Happy All the Time vs. The Reality

Twenty two weeks pregnant. Baby T is kicking more every day. I can feel him getting stronger in there, and I think he's far more active than D ever was.
So I should be on cloud nine, right? I should be. I wish I was. Instead I find that the hormone phases are dragging me down, and I'm struggling with depression. I'm finally here and I'm depressed. It took an extra measure of push to make myself get out of bed yesterday, and not just because I was tired. I haven't hit the "I'm not sure I can get up" stage thankfully, because that's a bad sign, but this is a little step further than I've been in a while.
It only adds to the problem to feel like this should be a time when I'm incredibly happy and I'm not. It feels like I'm not appreciating it or I'm somehow betraying all the others who would literally give an organ to be in my position. I'm sorry. I really am. I want to be incredibly happy, but I can't seem to get there most of the time. I'm finally "making it", and I'm not enjoying all the moments.
I hate to live feeling like this. When nothing feels worth looking forward to, when each day seems like another thing to get through, when my patience for my son is short and I, in turn, am short with him. When tears for how hard it is are often near the surface.
A reassures me that I felt like this with D, which may not sound reassuring, but it reminds me that this will most likely pass, it probably won't be long term, or the beginning of a spiral. I know also that my previous hormone "swings" in this pregnancy have come for several days and then moved on, so I'm hoping for the same for this one. In the meantime, I'm realizing that I need to be a bit more proactive in trying to fight it. Hence this blog post - one creative outlet to try to process and diffuse some of the feelings, plus the crayons that came out last night to put some of it down in color. Back to decent bedtimes and more effort to get daily walks. Appointment with my therapist this week. Keep reminding myself that the light is coming. It will come.

It's not exceptional art, but its purpose is expression.

My promise to keep him safe, both inside and out, from the depression and 

anxiety that threaten.

According to my midwife, depression during pregnancy is not uncommon. Which doesn't really surprise me, but isn't something I've heard much about. If you're feeling depressed or struggling while pregnant, talk to someone. You're not alone. You're not broken. Bring it up at your next appointment. Your care provider can help you, even if you just need some tips for managing. And there are others out there who know what it's like and can give understanding and support. Also, prenatal depression does not make you a bad mother, even if it's trying to tell you that.

Joy and Pain

Before you read this post, go check out this one on our family blog. You've likely already seen it, but just in case.

Waiting...

You saw it? You know this already? A boy. We're going to have a boy! Two little boys in our family. It's awesome and great, and it's going to be so much fun, me and my little gang of boys.
But.

Aaron and I decided last year that we were going to try for one more baby, and then that would be it. The heartache of all our losses left its mark, and we felt we could handle maybe a couple more, but if we finally got to keep one, we would be done. We wouldn't put ourselves through that any more. After going through the early, anxious, on edge weeks of this pregnancy, that decision is only concreted.
I had to go through a grieving process after that realization. I had always imagined my family with four children, with hopefully a brother and sister for everyone so no one would miss out on those great experiences. To accept that two would be all was hard, but eventually it became the new "dream" and I settled into it.
Now there is a new grief. Because of this decision, I will never have a daughter.
There will never be a little "me" running around, never a little girl with my dark curls to charm her daddy, and capture her brother's heart. No frills and fairies and fluffy tutus. I don't have words to capture all of the idea that "little girl" entails that now leaves a hole in my heart.
When I was pregnant for the very first time, Aaron and I were in a store one day and passed by this adorable, melt-your-heart, soo pretty, baby girl's dress. We stopped for a moment to "aww" over it and dream together about being able to buy something like it for our baby girl when we had one, maybe this baby. We lost JJ shortly after, but that memory never left me and I always assumed that somewhere down the road would be my chance to buy that tiny piece of a dream for a daughter of my own.
But I won't. And my heart hurts. I'm crying over the baby girls I lost, and the one I will never have.

I know some won't understand this, and some might be critical of me for feeling this way. I should just be grateful to have a baby, shouldn't I? And I am grateful, but there is no "just" in this world. Feelings rarely come as singular entities. They bring their friends - companions from all the other experiences in your life that are tied to this one. I love every time I feel our little boy kick, and I'm so looking forward to when I get to meet him, to learning all about him and who he is, but I may forever miss the daughter I will never have. Joy and pain often go hand in hand.

Still Kicking

Just a very quick post to say, I'm here, I'm kicking, I'm alive. And so is Shiny I'm fairly certain. We're eighteen weeks now, and little flips, bubbles, and the very rare kick keep me going in my days, keep me smiling. It was a very anxious wait getting here. Once I hit fifteen weeks, I kept thinking like I should be feeling it, even though I knew it was pretty early, and every day that it seemed there had been nothing definite left me discouraged and a bit more wound up. The night after our church prayer group prayed over me that I would not be so anxious and that I would feel a definite kick - none of this flutter uncertainty nonsense - I was given a solid kick smack in the middle of my hand resting on my belly. What an amazing, incredible, joyful feeling. I'm so grateful for that kick, and for every movement I've felt since then.
Next week is our anatomy scan, and I'm anxious about that as well. Ultrasounds always make me nervous now. The movements help calm my fears that we'll see a still and gone babe in there, but I can always find something to worry about. What if Shiny has club feet like my nephews? What if something is out of place? What if out of all those measurements something is the wrong size? I'm trying to trust God with this babe he's given us, but that is still such a struggle for me.
In better news, we'll hopefully find out if Shiny is a boy or a girl! And, if you want to see a couple belly pics from sixteen weeks, hop over to our family picture blog, Monkey Shenanigans!

Steady On, One Day At a Time

I didn't realize just how long it had been since I wrote here. Certainly not one of my longest writing gaps, but in my current situation, it's a whole life time.
Just in case anyone is waiting in suspense - I'm still pregnant! I'm currently 9wk3d, and things look good. We've been having weekly ultrasounds and watching this baby grow has been amazing. There's been a few bumps in the road - Shiny (our nickname for this little one) was tucked in the edge making it hard to measure them, so there was a little while where we weren't one hundred percent confident that they were growing properly. But in the following weeks, Shiny has measured right on track, and has consistently shown a good, strong heartbeat.
There is also a small subchorionic hemorrhage, which means there is a bleed between the sac and the uterine wall. It's pretty common, but in the wrong place, or if increasing in size, it can cause miscarriage. That was a little unsettling to deal with, but it was never huge, and has gotten smaller since first found, so no one seems to be very concerned about it.

So Shiny seems to be doing fine and holding their own. I on the other hand have been up, down, and all in-between. I'm getting steadier, and I know I haven't been quite as terrified as I was with Sayuri, or even with D, I think. There are a lot of people praying peace into my life, and for the life of this baby, and I believe it's making a difference. I do believe the verses that say God knows how to give good gifts, and I'm trying to trust them, and trust in his goodness, to put to sleep my inclination to think that he plans to bring pain into my life "because he wants to teach me." I really don't believe that God chooses pain as his tool for teaching us, although life is not without pain, and there is much we learn through it. I just don't believe he intentionally brings it to us.
There have been many times in this pregnancy where unexpected kindnesses have come my way, like the stranger who asked why I was crying and gently reminded me to leave it in God's hands, and the never before received Easter card from my parents with crocuses on the front, a flower that will ever be tied to my babies; and times when tiny half-thought prayers have been answered, like when I knew 80 was my comfort level I wanted my hcg to be at and it came back at 81.6, and when after Shiny was not measuring properly and I hoped they'd measure 8wk1d at our eight week scan, just to know for sure they were doing ok in there, and that's exactly what Shiny measured. I have seen little touches of God throughout, and I am grateful for them and the reminders of his love that they bring.

This week is a bit of a hard one since this is the measurement Sayuri had when she stopped growing, so fear still comes and goes. We did request one more ultrasound because of this, even though the RE was going to stop with the last one. I know also that the disgusting nausea that I've been feeling could start to fade around this time too, so I'm trying to prepare myself for that and not freak out because of it. The nausea and exhaustion have certainly made my life difficult and my house dirty, but I'm so often grateful for it and the way it helps me to not worry as much. I don't remember feeling this sick ever before, so that in itself is encouraging (and makes me wonder if there's any truth to the idea that girls bring more nausea), although it leaves me not knowing what to expect since with D I had a "background" nausea through the whole pregnancy. Will I have this all the way through? Or will it give way at the end of the first trimester? I have no idea. Part of me wants it to hang around for the reassurance and part of me wants to feel better, especially since I know I'm not able to give D all he needs and deserves while I feel like this.

So we're all hanging in there so far. Shiny is still with us, A is staying steadily hopeful, D is excited about having a baby (girl, boys apparently not welcome), and I'm relatively sane. Most of the time.

Prayers I Breathe

Dear Jesus,
this is just me, trying to get through each day, desperate to hold your hand, to not give up on hope, to hold on to this life inside me. I'm praying and hoping and crying to let this baby live, to see a heartbeat, to make it through the first trimester with this little one still growing. It's different this time, and I'm just so hopeful, desperate for it to keep being different, to be able to hold this one, to cuddle them next to me, to see their eyes looking into mine, to watch for that first smile. I want this baby so badly, so very, very much. I believe you are doing a good thing, and I'm struggling with faith, with accepting that you do give good gifts, that your intention is never to bring great heartache into my life.
Save me from the fear that darkens my days, that works to draw my heart far away from all that is light and good. Show me how trustworthy you are, renew my faith in your love for me, your complete goodness. Oh, father, grant me peace, and this tiny, precious baby. Let this one be mine to keep. Heal some of the great wounds that have been left on my heart. Please, rework this idea that you bring pain in order to teach, because even though I don't really believe it, apparently I can't completely walk away from it, it's so branded in my spirit. But I truly believe you are more than that, greater than that, that you don't work that way. "Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone?"
I want to have complete faith in your love so that I'm not rocked by troubles that this world holds. I want to be able to rest completely in your presence without worry of fear for the future. Show me how trustworthy you are. How able to bring about good things. How you are willing to bring miraculously good things to me, for me. So many things you have brought me to trust you with - our finances, our home, our future employment - brought me there by showing me time and again how you've taken care of them for us. Please show me that I can trust you in this area, too. That I can trust you with this baby, that every positive sign of this baby's health hasn't been just a tease, the lead up to even greater heartache than it would have been without those things. Hold my heart so tenderly and carefully. Teach me how safe it is with you, how deeply I can trust you. Heal the wounds that have been left by the loss of so many babies before. So many "no" answered prayers. Oh, God, how much I want to walk forward with you, to be free of all the burdens my heart carries. I know that just having a baby can't make everything perfect, but I believe this journey, this pregnancy, can do so much good, learning to trust you again with each new day that I'm still pregnant and still afraid, still trying to learn your voice, to lean into it.
Carry me, father, as I carry this one. Bring us both safely to the hoped for end. Oh, won't you please? Please, Jesus.

Up and Way Down

One moment I'm feeling hopeful, even a touch excited, the next I'm fearful, skeptical, afraid to let the hope rise. I can't believe I'm here. I can't believe that this isn't just like every other time. But so far, it's not.
I'm pregnant, you guys. Pregnant with a possible future. This one isn't going to end at five weeks like so many of them have, or at least it really doesn't look like it. We did the first hpt last Monday, eleven dpo (days past ovulation), and there it was - so very, very faint. Like so many times before, I wasn't expecting it to go anywhere, so when we tested the next day and the line had barely darkened, I wasn't surprised. I called my RE's office to let them know, and they, of course, told me to come in for blood work.
Wednesday morning, we got up and did another hpt before I went in, and this time, the line had noticeably darkened. It wasn't what you'd actually call "dark" though, and I was still pretty hesitant to think that this would be any different from the times before.
Home and anxiously waiting for the results, I tried to keep myself busy and distracted, but of course, also looked up average hcg levels, and what the range was for 13dpo. It seemed like even 40 or 50 would be good, but I knew that I would still be very on edge and hesitant if that's what it came back. I decided that if it was at least 80, I would feel hope that this time might be different.
My phone finally rang, and I'm sure my heart was in my throat. The perky little voice on the other end said, "It's good. It was positive - you're pregnant! Come again Friday and we'll do the repeat!" Um... that's it? I know I'm pregnant!! That's why I called you! I didn't actually say that part, but was I was certainly surprised that it seemed that was all she was going to tell me. "Do you have numbers for me?"
"Oh! Sure I can give those to you. Just give me a minute to get them."
Oh my word. Yes! I need the numbers! lol
When she came back on the phone, she let me know that my hcg was 81.6. Just into my safe zone. I'm pretty sure, I just about started bawling. I didn't have betas done with most of my pregnancies, but I think it's a safe guess to say that I only hit that level twice before, and one of those was of course, my Bug.
That number and the continually darker hpt's gave me hope that the repeat on Friday (15dpo) would be decent. It was. 237 - almost tripling.

11-15 & 17 dpo

This is hard. The positive signs carry me for a while before I slide down again into fear. I had to do another hpt this morning and see the line be darker again, to help my mind move away from thinking that when I do this one more time tomorrow that the numbers will have failed to rise appropriately. Although, that's slowly leaking away from me, too. Apparently, my RE usually only does two betas if they're both good - I had to request this third one. What am I going to do after that? I have three more weeks before getting an ultrasound. Three weeks of trying not to analyze symptoms, three weeks of wondering if there will be pink when I wipe, three weeks of fearing that the ultrasound won't be able to show a heartbeat.
I'm laughing at myself a little bit as I go over this post. It started out as a "hey, I'm pregnant! It's scary, but a little bit exciting," and has now dropped into, "oh my gosh, I'm so incredibly terrified! I can't handle this! I'm sobbing."
Welcome to the next two months or more of my life. Hopefully.

It's Break Time

So I was gone from Twitter for a few weeks. I didn't really intend to do that, it just worked out that way. And honestly, it was good for me, because as much as I love Twitter, it can be kind of consuming and energy draining. I wasn't being tossed by the waves of ups and downs of two hundred other lives - although I know I missed some big events that I feel sad not being there for - there was enough waves in my life to deal with. I wasn't filling every spare second with catching up - although I'm so totally out of the loop now - and I had time to read several books, and spent my evenings with my husband instead of with him and a long list of people, many of whom I don't even know their first names.
Don't get me wrong - I love Twitter. These people have been there for me when there was no one else. They've understood me in a way that my "in real life" friends and family can't. And they allow a certain anonymity that grants the ability to share some of the dark spots and hidden parts of my spirit that few others get to see. They're a safe place.
So I love Twitter and the freedom I had from Twitter. Somehow I need to find a new balance, to keep the connections without letting it rule my life.
And I do have connections. At least a few. Part of the reason my absence was this long was feeling like no one missed me, and what was the point of coming back, if no one even noticed I was gone? But apparently at least a few did, so - here is why I took a break and what was going on with me while I was gone.

The why -
First, my phone broke over four weeks ago, the screen shattering when it was knocked out of my hand onto a concrete patio stone. We sent it to be fixed, but they keep having to wait for parts, so I've been completely without a phone since then. When we made a getaway to the cottage for a few days, there was basically only Boy's phone, so it just made sense to completely disconnect for a little bit. It was good and I just keep on extending the break, especially since my days seemed to be extra full. There were a few extra things on my schedule and we spent some time preparing for a visit with friends we hadn't seen in six years, and then, enjoying that visit! It was so fantastic to spend time with them again and meet their children that had been born since they moved away.

The what -
Before I left I shared that my older sister found out she was pregnant, which meant both my sisters were, building their families as they wished, and now, doing it at the same time, sharing something I might not be able to do again. I didn't think about the possibility of it being worse, but it was when she miscarried the next week. My heart was totally crushed to hear her pain, to know what she was going through, and especially to be so far away and not able to come and take care of her. And it was weird to feel this tiny bit of relief that my best friend and supporter now knew what I'd been through, even though I would have done anything in my power to keep her from experiencing that.

Next - I had realized that my timing had been off in this past cycle and there was a chance I could have gotten pregnant. I'd love to be excited about that possibility, but really I was just terrified. I'm so not ready to handle another miscarriage yet. And as an aside, I was worried about how to tell my sister after her just going through a loss. It's hard enough months later - the week after? OW.
So, I was in that place where everything is interpreted as a pregnancy symptom, and I was having trouble not freaking out on a daily basis as I got closer and closer to the time when I would find out. After having a big break down the day before my period was due, Boy decided we were going to test. I was so grateful to him. I couldn't bring myself to "give in," feeling like I was wasting a test, wasting money, being weak not able to wait until the next day when my body should tell me for sure. I needed that permission he gave to just do it and find out what the answer was.
When the test was absolutely, completely, unmistakably negative, I broke into tears. Sadness? Nope. Just relief. So much relief. I HATE that. Hate it. I hate that I'm relieved not to be pregnant. Not even a slight hint of sadness over it. I want to have a baby, to carry to term, to give birth. So so much. But far more times than not, pregnancy is only the beginning of a miscarriage for me. Being pregnant just means pain, heartache, grief. So, relief. I can't handle it again right now.

A few days later, my younger sister had her ultrasound and found out that she was having a girl. Her first daughter, the second granddaughter. So now both of my sisters have their boys and a baby girl. It made my heart hurt. I wouldn't trade my son for a whole handful of daughters, and I'm not sure if I can explain, but I've been waiting for my daughter since my first pregnancy. We've had two girls name picked out almost since we got married nine years ago. I'm not going to be able to use them both, and maybe I won't ever use either of them. I may never have a baby girl that I get to keep and hold. But there is nothing to do but say congratulations and try to be happy for her. So I did.
She made her Facebook pregnancy announcement that night with an album of bump and ultrasound pictures, each one an ache in my heart. One ultrasound picture was the announcement of the baby's name as well. Middle name is our older sister's first name. Dang, it still hurts. I mean, my older sister is fantastic, she deserves the honor, but it's just this permanent reminder that my younger sister picks her over me. That our relationship isn't awesome and she will probably never think me worthy of such honor. Even knowing she wouldn't likely ever use my name for a child, this conversation was probably the worst part of it all - Me: Congrats, again. It's a pretty name. [what else am I supposed to say, right?] Her: Thanks. I couldn't decide and I was worried I may never have another girl HA, [boys run in her husband's family] so we just used all of our favorites!
Ow ow ow ow. To give her credit, I don't think that she has any idea how hurtful and insulting that was. None of this is intentionally trying to hurt me. She's just kind of self-absorbed sometimes. Which isn't really that much better, but she's not mean, just thoughtless occasionally.

So. Normally, I'd have Twitter to share all of that with, but I just couldn't bring myself to piecemeal it the way I would need to to share it there, or to go over it multiple times, or even just the energy to write it out at that time. But life has been emotionally challenging, and there is more that I'm working through now which I'm not quite ready to put out there yet. Some time later this week maybe.

I'm so ready for a break. From emotional upheaval this time, instead of from Twitter.

Have You Thought About Stopping?

Had a recent online conversation that went like this:

"How many is this?"

"Five."

"Have you thought about stopping?"

I'm pretty sure it was said out of some level of concern for me, but really? The question is somewhat thoughtless, both the obvious "not thinking about how it might make me feel" thoughtless, and the less obvious "not thinking about the human body and how it works" thoughtless. You can't get to this place without thinking about stopping. FIVE miscarriages. Each one heart rendering pain. You know pain is the natural deterrent. Pain is your body sending messages to your brain, "Stop doing that!" That's why so many people think spanking is a good discipline option. They want to take advantage of the "avoid pain" function of the brain. So when you repeatedly go through something that causes pain, you at least consider the option to stop doing what is causing the pain. 

So, of course I've thought about stopping. Every time I lose a baby, I think about next time, and that it could happen again, and maybe I just shouldn't try. Sometimes, it's just a brief thought, sometimes it's a serious consideration of where I'm at and what I want. 

Way back when, I'd thought that four would be a great number of kids to have. I loved the idea of it working out to have two boys and two girls. Everyone would have a sister and everyone would have a brother. Perfect. This journey has made me question all of that. Maybe we will go on to have four, but maybe we won't. Maybe we'll finally be blessed with another one, and then we'll decide to stop and not go through all of this pain again. I don't know. 

Right now, I'm not stopping. This is hard. It hurts like hell. But, I want another baby. I want a sibling for Bug. I'd love to have a daughter for Boy (although I'd be quite happy with either gender). And, I just simply want a baby, in a way I can't really explain, in a way that you can't really understand unless you've been here. Sometimes I feel a bit selfish when I think of the other ladies I know who haven't yet been blessed with a child to hold and are struggling to have just one. But it doesn't stop me. I want another one. I just do. Despite the fact that I have one - a great one. Despite the fear. Despite the pain. I'm not stopping. 

Fear and Hope

Almost nine weeks now. Thinking about that, I can't help but smile, but it's a rough road. You might nod sympathetically and comment, "Yes, I see how it would be a bit scary to be pregnant again after a miscarriage," but you don't get it. Really, you haven't a clue. Unless you've walked this path, you probably haven't begun to comprehend what it's like to be here. So let me give you a tiny glimpse - You wake up. Begin to be aware of your world again. Your first thought, accompanied by a stab of fear, "Do I still feel sick this morning...? Oh, yes, there it is." Breathe.
Get out of bed. There's a stab of pain in your side. Fear. "What is that? Is it a good pain? Bad pain? Ok, ok, I'm pretty sure that's ligament pain. That's ok. That's supposed to happen." Breathe.
You head to the bathroom. "Ok, ok, it's going to be ok." Wipe. Check. "No spotting. No spotting. Thank you, Jesus." Breathe.
Eat. The nausea abates while you reassure yourself that it will come back in a little bit.
Intersperse this all with minor heart attacks anytime anything changes, and I mean anything- the nausea, the need to pee, the desire to sleep, the pain in your back/side/arm, "wait, wait, the arm pain's not connected. That one's ok. Breathe," your appetite, mood, bowel movements, no new pimple today, your nursing toddler's sleep habits, mood, desire to nurse... anything.
Repeat entire cycle approximately 10-12 times, until you finally fall asleep at night praying that tomorrow will be as good as today.
You can't possibly know what it's like to be overcome with dread every time you have to pee (which is once an hour), unless you've been there. To be constantly weighing the way you feel, judging your aches and pains. To be truly thankful for nausea.  To feel yourself give up and try to accept that you're going to lose this one too - for whatever random reason your mind has currently settled on. To breathe fear in and out.
And, you are so alone. Because, nobody understands this. My family knows I'm afraid. They know it's hard for me, but they don't get this. This day to day, moment to moment torture. So, they don't call but once in a while and they probably don't think about it all that often. But, I don't blame them. Their babies were all born, crying, into their arms, and I thank God, that they have never had to walk this path.
The only one who can begin to understand is my Boy, because he's been there, holding my hand and going through it all with me. Sharing the losses and the fear.  I'm so grateful for his voice and his arms.
As time goes on, the frequency and intensity of the cycle abates, but never ceases. Each milestone you pass helps your spirit calm a tiny bit more. As the nausea grows stronger and my pants grow smaller, I grow slightly more confident that Tiny is going to make it.