19 Weeks

Several weeks ago, when I was about 13 weeks along, a friend of the family said, "Well, you've made it further than you did with the twins," as a she gave me a smile.

The look on my face was probably one of dismay; possibly even annoyance.

For some reason, I think people around us only had a vague idea of the previous pregnancy, and the assumption has been that the twins were born, and lost, much earlier in our pregnancy than they were. Which also leaves me to wonder if they realize that my children were born alive.

Yes, by far, most pregnancies are lost in the first 12 weeks. But that was not the case for us. We were nearly halfway through the pregnancy -- 19 weeks, 2 days -- when I delivered.

Today, as I write this, I am 19 weeks, 1 day in this pregnancy. And there are so many moments when I can't seem to catch my breath. I can still feel those first contractions. I still see the look on my doctor's face when she realized I was in labor. And of course, I'll never forget having to say goodbye. I find myself reliving that day with near constant frequency as we approach that milestone in this pregnancy. I'm equally anxious that something will go wrong again.

These fears have not been eased. A week ago, I found out I needed to get a dental procedure done. It is the same procedure I had done three days before I went into labor with the twins. Then, a few days ago, I started getting heart palpitations, that started getting more severe and frequent as we headed into the weekend (which I got checked-out, and were apparently due to low potassium).

Things were just feeling "wrong" all over again.

In fairness, this entire pregnancy has been one of trepidation. I found myself, especially early in the pregnancy, saying things to my husband like, "If this pregnancy goes well..." and "Assuming this baby makes it..." I couldn't let my verbiage portray confidence -- because I wasn't.

I hate that my framework for pregnancy has changed so much that I can't feel or sound like a 'normal' excited mother-to-be. I know too much about how badly it can go, and I'm forever trying to prepare for it -- pretending that it will somehow make me 'ready' for whatever may go wrong.

But instead, I still cry. I cry in the shower. I cry when I'm falling asleep. I cry when my husband hugs me. And I plead, in every moment of silence, with grieved desperation in my voice, "Please stay in there little one. I really want to bring you home."

Today, 19 weeks and one day, marks the day I went into labor with the twins, and tomorrow would be the day I delivered them. This will be, unquestionably, the hardest couple of days for me.

As it turns out, October is National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month. I didn't really post about it (here, or on Facebook). I'm not big on "awareness months." I live with that awareness every moment of every day. I don't need a month, or a day, set aside to talk about my children. I'll be doing it for the rest of my life.

And I hope -- so hope -- that one of those people I'll be telling will be Jasper and Bodhi's little brother. <3

It's A Boy -- Coping With The News

So, if you aren't a friend/follower on Facebook, you might have missed our announcement. Shilor Bean, as we've so affectionately called our baby this entire pregnancy, is a boy.

But now, I'm going to talk about something that will surprise some folks -- maybe even offend them.

Gender disappointment.

I've decided to talk about it, because I've been soooo open about both pregnancies. This isn't something I want to keep secret. So many mothers and fathers experience it. Gender disappointment is very common, very real, but seldom discussed. It's taboo, and we feel guilty for even having these feelings. So allow me to explain for those that may not understand.

When we got pregnant with our twins, my husband and I both expressed a desire for it to be at least one (and we'd be happy with two) girl. But I joked the entire time, "With our luck, since we want a girl, it'll be two boys." Sadly, we didn't find out til moments before her passing that we indeed did have a little girl.

After our boy/girl twins died, we decided to try for one more pregnancy. Again, I hoped for a girl. My husband did too.

I understood his dream. Daddy's little girl. In fact, just a month or so ago, he saw a picture of my brother and my niece going to a father-daughter dance, and he commented, "I hope I get to do that."

As for me, I don't even know why my desire for a girl was so strong. I didn't grow up a super girly-girl. Sure, I liked make-up, but I also liked running around in the woods and playing Army with my brother and his friends.

Still, I wanted the experience of raising a girl. Sharing wisdom only another woman would know.

Again, when we got pregnant, both of us still hoping for a girl, we joked, "It'll be a boy." So, when we went into the ultrasound last week, I casually mentioned, "If you spot any genitals, let us know." The tech went looking and paused the screen. Before she could even say anything, I saw that it was, in fact, a boy.

I did what all mothers do, and smiled. But inside, I was a bit crushed.

And let me elaborate. I wasn't mad that we were having a boy. But I felt a loss, a mourning, for the girl we had wanted. I also knew that this was our last pregnancy, so there was no thinking, "Well, maybe a girl next time." I, in that moment, had to say good-bye to that idea forever. And it was difficult.

It's hard, especially when I know that I've carried two boys, and one girl. But (fingers crossed) I'll only get to raise one boy. That's a lot of loss to take in, during that split second, when the tech and doctor expect you to be overjoyed with the news. And I felt that loss, not just for me, but for my husband as well.

Sure, it didn't help matters that literally 15 minutes before spilling the news, they shot me up with a good dose of progesterone. So for the next 24 hours I was weepy. Crying that it wasn't a girl. Then crying from guilt that somehow the baby in my stomach was already feeling my disappointment.

Finally, my husband got home from work, and asked why I was having a hard day. I whispered, "Just having a hard time with the gender." He asked me why, and I immediately had to turn around.. facing away from him. He wrapped his arms around me while I cried.

"I knew you wanted a girl too," I muttered.

"Yeah. But there's all kinds of things I look forward to with a boy," he replied.

And as only he can, he managed to make me laugh. "Don't worry. I'll let you put him in dresses and buy him dolls."

I cracked a smile and could finally explain my feelings. "I'm not upset that it's a boy. I love our son already. I think I'm just struggling to accept that we had one of each, but I don't get to raise them. All the dreams of raising a girl are completely gone. And I can't talk about it, because people will assume I'm ungrateful."

Thankfully, he understood completely. And I've felt better about it since letting it off my chest. That's why I decided to share it here. So other mothers (or fathers) struggling with this feeling, can know it's okay to acknowledge it. You're not a bad person, or a bad parent. We all have dreams that we have to adjust when life decides otherwise.

And what I know is, if my second born son is anything like his father, he's going to make me smile every single day. So, whenever I get stuck on those "girl dreams," I look at pictures of my husband as a child, and I so look forward to raising someone like that <3

Getting in the boy blue theme.