Where Troubles Melt Like Lemon Drops

We took a trip this week to the beach. 8 days of ocean and sun and rest. I was very anxious about going, with the current circumstances of life. But it was needed and so much better than I anticipated. It was good to be in a new environment, where every room in the house didn’t conjure up another memory of sadness. It was good to break routine, to need sunscreen everyday and have sand stuck all over my body. To nap and to read and relax. To simply have regular companionship and help throughout the day…

I’m always a last minute packer, and I always inevitably want my house completely clean for when I arrive back home. Not the best two things to be coupled together…. So the Friday before we left, I’m relatively certain I fell apart no less than 3 times crying over suitcases, laundry, and unmopped floors. But it all got done just like it always does.  

We loaded up bright and early Saturday morning, and I was braced for a loud and eventful car ride. Last year when we went to the beach, she woke up for all of 30 minutes. Knowing her the way I do, I knew there would not be a repeat performance of that this year….I love my baby girl more than I love life itself, but she does NOT love her car seat after about 30 minutes and she usually feels the need to let others know how much she isn’t enjoying herself. I had a bag of ‘goodies’ packed and prepared. It was really more like an arsenal for “Try this next!” But she surprised me, as she often does, and was mostly content for the entire 8-9 hour drive.

Magnetic letters & numbers on a cookie sheet= quiet driving :)

I felt the same quiet excitement that I always feel upon arriving at a vacation destination. Relief and anticipation. It was raining lightly and overcast, but as I walked out onto the balcony of our condo and looked out over the white sand and watched the waves rolling in, cresting white foam and filling the air with the scent of salt, I couldn’t help but be awed. I have seen this same ocean countless times throughout my life, but it doesn’t matter. It still screams the majestic artistry of the Creator. And the lulling of the waves brings a sense of peace to me, always. Even when it storms.

The first night we were there, I thought we were probably in for a week-long trial of poor sleep. Abi Kate, much like her momma, is a creature of habit. When she is ready to go to sleep, she needs her bed, her room, and her music. We brought the pack and play, which obviously can’t compete with a mattress. We brought her music….And I’m pretty sure this might make me sound like the crappiest mom ever, BUT… she totally slept in the bathroom connected to our bedroom the entire time we were there. Her pack and play filled up our room and honestly, she sleeps better in the dark without distractions (aka a closed door.) I was pretty sure I had reverted back to newborn days when she woke up every hour from 1 am-7 am our first night there.  I couldn’t blame her much. I never sleep that great when I’m away from home. She clearly did not prefer her bed or our bed, so I finally waved my white flag of surrender and got up at 7 with her. I know that’s a pretty typical wake time for most toddlers, but that’s an hour and a half earlier than she gets up at home… Coffee was my BFF as usual. I braced myself for naptime that next morning, but she decided to gift her momma with sleep. For every nap and every night after that. She still woke up about an hour early every day, but there were no middle of the night wakings or crying when it was time to go to sleep. So…. Sleeping in the bathroom for the win!

I was so excited to get her down to the beach that first day. She was only 4 months old when we went last year (holy cow), and I knew her experience would be so different this time. If you’ve ever gone to the beach solo as an adult and then later in your life packed up an infant or a toddler for the beach, then you know what a crazy long process this is. I remember last year thinking, “Good Lord it takes so blessed long to get her sunscreened, dressed, hat on, bag packed, get myself ready, nurse her…. “ by the time we’d get to the beach we’d be 30 minutes out from her next nap time. And while it still definitely took time to get it all together this year, prepping a toddler for the beach was way easier somehow. Maybe I was just better prepared… Anyway, we get down to the beach and it’s slightly overcast but still humid as the day is long. We sit down in the sand and she starts digging for all of 5 minutes. And a big ole truck starts driving by, blowing the whistle, telling us all to get off the beach for a tornado warning. WHAT?! Seriously. I thought my brain was going to explode. My immediate response was, “Can tornadoes even happen here?! How is this possible?!”  

Thankfully, it cleared up for the rest of the week. The sun was out in full force (I have the proof on my lily white burned skin), and the water was refreshing in the humidity.

 Playing at the Splash Pad by our pool

 Pruny feet-- the sign of a day well spent! 

 She took her first "ride" in the mechanical toys at the mall... NOT loving it.

 Out in the waves with Daddy

On our first night there, I texted two friends and asked for prayers for sleep. And minus the first night of Abi Kate’s all-night party, sleep came to me in ways that I’ve craved for 3 weeks. No hours of restlessness from racing thoughts, no dreams that replay the sadness over and over again. And with sleep comes clarity and renewal.  

Date night :)

One night, Tommy, Rachel, and I grabbed some chairs & drinks and went down to the ocean around 9:30. We were far enough away from the shore to stay dry, but close enough to feel the spray of water and sand as the wind blew. It was too dark to see far out and too dark for others to see my face. And the crashing waves drowned out our quiet, short conversation. At some point we all stopped talking and just sat there watching and listening. And the waves reminded me of a few things…

I have yet to be in the ocean since giving birth that I haven’t thought of labor. In Alpha, we teach about the mechanics of contractions-- how they follow a wave-like pattern strengthening as they go, peaking, and then slowly releasing. My midwife with Abi Kate referred to contractions as waves. She told me that when they came to “get on top of the wave and ride it down,” just like I would if I were surfing. But after laboring twice, I’ve found that what works best for me is to truly surrender to the power of the ‘wave,’ to let it crash over me and take me wherever it needs to. And while I sat in the sand thinking about this, I couldn’t help but find grief to be the same way. I have braced myself against the thoughts and memories, trying to “get on top” of them. But what’s been best is to just let grief be what it is…. Sometimes small waves that I can stand up through, sometimes ones so big that I’m not sure I’ll resurface. But letting myself grieve as often, as long, as light, and as hard as I’ve needed-- that’s what has been most helpful.  So I stopped fighting those memories and closed my eyes. And I went back to the moments before I was even certain that I was pregnant. That day while I juiced for us at lunch and the smell sent me running to the bathroom… I let myself think about later that day when I knew for sure I was pregnant, touching my stomach and saying, “Hi, baby. Mommy loves you.” I remembered as much as I could about each day all the way up to the present….and it helped.

It’s always bittersweet when a vacation comes to an end. I started my mornings like this at the beach….. 

I love Tennessee. I love its simple beauty, that we experience all 4 seasons here, that there are green hills and dark mountains in the east, that trees and rivers abound all across the state. But it’s pretty hard to compete with that view.

My sister said this week that it’s interesting how people try to “get away” from their lives by going on a vacation. But the truth is, problems and struggles follow you wherever you go. Destination doesn’t undo reality. And she’s right. Our present struggles found us 9 hours away in an environment completely different than the one at home. I wish the sand and sun did melt all sorrows--even they aren’t strong enough for that. But it brought a quiet reprieve, took the sting of the sadness, and allowed me to begin feeling a sense of normalcy again. Laughing out loud at jokes, enjoying good food and too much of it.

Tommy came to me one night while we were there and said that he did want to name our baby. We’d both been kind of torn on that, but I think getting away helped us make some decisions. So we spent some time on Father’s Day evening looking up names for her, searching out their meanings. We haven’t decided on anything yet, wanting to give her the name that is just right.

Home welcomed us back with comfort and with memories-- both happy and sad. But sitting on the couch last night, looking through the book of names, I recognized healing happening right here…. I think the Tennessee sun is hot enough to melt troubles, too.

One of my friends has been diligent to regularly send me scripture in the last few weeks. As I was reading through the chapter she’d messaged, I found myself crying, from bittersweet joy at this verse.

“…The Lord will guide you continually and satisfy your desire in scorched places and make your bones strong…” Isaiah 58:11

I can't find any beautiful words to describe how and what I felt. All I could think was, "Thank you, Jesus." 

What Loss Has Taught Me About Life

It has been two weeks since we learned that our baby was gone. 14 days doesn’t seem like a long time until you’re on the road of loss. I told someone the other day that it feels like walking on a road filled with rocks and shards of glass and you lost your sandals a few miles back. It feels like walking towards an unknown destination, with no particular end in sight. Every step hurts and makes you bleed, but then your feet start to toughen against the sharp pains and so the steps begin to feel less breath-taking, less raw. And you start to think you’ve gained some leverage and maybe you can just keep walking, but then one of those rocks finds a place on your foot that hasn’t toughened yet and it sends you reeling back down and it’s just as breath-takingly painful as the first step was. It is a hard road because there are constant ups and downs.

I’ve been a believer for 17 years, but this experience has made me feel like I’ve been a believer for more like 17 seconds. It has shaken the very foundations of my soul and made me come face to face with the reality of my faith in Christ. It’s put my faith up against a measuring scale to test it, to weigh it, to see if it’s true and accurate, and to measure how deep it runs. And I wish I could say that it’s been easy, that no questions surfaced, and that my humanity didn’t interfere with my spiritual certainties in this life, but I’d just be lying. It’s made me stop and re-examine the theological truths that I’ve held for years. And it has refined them.

I believe in praying specifically. It’s a large part of my testimony in Abi Kate’s pregnancy & birth. We prayed specifically in faith for things and against things, and every one of those things came to pass. We trusted that He would answer, and while I certainly had fears during that time, I clung to Matthew 21:22, that faith the size of a mustard seed was enough. He answered, and He And He was faithful. We approached this pregnancy in the same manner. Every single night, Tommy and I came together to pray over the life I carried, to pray for their health and mine. And one of the things I prayed specifically was that I would not miscarry this baby and that their little heart would just continue beating. And He answered…. I want to say that this didn’t throw me for a loop and that it didn’t make my heart fear, but again, I’d just be lying. It really made me consider what I believe about faith, the provision of God, and where exactly my faith comes to play in the perfect will of Christ. I was so grieved in the days that followed that as this spiritual battle ensued, I really struggled to make sense of things. This is one of those times that I was incredibly grateful for the gift of my husband and for the wisdom he offers. I also talked with a friend who has an incredible heart for the Lord, who possess a deep understanding of the things of Christ, and who understood my loss because she had walked this road before too. I have learned that it times like this, it is good to have spiritual truths spoken over me, even if I already know them and believe them, because they are reminders that hold my heart steadfast.  Some of the best wisdom I received from her was to be desperately honest with the Lord in my prayer life, to be honest with Him about my struggles. In the midst of grief, I was so afraid to be brutally honest because I feared where it might lead me. That it might take me down the road of resentment or anger towards God. So I hung on to biblical truths and told them to myself over and over again because they were healing. But nothing was as healing as being honest about my confusion to my Creator. It was liberating, and instead of pulling me towards human emotions, He pulled me in closer to His heart. I can’t say that I’ve felt angry at God throughout this process at all. I just haven’t. He is sovereign, so His will is right. I know it, and I believe it. But I felt such sadness that He hadn’t answered as we’d asked, confused about why He had penned this into our story, unsure about why He had delivered each request for Abi Kate’s life but not for the life of this baby, and fearful of praying in faith in the future. Her words have resonated in my heart- “I think God longs for us to be intimately involved in the daily ongoings of our lives and His role in them. But in the end, His will rules over us all.” It was such a simple truth, truth I’ve believed, but truth that I had lost sight of in the face of sadness. I’ve learned in these days that nothing will remind you of your position in reference to His Holy position as quickly as sorrow. It is easy to accept His will and walk in faith when the road is smooth and filled with blessings. It is harder to walk in faith when the road is bumpy, where there is little light, and it is filled with sadness.

 There are still many fears that sit near to my heart, but I try to remember my husband’s wisdom, too. I sat at the kitchen table one night in the middle of dinner and just cried uncontrollably while I told him my fears. He said, “Katie, this is faith…. We will just keeping trusting and keep praying earnestly and keep believing that He will answer those prayers. And we will know that He is in control and His perfect will will prevail… but we will continue to trust. We have to. This is faith.” So, as I’ve worked through this and processed it all, it has been exactly as Philippians 2:12 says, “Continue to work out your own salvation with fear and trembling.” Nothing will make your heart tremble as much as grief. Nothing makes a mother’s heart tremble more than loss. But I am thankful that Christ has brought me to a place in these hard weeks where I can say, that even in this pregnancy, He didn’t just give us an answer to our prayers, but He answered and He was faithful. Just like He was in Abi Kate’s. Different ending, same provision.

In the days after delivery, Tommy and I talked a lot about the way the Lord had provided for us in this situation, the ways he’d been faithful. The ways that He had prepared us and was holding us up. I almost didn’t go for that ultrasound, almost talked myself out of it and told myself I was simply being paranoid, told myself to wait until my scheduled appointment with my midwife that was just a few days away. But I woke up that Wednesday morning with great concern and couldn’t get a peace in my heart about my pregnancy all day because I just felt that things were “off” with my body. The years of Natural Family Planning had given me a great awareness about my body that would’ve been so easily missed otherwise. And miraculously, when I called the ultrasound tech, he was able to squeeze us in that night just 2 hours later despite his previous appointment. Tommy was able to make it home just in time for us to make that hour long trek out to his house. And because I knew ahead of time that our baby was gone, once the process of birth began, I was not afraid. I cannot imagine the fear I would’ve had when those contractions started otherwise, if I hadn’t known. I would’ve been in a hospital ER, having an ultrasound where I’d have to wait to hear the results from a doctor I didn’t know. And the fear of the unknown would’ve made the pain worse. That's horrifying for me to consider. Had I been in the hospital, it is almost certain that I wouldn’t have been offered the choice of waiting because I was past 10 weeks pregnant, but would have been encouraged to proceed with surgery with a checklist of reasons about why it was dangerous to wait.  But because of where I was and the midwife I had, she knew that it was perfectly safe to wait. Controlled risk and medical liability weren’t on her radar-- my health, my future pregnancies, and my need to see this journey from beginning to end were. I didn’t know what to expect in terms of pain, but I knew I had labored & delivered naturally before with a full-term baby, so I knew my body was capable of doing this, too. Tommy had the foresight to take off work that day even though we were still just waiting. My labor started and ended almost entirely during Abi Kate’s nap. She slept much longer than she normally does. I was incredibly thankful because I needed Tommy during that time just like I did in my previous labor. It would’ve been so much harder to have been alone or to have him splitting time between me & Abi. If I’d never labored & delivered unmedicated before, I would’ve struggled so much with the pain. I feel like I could keep going on about all the small things that made this road softer, but even in the unfolding of such sorrow, Christ provided for us. All those nights when Tommy had prayed over me, he had said the same thing, “We ask for these things, but we will make our will submissive to Yours.” We had no clue what depth that would hold weeks later, but even though God’s will wasn’t what we anticipated, He was still faithful to give us what we needed.

Loss teaches us a lot about life, but one thing that it has solidified in my heart without a doubt is that even in those earliest weeks of pregnancy, there is life. There’s no mistaking it, friends. We live in a culture of convenience. Sometimes it’s convenient for a woman to carry a baby, and when a baby is not convenient, it’s a "cluster of cells". It’s always baffled my mind how people could refer to a baby as a “mass of tissue” or “cluster of embryonic cells”, and yet that same person can cry and feel such sorrow if they miscarry a baby. And it is simply because there is life. And losing life hurts. It’s not the loss of dreams or hopes. I’ve lost those things before, and they don’t cause this type of pain, the ache that persists. We can call that life whatever we want to pacify ourselves and our needs and our “choice,” but I have carried, delivered, and held my baby at 39 weeks in my arms. I have carried, delivered, and held my baby in the palm of my hand at 11 weeks. And once you have lived that, have seen it with your own eyes, have held that precious being, there can be no mistake. There is no going back. There IS life, even in those early weeks. It is not a cluster of cells. It is not a mass of tissue that will turn into a human. It is a tiny baby, being knit together with distinguishable body parts just like a full term baby. I’ve seen proof of both of my babies’ vitality, their movements, and their strong little hearts beating rapidly on a screen even at the earliest of weeks-- at 6 weeks with Abi Kate and 8 weeks with this baby. And I have held both of their intricately formed bodies, tiny toes and little arms--one bursting with life and one that was quiet and still.  I have always believed that life begins at conception, but after this experience, I don’t just believe it. I know it.

I’ve learned that things don’t have to “be back to normal” and probably never will. I’ve received much encouragement in recent days, particularly from women who have experienced such a loss. For many of them, even though years have passed, they still cried when they talked with me about their babies. And they assured me that even all these years later, when they have all their children in their lap or in the same room with them, they still feel like there’s one that is missing. And that has helped me in so many ways. To know that they have carried those little lives with them all these years. They haven’t been forgotten or replaced as their families have grown. And even years later, these mothers still miss that tiny life that they carried, so much so that the tears flow when they talk about it. It is still difficult for me to be around other people because it all feels like pretense for me. I tend to wind up crying for several hours after being “fine” just for one hour out in public. And I still can’t talk about it in person. Writing is incredibly helpful, but speaking about it is just too much. There is a phrase I’ve heard used for years, and one that I wasn’t sure that would apply to me in this situation, but after talking with a friend she assured me that this would simply be a “new normal” for me. And I think she’s right. One day, it won’t be pretense to be around others.  And one day I will be able to speak about this. It will get easier. But there will always be a sadness when I look back, and that’s ok.

I’ve learned that even if one of your biggest fears comes to fruition, God is still present when you’re shattered. I was afraid that if I lost a baby I’d never be ok again. And while things will always be different from here on out, He has been faithful to begin mending that which is broken. And life keeps going. There may be dark and sad times, but I am not alone in my grief.

I’ve learned that this is why God designed us for other people, why in Genesis 2 He said, “It is not good for man to be alone.” And I believe this reaches beyond just a marital relationship. People need people. I know people who think they only need their spouse, their immediate family, and that’s it. An idea based around selfishness, fear, or just plain foolishness. I am social by nature, so my new longing for seclusion has been a harder part of this process for me to embrace. While I haven’t been able to be around others during this time, they have made themselves available to me, and that has made such a difference. I can’t count the number of emails, Facebook messages, texts, calls, letters in the mail that we’ve received. People who have just checked in, weeks later, to let us know we aren't forgotten & that they are there. And every single one has served to encourage my heart in some way (and if I haven’t responded to yours, please know it’s just gotten lost in the shuffle, but I promise I’ve read it. And I guarantee I cried when I read it).  It is good to not grieve alone, to have others share in your burden. It truly makes the load lighter. It was a blessing to share in the joy of this new life with others and it has been a blessing to grieve this loss with others.

I wish this were an easy process. That I could say I’d never doubt again or fear again. But that’s not true. I feel strong at moments in my faith and equally weak at other times of the day. I’ve shared the verse that was placed on my heart throughout pregnancy-- Joshua 1:9… And I have learned that I don’t have to feel strong and courageous. Scripture simply says to be strong and courageous. And never in scripture have I seen it referenced to be strong within myself, but instead to be strong in “Him and His mighty power.” So even though my pregnancy with this baby is over, the scripture that Christ placed on my heart so many weeks ago is still relevant weeks later. And the same God that was strong when I heard our baby’s heart beating remains strong weeks after it has stopped beating. So even though I am weak, I can be strong in Him.

I’ve learned that even though the circumstances of this life can shake you to your core, so deep that you aren’t sure the quaking will ever stop, that God is present in those moments. And the foundation that He lays remains firm and unmovable. I have prayed that this truth will overtake my present thoughts and my fears. That its truth will pour over me in excess, and I will soak up every drop.

And I have remembered, just like Christ revealed through Abi Kate’s birth, that He does make good on His promises, even in the face of death. A friend who has lost babies messaged me and assured me that one day I will laugh out loud again and that I would smile instead of wiping tears. And oh, how I needed that reminder. So desperately. Because I remembered that “weeping may endure for the night, but joy comes in the morning.” So we wait in anticipation for the day where we rejoice for this sweet, short life more than we grieve for their loss. We miss our baby every day, cry every day. But we wait in anticipation for the morning, because we know it is coming….

Even in the Darkness

Realizing a fear is hard. Having that fear to come light in your life is often more terrifying than the fear itself. In the midst of joy and excitement about our pregnancy, with my own anxieties lightly looming at the surface, my biggest worry came to life. We learned the day after my birthday that our sweet little baby, the one whose heart we listened to and watched beat, the one we prayed for and dreamed about…that same sweet baby was no longer with us. It was incredibly unexpected and the shock and grief that accompanies is almost inexplicable.

I will never forget that night, lying on the table. And as soon as he swiped the wand across my stomach and I looked at the screen, I felt it. I looked for that familiar little flicker, proof of vitality, and I hoped that I was just missing it. That my eye was untrained or that he was struggling to get a clear view. I could tell that the ultrasound tech was searching, and I finally stopped looking at the screen because I felt in my heart what he hadn’t said yet. I felt all of those fears of loss and tragedy becoming a reality in my life, and I felt all of those dreams we had slipping away, but mostly I felt the depth of loss creeping in, the loss of one you love.

We had planned for a home birth with this baby, so instead of being in a clinical setting, we were in the home of our ultrasound tech. And I am so grateful for that. Grateful for the intimacy and the warmth of a house where real people live, not just a place where people work and hand out good or bad news. He was so kind, so gentle, and so sincere. His words have replayed in my head for days, hundreds of times. “Honey, I’m sorry I’m just not going to have good news.” They’re like a CD that keeps skipping at the same part over and over again. But instead of a sterile attitude, it was much different. While Tommy and I cried on his table, he spoke to us of he and his wife’s own loss, he shared positive experiences after loss, and he told me at least a hundred times that this was not my fault, that there was nothing I did wrong or nothing that could’ve prevented this. He told me statistics and spoke to me about his own experiences-- that in the 400 scans a month he does, with his knowledge of chromosomes and their formation in pregnancy, he said it was simply a miracle that loss and tragedy don’t happen more often than they do. And while the statistics and reassurances of my lack of fault didn’t comfort in that moment, they’ve been a healing balm in the days that have followed as I have questioned myself and my actions. And instead of just the typical  “I’ll give you a moment,” he quietly walked out and called my midwife whose number he had in his personal cell phone and let her know so I wouldn’t have to speak it out loud yet. I spoke with her too, listened to the compassion in her voice, and knew immediately that even though this was not the ending we wanted, we had picked the right care providers, the ones that we needed. I couldn’t stop the tears from the moment that he spoke until the moment that we left. He hugged me before I walked out the door, and as I’ve remembered those moments-- moments filled with shock, and excitement turned to sorrow, I have been grateful for this man’s presence there with Tommy and I as we mourned. He was not uncomfortable with our grief, and that made a difference.

Before we pulled out of his driveway, we prayed. We cried out for ourselves and the precious life we so desperately missed. And even though I couldn’t speak much in that moment, Tommy did, and he prayed through his tears and his faith was steadfast. The car ride home was hard and filled with waves of sadness and grief so deep I felt like I would drown. And yet, there was God’s faithful hand in that moment too. Because when we pulled up in the driveway and walked in the door, utterly changed and different people than who we were when we crossed that threshold just hours before, there came a little girl in pink pajamas. Running to me and yelling, “Mama!” with a smile. And there was comfort in those moments, when everything else felt wrong and the heartache was so heavy I could hardly breathe, she was there too, this living proof of God’s provision in our lives.

Much like with birth, we felt that my body just needed time. So we opted out of any medical procedures and waited. The waiting was hard. Too difficult to explain.

It was my birthday the day before we found out. We had gone shopping all day, bought all sorts of summery maternity clothes for me to wear to our upcoming beach vacation. And even though this little life was no longer with us, I still looked pregnant. And that was hard too. My regular clothes didn’t fit and still don’t. But I ached to look at my maternity clothes, to put them on, because it felt like a lie.

But the waiting period ended. I had feared that I would be alone, but I was not. Tommy was with me. I will spare details because they are just too personal, and memories that only we share of our final moments with our precious baby. But again, I was thankful that I had labored before. I felt that God had prepared me for this moment physically. So when the pain began, it was more like a familiar friend. And because Tommy and I have labored naturally together before, he knew what I needed and what comforted me. They were painful hours, physically and emotionally. Unlike my previous labor that left me with a baby in my arms, this left me with what felt like a gash in my soul. But like my labor with Abi Kate, even in the midst of pain, there was a gentleness that prevailed. She was asleep for a good portion of the time, and her monitor was on in our room. And while contractions crashed over me and all the sadness that they brought, I heard the music playing in her room. "Blessed Be Your Name"--the timing of that song playing in that moment….The bridge, “You give and take away. You give and take away. My heart will choose to say, ‘Lord blessed be your name’….”   filled up our room during an intense few moments, and I knew that God’s plan was unfolding. The plan that we didn’t expect, and the plan that we don’t understand and won’t try to. And even though I felt alone and broken, I knew He was there. Even if I couldn’t feel it. While it wasn’t the ending we had prayed for, our pregnancy did end where it began- in the quietness of our own home-- and that is what we planned from the beginning.

I have been overcome in following days, by so many emotions and memories. The necklace that we ordered for Mother’s Day arrived in the mail the day after our loss, a nest with two little eggs to symbolize our babies. It hurt, to see the two and know that only one would share our physical home. But when we bought it, Tommy had suggested that we choose the birthstones for the month not that they were born, but the month that we conceived them-- because that’s really the moment that they joined us. And so, it was perfect, even though we had no clue when we ordered it that we would be without life when it arrived. Even though this baby will not share our home, they will always share our hearts.

The new breastpump that I ordered two days before will arrive soon, and with it will come deterred dreams, knowing that I will never nurse this baby late at night like we’d planned. And packing away the new maternity clothes, the cute dresses and shirts I’d planned to wear, that was hard too. Knowing that this baby will not make my stomach swell and my skin stretch... It is painful.

I teach pregnancy and childbirth. I am familiar with statistics and both processes. And yet, despite my knowledge, the questions arise. It’s just different when it is you and not someone else. I fall into this small statistic of loss. Less than 10% in fact. Having had a strong heart beat at 8.2 weeks, a correctly measuring, intact, and well-implanted gestational sac and baby. We are much more diligent about eating organic, whole foods now than we were 2 years ago. My house has been free of chemicals for over a year. I haven’t stopped taking prenatal vitamins since January of 2010. I rarely, if ever, take medication. Most people who know me know that I am a Nazi about my water intake, particularly during pregnancy. I had very few food aversions with this pregnancy in comparison to Abi Kate’s, so I ate much more often and much healthier foods. I continued walking for exercise during this pregnancy. And instead of losing 8 pounds in the first few weeks, I gained weight. For all intents and purposes, this was a healthier pregnancy than Abi Kate’s from the outside looking in. This baby was more likely to be healthier, stronger. I am young and I don’t fall into any risk categories of miscarriage.  And yet, against all odds of their health and survival, 11 weeks is all we received with this little one before their heart simply stopped beating.  It is hard to embrace and confuses the mind. I’ve always been afraid of miscarriage, simply because I know so many people whose lives it has touched and hurt. It’s one of the reasons why we wait to announce my pregnancies until a bit later, until my pregnancy is visibly obvious (which with both my babies has been sooner rather than later). In both pregnancies, once we reached double digits, I started to feel relief. To be a week out from completing my first trimester and to experience a loss-- we just never saw it coming. We were counting down the weeks until we went for a gender scan. Only 4 weeks away. Announcing a loss publicly was hard, and something I’d always hoped to avoid by waiting to share that we were pregnant. But in some ways, I was grateful that others knew about our baby because this little life was celebrated. Others rejoiced with us in their arrival and grieved with us at their loss. And it helped me to feel that even though I wouldn’t have tangible proof of this baby’s life, they were not forgotten. Their short little life was celebrated and welcomed by many.

From the moment I saw our still, little baby on the screen until now, Job 2:10 has run through my mind. “How can we accept good from God and not adversity?” Even though it hurts, I know that God is good and that is plans are not only right, they are perfect. And while this is what we prayed against, His way has prevailed. Throughout the process, we knew that His plan was reigning over us, but it is hard to accept. It will never make sense to me, and so I’m trying to be content with accepting that I will simply never understand. And that’s ok, because His ways are higher than mine. We don’t know why God chose to write this into our story. But we offer Him praise for giving us this life anyway. Psalm 139:16 says that he knows the number of our days before a single one comes to be. And while we thought our baby would have many more days, God gave them to us, in full knowledge that a few short weeks was the number of this baby’s life. And I am blessed to have been chosen to carry this little one, to love them, to be their mother. It is hard to offer praise in the midst of grief, but even if it feels monotonous, I choose to. To search for and grab hold of the tiniest fabric of praise. I have to. Because it heals my heart and I know that God is still good.

The thoughts of what if’s and fears for future pregnancies swirl close to my heart and mind. But in the midst of such sadness, I can’t give them too much thought or leeway. Otherwise they would overtake me.

It is cruel to experience such a loss, and for me, especially now that I am a mother. When I birthed Abi Kate, I birthed my motherhood. And so I approached this pregnancy differently than hers in some ways, simply because I was already a mother this time and I hadn’t experienced motherhood yet when I was pregnant with her. I loved this baby deeply, spoke to them and prayed for them, intimately connected to this life from the earliest of days. There were things I felt I already knew about how their personality would be, because I am a mother and a mother knows their child, even from the beginning. And now that they are gone, I know exactly what I will miss with them-- I know what it is to carry life for 9 months, to feel the love that labor brings, to hold a baby in your arms for the first time and examine their face, to learn who they are and what they like, to watch them grow, to nurse them and comfort them. I know exactly what has been lost with this child. So, we didn’t lose just our baby but our plans for them inside this family as well. It is an ache that is hard to describe.

I have known grief in my life, though nothing this deep and heavy. Sometimes it feels so encompassing that I feel almost hollow. And I know that it will take many more weeks than this life was with me to fully mourn their loss. That the lives of others will go back to normal quickly and mine will still be shattered and rocky.  That people will be talking about other things around me, but my mind will be fully fixated on the child I no longer carry. It is too fresh to feel anything other than sorrow right now, but I fear anger and bitterness. I know for some these are healing emotions. But for me, in any grief, they’ve only served to be what they are and have offered no healing-- just the stagnancy of frustration. It is so easy for me to turn to them, but I know they will do me no good. So I am praying against them, and longing to flee from them when they creep near.

This is not what we wanted. Not what we anticipated. Not what we prayed for. But I have seen the evidence that God was with us, lightening the load and giving us peace in these moments. Though it would appear to be a constant reminder, I feel blessed to teach in the birth community. Because these women understand how sacred the journey of pregnancy is and how valuable each life and experience is, even if it is only for a few weeks. They understand these things in a way most people, even most women, do not. They are not confused about why my grief would run so deep and last so long, why a week later the agony feels just as fresh as the day it happened. So to have them grieve alongside me has been like water for my soul. And the outpouring of love and prayers we have received from friends and family and acquaintances alike has touched our hearts. I haven’t even had to cook dinner in a week because others brought it to us. As a people, we often don’t know what to do or say when others grieve. I’m guilty of that. Some people say too much or the wrong things, but they are trying. Some people say nothing at all, and that’s harder for me to digest. It is such a unique, personal loss and grief that it’s hard to understand unless you have walked through it. And even then, we all mourn differently. But I am so thankful for the people who try, and mostly for those who’ve prayed.

In the hours before our baby was born, a sweet friend sent me a song, knowing that music ministers to my soul. A song I had forgotten about. It was on an album that I had listened to driving to work for months while I was pregnant with Abi Kate. It was a song I skipped every time it came on during that time frame because I was terrified of losing her. But this time, as I listened to it, it ushered in healing and comfort. It spoke to the truth that this baby, though with us for a short time and small in size, is now part of our lives forever, etched into the very fabric of our souls. That we will never “get over” the life and loss of this life, but we will carry them with us always. They will always fill the spot of our second child, the one who made our number 4 instead of 3.  “…I will carry you all my life… I will praise the One Who’s chosen me to carry you.” And because I couldn’t do anything else, this is the song I sang to our baby in the last hours.

We don’t really have good days yet. They mostly feel the same, and the crushing sadness comes in waves. But I know there will be good days in the future. Joshua 1:9 stayed with my heart during this entire pregnancy, especially in times of anxiety. It is so applicable now, and I didn’t realize in the previous weeks how relevant it would be. “Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” Even in the darkness, He is indeed here.

Three's a Party, Four's a Crowd

Yep, looks like we are moving to “crowd” status! Tommy and I found out a few days before Easter that we are pregnant. We are so excited to experience this again together and add to the dynamics of our family. We kept it a secret from everyone for the first few days, just us two knowing. That’s always such a tender time to me, when we are the only ones who know. :) We told our families on Easter and sent out these cards to a few friends, asking them to keep it a secret, too. 

P.S. They don't make SugarMamas anymore. They stopped in the 80's. Disappointing, huh? So we improvised. And then a week or two later, I just had this candy sitting out on my dresser and it's been SO long since I've eaten it, so I tried the Sugar Babies.... and after picking two little pieces out of my teeth for an hour, I decided that they make much better pregnancy announcements than they do candy. :p 

We actually wanted to wait a bit later to announce it publicly, but much like with Abi Kate, I couldn’t hide it well anymore. At 8 weeks, I had a visible baby belly and my pants completely stopped buttoning/zipping. My babies like to make their presence known. Welcome back, belly band. :)

People always want to know if you were “trying” or not, which is always really funny to me because that’s basically dispelling the secrets of your sex life. But I will sacrifice myself on the altar of dignity for inquiring minds-- our answer is yes and no. We knew we wanted to really start trying for a baby in the coming months, we’ve always wanted our children to be about 2 years apart, and we assumed it would take a few months to get pregnant because it took a few purposeful months to bring us Abi Kate. We use Natural Family Planning, so I chart and all that entails. In March, we decided just to forgo the charting, ignore any and all signs of fertility, and only have sex when we wanted to, no “trying” involved. We knew we could possibly get pregnant but didn’t think we would. In fact, I thought we’d probably missed the “window of opportunity” so to speak anyway. Clearly, this is the way to get pregnant very quickly.

The day we found out, I was kinda unsure about whether or not we were pregnant. All along, I hadn’t given much thought to it because I assumed it was unlikely we would be pregnant. As that Wednesday drug on, I started having all the same signs of pregnancy that I did with Abi Kate right before I ‘d gotten a positive test. In fact, when I was doing my makeup that day, I looked at myself in the mirror and said, “Oh my gosh. I think you’re pregnant!” You talk to yourself like that too, right?! I spent an hour or two going back and forth about whether or not I should get a pregnancy test. Honestly, every woman knows the number one way to start your period is to go spend 20 bucks on a test. I really just didn’t want to waste the money (cheap, anyone?!) But my curiosity got the best of me after I passed a CVS twice that day, so I ran in and grabbed one. This is not my first time buying a pregnancy test, obviously. It has happened many times within almost 6 years of marriage, but I swear I feel the same way everytime when I get up to the counter. I always think, “Please don’t talk to me about this. Don’t ask me if we want a baby, are we trying, don’t we know what causes this, or anything else.” And especially, since I had Abi Kate on my hip, I was expecting some fabulous commentary from the aging woman at the counter. She didn’t say a thing, just smiled and said, “Good luck!” as I was walking out the door. I guess that could go both ways. Ha!

Being me, I could not wait to test, so I ran to the bathroom. And this is what I saw the second I put it down…

 I knew it was possible, but I was still so surprised! I cried (happy tears) and laughed all at the same time, and said “Yay!” with Abi Kate who shouted it back in unison. I also can’t keep anything from Tommy for any amount of time. So I texted him and asked who in our family had a December birthday. He said he couldn’t remember, to which I responded with a picture of the pregnancy test and said “How about baby #2”. Romantic, right?! A text. I just couldn’t wait. So we celebrated that night and talked about how surreal it felt.

So far, this pregnancy has been similar to Abi Kate’s in a few ways. With Abi, I was sick from about 5 and half weeks pregnant all the way through delivery. It was pretty much round the clock nausea that lightened up around 20 weeks, but I still spent a lot of time near a toilet or sucking down peppermints to stave off nausea. I’ve been sick with this little one, as well, though not as heavily. It comes in waves and passes more easily. A lot of people have asked me if I feel like that means it’s a boy. I don’t. Being the worrier I am, I’m actually grateful for the sickness because it makes me feel like things are progressing. So, we prayed that I just wouldn’t be as sick as I was with Abi. I was really concerned about how I would be able to care for her if I were constantly plastered to the couch or the looking for the nearest bush to vomit in, which is essentially what I did during the first part of her pregnancy. Abi Kate is also still nursing and I was concerned about meeting a caloric intake to sustain my milk supply and sustain a healthy pregnancy if I were constantly throwing up. I honestly just feel like God has answered our prayers. I also feel like preparation makes a difference. Entering into pregnancy with Abi, I just assumed I wouldn’t be sick. Please do not ask me why I was laboring under that delusion. With this baby, I assumed I would be disgusting sick and lose weight like I did with her. I was prepared for it and already knew what worked for me and what didn’t in terms of treating nausea, or rather surviving it. Having a 1 year old also helps because I literally just do not have time to think about how sick I’m feeling. Sometimes that makes it harder, but many times it has helped keep my mind off of the physical symptoms, and I really think that has helped me cope with it much better than I did previously. I have fewer food aversions this time which is good since I’ve been a bit ravenous (nursing and pregnancy combined will do that to you). It’s an interesting balance, feeling so hungry yet so nauseated by the thought of food at the same time… definitely an experience.

What’s exactly the same is the fatigue. It is so heavy and thick, just like it was with Abi Kate. It’s always shocking to me how encompassing that tired feeling can be. I literally dream these crazy, vivid, deep dreams every time I fall asleep be it for 20 minutes or 7 hours. And I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck upon waking each time. I have had to take a step back from a few things, let go of some personal expectations, and embrace resting. Abi Kate still takes two naps a day and I am so thankful for that because I typically take advantage of both of those nap times and sleep. It means I am less productive in the daytime, my house is less clean, I have less energy to go and do things, but it is necessary. A lot of people believe in pushing through the fatigue, but I believe in listening to what my body is telling me. If it’s telling me I need sleep, then I need to sleep. Plain and simple. There’s a lot of theories about “fighting the fatigue”, but as long as there’s nothing pathologically wrong with me, my body won’t lie to me. I try to take advantage of the times that Abi Kate is awake to go for a walk or do physical activities (I did pilates with her the other day. That was exciting. Between her and the dog I became a human jungle gym). Occassionally, physical activity helps with the tiredness, but only lightly.  I’m grateful to be home during this time so I can rest as I need to.

I have also noticed that the snarkiness is already emerging….Oh dear. In pregnancy, I tend to be far less patient with adults and I tend to have far more opinions that I feel the need to offer up far more freely. Lovely combo, I know. The girls I taught with while I was carrying Abi Kate referred to this as “Pregnant Katie.” Well she has returned in full glory, and maybe even more in need of a muzzle than before. So, if and when you hear my snarky comments, you’ll understand.

 We had an early ultrasound at my request to check on baby. At the imaging center we went to, they offer only abdominal ultrasounds. At 8 weeks, a baby is visible with an external ultrasound but it is very small. At first, the tech couldn’t find anything and I was beginning to freak out on the table. Tommy said it was all over my face. She stopped and said, “I think baby is just hanging out really low.” And sure enough, there was sweet baby with their little heart flickering away. I carried Abi Kate very low as well--guess some places are just more cozy than others. :) What was so neat about this ultrasound is that the big black space directly to the right of baby-- that is actually a mark from where Abi Kate’s sac was. 

I cried when she showed me. It was so sentimental to me that I still carry the marks of Abi within me. And even more so that this little one has implanted directly beside her. Maybe it’s a sign that they will be close. :) She turned up the volume on the ultrasound and we were able to hear baby’s heart beating. It’s such a precious sound. Baby’s little heart maintained a steady 150 bpm during the entire scan.

I would really like to say that I’ve grown tremendously since carrying Abi Kate and that I am unconcerned and confident. But that’s not true. I feel equally as vulnerable in this pregnancy as I did in my first, frequently worried that I will miscarry this precious life that I already love. I feel like the worry has been harder to combat this time, though Tommy swears it was just the same with Abi Kate (I’m glad he remembers!!). I really had such a fantastic pregnancy with Abi Kate. She was always healthy, and minus the regular throwing up, I was always healthy. I was low risk, had a beautiful unmedicated labor and birth. And I guess I find myself struggling to believe that this could happen to me more than once. I know more people who’ve had tragedy in their pregnancies than those who haven’t, and that’s never far from my mind. I have to regularly remind myself that the health and success of my first pregnancy wasn’t just a lucky occurrence. It was a result of answered prayer from a faithful God. So, I am desperately trying to cling to that truth and walk in faith. This time period is always difficult for me, but diligence in my prayer life and quoting scripture helps dispel the fear.

I’m excited about this time because I love being pregnant. I know a lot of people want to be tiny and small throughout their pregnancies. I don’t feel this way at all-- just the opposite. I love the growing and those first subtle movements. It is such a sacred time and has proven so far to be a rich time of spiritual growth for me again. We are so grateful for this sweet life that will be joining us in December. If this baby is anything like their sister, they’ll arrive “on time”. Which means I’ll get to rock the “2 under 2” banner for about a month before Abi Kate’s second birthday. I think that means fun and busy times are ahead! It’s still bizarre to me to think of Abi Kate as being a big sister. I assume that will change the further along I get.

Our first appointment with our midwife is in 2 weeks. I can’t wait to hear that sweet little heart again. It brings such reassurance and excitement. And in the meantime, we are celebrating and thankful and puking and sleeping and all things first trimester-ish. This is the sweet stuff of life. 

Things You Should NOT Say To A Pregnant Woman

The news is out!! Tommy and I are expecting our first baby! We are unbelievably grateful for this wonderful gift that our Savior has blessed us with, and we are absolutely ECSTATIC to meet our sweet little one. It was a fabulous journey to arrive at this place, and one day I will share that story. In the meantime, I decided I needed to do the typical 'I'm Pregnant!' blog so I will remember all of these awesome days in the future.... Now, here recently, I have been 'graced' with MUCH advice, opinions, stories... you get the idea. What is it about pregnancy that makes everyone want to tell their stories?! What is it about pregnancy that convinces EVERY WOMAN that her pregnancy/labor/delivery/breastfeeding story is so awful (much more awful than everyone else's in fact), and BONUS! She wants to share that awful story with you.... what a blessing. *Are you detecting the sarcasm? Because if not, you're totally missing out....*

I have been very sick with our little one, but because I am such a worrier, I have been grateful for the nonstop rendezvous with the nearest toilet, trashcan, and the occasional bush. There were actually times where I said, "Thank you, Jesus" after completely emptying out even the most minute contents of my stomach.... HOWEVER, I have learned that if you were one of the lucky ones who were not sick with pregnancy, it is difficult for you to grapple with how it affects others. Or, if it has been a long time since your last pregnancy or you were only sick with your first and have since had 3 kids that are now all school aged, you might have forgotten what it was like to vomit all day every day. Now, I know this is not true for all women. My experience with these women has taught me this...

Lesson 1: Do not EVER suggest that sickness is just in the mind. Yes, I did have someone tell me that maybe I was just "expecting" to be sick. And if I didn't expect it, it wouldn't happen. Really?! Because I'm pretty sure if that were the case and I could just force myself to throw up, it would've saved me many tears & prayers that the good Lord would just let me puke as I laid on the bathroom floor many a night with a stomach virus that was initiated in hell. If I could've just, "expected" to be sick, I'm pretty sure I would've done that! I am not one of these people that can force themselves to throw up... I'd make a pathetic bulimic... seriously. Also, can I just mention that prior to pregnancy, I was laboring under the delusion that I would NOT be sick during pregnancy... Minutes before I was offered this little gem of wisdom, I had just puked up all my breakfast... If only I had known that I should just tell myself, "You're not sick," then maybe I could've held onto those chocolate donuts... just maybe.

Lesson 2: If you were sick your entire pregnancy, feel free to keep it a secret unless asked. The first thing people always ask when you tell them you're pregnant is.. A. When are you due? and B. How are you feeling? Since I'm honest, I just tell them I've been sick. This has been met with many stories such as, "Oh, honey! My friend was sick through her ENTIRE pregnancy. She threw up every day until she delivered." Awesome. Or how about, "Well, most people will say that it will stop at the end of the first trimester, but you'll probably keep throwing up for another month or so." Wow, friend. Thanks for the vote of confidence. I mean, I know that there are people who are sick the entire time, but seriously, let's shoot for a little bit of encouragement. If I happen to be sick with our sweet baby the entire time, you can bet that I WILL NOT be sharing this little tidbit of information with the new pregnant girl! If she asks, I will tell her. But I will not be offering it up. I mean, why rain on someone else's parade!?

Lesson 3: All labors & deliveries are relatively traumatic. There's no need to terrify people with your story. Ok, now I am one of those goofy naturalists... I know, I know. I believe pregnancy is a process, it's not a medical condition that needs to be treated. It's just my philosophy. However, I also know that you cannot bring life into this world without some trauma... I mean, you are BIRTHING another human being! Somehow, I feel like some people's stories tend to get worse the longer they tell them.... I mean, by the end of some delivery stories, it's like that delivery messed you up so bad they had to sew you a new vagina as the old one was labeled as "ineffective"... Honestly, less drama is best. Wow. I believe it was difficult, you don't have to convince me.

Lesson 4: Just because something didn't work for you, doesn't mean it won't work for me. This has ALWAYS been a pet peeve of mine, in a MAJOR way. Like, when people ask how many kids you want and you say, "Four" and they say, "Oh yeah, I used to say that, too. Just wait til you start having them, you'll change your mind." I'm sorry you changed your mind, but please understand that our life circumstances are different.... Just because you did it, doesn't mean I will. I have noticed that some people tend to lord over you an experience they've already had-- and OF COURSE, their experience is the one and only way it could ever be. I know I'm guilty of doing this at times, too, but I really make an effort not to do this. Here lately, this applies to me because, as I mentioned, I'm a fan of natural labor & delivery. Now, I am not an idiot-- I KNOW that I've never had a child before, so I have no clue what my labor might be like. I am not suggesting that I would NEVER have pain medicine or would refuse medical care which could endanger the life of my sweet child. But I do believe, that it is best for me and for my baby to do it as naturally as possible for as long as I can. This is why much preparation has gone into this for me already-- lots of books, classes, exercises, hiring a fabulous doula, making a specific birth plan with my midwife, planning to labor at home for as long as possible. I really haven't told too many people about this because so many people are TOTAL nay sayers.... Like, "Oh you just wait. You'll change your mind." Again, thanks for the encouragement, friend. Now, there are exceptions to this rule. My momma had a completely different type of birth than I am planning. But she has been VERY supportive of me-- and WHY?! Because she loves me and our baby, and she knows that there is more than one way to successfully birth a baby. Thank you, Momma!! Please teach others how to be encouraging like you!

That's all I've got for now... Though, I am certain that the longer I go along, there will be more awesome nuggets of wisdom....There's nothing like a major life change to bring out the stories of trauma... Of course, truthfully, I am grateful that the majority of people care about our sweet baby and about our newly established family. Thank goodness for those folks! :)

Here's the earliest peek at 'Baby G.'....