now, your baby brother Syler, the one who God sent two months after you had gone, would not be in my belly. He did not replace you, could not replace you, but he is a reminder that even after a dark and difficult time, there is a light at the end, a rainbow after the storm. I'm grateful to have him and feel more blessed than I can express, but it doesn't mean I don't still grieve over losing you. To others, this may sound selfish, or that I'm being ungrateful, but I know my feelings are justified, and that it's ok to miss you, even though I never met you. I don't question God for his ways, for his plans and purpose will always be greater than our own, but it's ok to wonder how things would be different. After all, God made us human. He made us feel.
My dear angel, I know you are in Heaven, filled with more joy and peace than anyone here on earth could ever possibly perceive or comprehend. You know more about God and Jesus and Heaven than any scholar or prophet could. You know no pain...no heartache...no sickness. You have all the answers to all the questions that could ever be asked. And I rejoice and take comfort in this, for aren't all these things more than a mother could ever humanly provide? You are loved, both here and in Heaven, and that is enough.
There will be plenty of opinions from others, whether they are voiced or not, who will tell me that I should be over it by now. Most of those opinions will be from those who never had to walk a day in these shoes. I don't think a mother can ever fully get over losing a child, and others may forget you, or that you happened, because you were here for but a whisper...a blink. But you were mine, and I will carry you in my heart until I reach where you are, and I won't have to wonder anymore.
Love Forever and Always,
Mommy
Friday, January 31, 2014
Chasing Rainbows
December 7, 2013:
Had I not lost my previous pregnancy, I would be 21 weeks now, and I would most likely know if my baby was a boy or a girl. We'd be calling him or her by name. I'd be shopping and making plans. I'd be sharing pregnancy stories with my pregnant friends who are due within weeks of when I should have been.
Everything happens for a reason, they say. I know this to be true. For if everything above were occuring, I wouldn't be sitting here at this moment, five weeks pregnant with our rainbow baby, feeling more blessed than I can describe.
As I write this, I know no one would see this for some time. I am not ready to share our news just yet, not after being so naive before and never realizing that a miscarriage can, indeed, happen to anyone. No one is exempt. Until I see and hear a heartbeat and can see that tiny but incredibly alive bean on the screen, I will not be ready.
I didn't hear the term "rainbow baby" until earlier this year, before I was even pregnant with our angel baby, and I didn't realize the significance it would have in my life until after we lost it. A rainbow is a sign of hope and promise, the beauty after the storm. Our rainbow baby is the light and hope at the end of a painful and grievous loss.
The Bible teaches that we should always be in a state of thanksgiving even in the darkest, bleakest, and hardest of times. "In everything, give thanks," is a scripture I often remember when I'm feeling as though the world is out to get me. Someone, somewhere will always have it worse than I do, no matter what I'm facing, and I am so incredibly thankful for God's blessings in my life, from the "big" things like my family, my health, and His provision...to the small things we often don't consider like gas in my car, food in my cabinets, and heat in my home. God sent me a big, fat reminder to show gratitude when I got a positive pregnancy test on Thanksgiving Day.
December 31, 2013:
It is now the last day of the year, a new year upon us, and I am now nine weeks along, the baby not even as big as my heart yet but who has stolen every part of it. This past Friday, December 27, we had our first trimester ultrasound, where we saw our sweet raspberry-sized miracle, whose heart was fluttering away at rapid speed. The way babies are created and formed and change and grow is in itself miraculous, and no matter how many children I may have, it never ceases to amaze me. After this, we feel ready to share our news, and we decided to make it publicly known (in today's society, that means making it "Facebook official") on New Year's Eve.
January 31, 2014:
Now nearly fourteen weeks along and beginning my second trimester, I'd be lying if I said I didn't worry every day that something could go wrong and that we could lose our baby. Even though I have no history of pregnancy complications, and my miscarriage was a common occurrence, a fluke even, I worry. As morbid as it may sound, every time I go to the bathroom, I check for blood. Every ache and pain that is even remotely close to my abdomen sends me into a worried frenzy that something is wrong. I sound like a crazy person, but according to the many women who have been through miscarriages and even my doctor, this is completely normal.
I am currently in a state of limbo, so to speak, meaning that my first trimester symptoms have started to diminish (like the morning sickness, etc.), which was reassuring that things were normal, but I am not quite far along enough to feel movement from the baby, which is an obvious good sign of a healthy, growing baby. I have been tempted to buy a fetal heart rate monitor just to give myself peace of mind, but not only are they pretty costly, I also run the risk of not being able to locate the heartbeat myself, and then I'd be worrying (most likely unnecessarily) and be "that patient" who calls and freaks out to the doctor only to be told everything is fine.
It definitely did not help things when, at my last prenatal appointment three weeks ago, the doctor was unable to locate the heartbeat with the doppler. I know this is very normal because the absolute earliest you can detect the heartbeat with the fetal doppler is ten weeks, and I was just a few days past that. The doctor even forewarned me before he attempted it that it was very possible we wouldn't be able to hear it. But I still was disappointed and worried when he couldn't, and I shed some tears. Tears of worry for this little one inside me, and tears in remembrance of the grief for the one I lost just a few months before, whose heartbeat I never got to see or hear.
Next Thursday is my next appointment with my ob, where he should certainly be able to detect the baby's heartbeat. After this, I will be reassured again. I will (hopefully) feel more at ease. And in the coming weeks, I will wait patiently for the first kicks, and it will be indescribable. With every kick, every jab, and every movement, it will be as if my baby is saying, "Hey, Mom. Chill out. Relax. I'm ok."
Maybe then I'll feel a little less like a crazy person.
Had I not lost my previous pregnancy, I would be 21 weeks now, and I would most likely know if my baby was a boy or a girl. We'd be calling him or her by name. I'd be shopping and making plans. I'd be sharing pregnancy stories with my pregnant friends who are due within weeks of when I should have been.
Everything happens for a reason, they say. I know this to be true. For if everything above were occuring, I wouldn't be sitting here at this moment, five weeks pregnant with our rainbow baby, feeling more blessed than I can describe.
As I write this, I know no one would see this for some time. I am not ready to share our news just yet, not after being so naive before and never realizing that a miscarriage can, indeed, happen to anyone. No one is exempt. Until I see and hear a heartbeat and can see that tiny but incredibly alive bean on the screen, I will not be ready.
I didn't hear the term "rainbow baby" until earlier this year, before I was even pregnant with our angel baby, and I didn't realize the significance it would have in my life until after we lost it. A rainbow is a sign of hope and promise, the beauty after the storm. Our rainbow baby is the light and hope at the end of a painful and grievous loss.
The Bible teaches that we should always be in a state of thanksgiving even in the darkest, bleakest, and hardest of times. "In everything, give thanks," is a scripture I often remember when I'm feeling as though the world is out to get me. Someone, somewhere will always have it worse than I do, no matter what I'm facing, and I am so incredibly thankful for God's blessings in my life, from the "big" things like my family, my health, and His provision...to the small things we often don't consider like gas in my car, food in my cabinets, and heat in my home. God sent me a big, fat reminder to show gratitude when I got a positive pregnancy test on Thanksgiving Day.
December 31, 2013:
It is now the last day of the year, a new year upon us, and I am now nine weeks along, the baby not even as big as my heart yet but who has stolen every part of it. This past Friday, December 27, we had our first trimester ultrasound, where we saw our sweet raspberry-sized miracle, whose heart was fluttering away at rapid speed. The way babies are created and formed and change and grow is in itself miraculous, and no matter how many children I may have, it never ceases to amaze me. After this, we feel ready to share our news, and we decided to make it publicly known (in today's society, that means making it "Facebook official") on New Year's Eve.
January 31, 2014:
Now nearly fourteen weeks along and beginning my second trimester, I'd be lying if I said I didn't worry every day that something could go wrong and that we could lose our baby. Even though I have no history of pregnancy complications, and my miscarriage was a common occurrence, a fluke even, I worry. As morbid as it may sound, every time I go to the bathroom, I check for blood. Every ache and pain that is even remotely close to my abdomen sends me into a worried frenzy that something is wrong. I sound like a crazy person, but according to the many women who have been through miscarriages and even my doctor, this is completely normal.
I am currently in a state of limbo, so to speak, meaning that my first trimester symptoms have started to diminish (like the morning sickness, etc.), which was reassuring that things were normal, but I am not quite far along enough to feel movement from the baby, which is an obvious good sign of a healthy, growing baby. I have been tempted to buy a fetal heart rate monitor just to give myself peace of mind, but not only are they pretty costly, I also run the risk of not being able to locate the heartbeat myself, and then I'd be worrying (most likely unnecessarily) and be "that patient" who calls and freaks out to the doctor only to be told everything is fine.
It definitely did not help things when, at my last prenatal appointment three weeks ago, the doctor was unable to locate the heartbeat with the doppler. I know this is very normal because the absolute earliest you can detect the heartbeat with the fetal doppler is ten weeks, and I was just a few days past that. The doctor even forewarned me before he attempted it that it was very possible we wouldn't be able to hear it. But I still was disappointed and worried when he couldn't, and I shed some tears. Tears of worry for this little one inside me, and tears in remembrance of the grief for the one I lost just a few months before, whose heartbeat I never got to see or hear.
Next Thursday is my next appointment with my ob, where he should certainly be able to detect the baby's heartbeat. After this, I will be reassured again. I will (hopefully) feel more at ease. And in the coming weeks, I will wait patiently for the first kicks, and it will be indescribable. With every kick, every jab, and every movement, it will be as if my baby is saying, "Hey, Mom. Chill out. Relax. I'm ok."
Maybe then I'll feel a little less like a crazy person.
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