Ambergontrail – Trying to get through life without dying of dysentery

Guess what? We have a big girl now. Yeah, yeah, yeah, she’s three, she’s BEEN a big girl, right?

So snug.

Yes, after having slept in her crib for over three years, after having that sucker assembled in this turquoise room for nearly four years, Piper’s crib was dismantled on Saturday night.

So many moms I know get so excited about creating a new “big kid” space for their kids. Usually these mothers are urged on because they have another little one on the way and who the hell needs two cribs? I admit, since I had hoped to need this crib by now to hold a baby, I was kind of dragging my feet. Piper slept so soundly in her crib every night, and never once had she attempted to climb out. Why would I change that?

Well, because our big girl is now potty trained. Well, “potty trained”. She still wears pullups for bedtime and naps, but all in all she uses the potty for all the other times- not to mention her pullups being dry when she wakes, she’s essentially potty trained. I mean, not only did she get her big girl bed this weekend, but she also successfully told me she had to pee in two stores yesterday, AND Ikea on Saturday. It kind of sucked to have to hustle from one end of Target/Vons all the way to the restroom area, but my pride was bursting. She’s such a big girl.  So, in case she got the need to pee while she was sleeping, we decided that she needed a bed she can get in and out of on her own in case she called and I didn’t wake up in time to take her. I’d hate to have her feel badly about herself because her dumb-ass mother didn’t get to her in time and she peed herself. Now she’s free to get down and go by herself if need be.

We’d been playing up getting her big girl bed all week. We went online and looked at various places, and brought up Ikea’s site so Piper could look at the choices they had there. She was so excited. She woke up on Saturday saying, “We need to go before it’s too late!”

Paul, Piper and I gathered ourselves together and headed out. She climbed on each display bed they had out, and asked me to be sure to wake her when it’s time to get up. Each time I’d wake her and she’d say, “What? Where am I? *Yawn*” complete with a start of the morning stretch and a “Good morning!”. This girl is going to be an actress someday.

Eventually it was down to two beds- the Sundvik in white. $124.00

And the Gulliver, also in White. $139.00

Paul liked the Gulliver and I liked the Sundvik. I really liked that we didn’t need to add a side rail, and I thought the Gulliver just didn’t “go” with Piper’s room. To me, the Gulliver looked just like the Gulliver crib, just lower and missing a side. I wanted Piper’s new bed to be a BED. To look like a little version of a bed. When it came down to the final decision, we stood Piper between them and asked which one she liked better. She chose the Sundvik all on her own, no prompting from me at all.

So, once we chose that, it was time to choose a mattress. They have foam only mattresses and foam and spring mattresses, a few of which are for the “extendable” beds (meaning you just add an extra pad in when you extend it).

We didn’t really deliberate on this one, we wanted the best one they had, the Vyssa Vackert. $79.99

The mattress was a spring/foam blend and we felt skimping on the mattress isn’t something to even think about. She spends 11 or more hours in that bed, might as well get a comfy one.

After that, we chose her sheets. Well, we let HER choose her sheets.

These are the two sets we have started her sheet collection with.

The Trova Tradgard $24.99

Seriously. HOW CUTE IS THIS? It’s so freaking cute, and sooo soft.

Next, Piper chose this one. The Vandring Skogsliv. $14.99

The colors on this one go really well in her room. It’s cute. I’m surprised she didn’t want the one with all the pink and red hearts!

We finally got downstairs (I swear, Ikea is like a casino- no clocks, no windows, just random staircases and elevators with very random floors it goes to) and was all set to pick up our stuff when I remembered- Um, we have two duvet covers and no duvet. Paul hustled up to the duvet section while Piper and I relaxed and ate our snacks in the “waiting for pickup” area.

Finally we got all packed up and set off towards home where Piper was begging her Daddy to build her big girl bed. Paul quickly set about dismantling the crib. Luckily, I was busy in the living room with Piper so I didn’t have to tearfully stand by watching our daughter’s home for the last 3 years get broken down piece by piece. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE that Piper is so excited for her new space. LOVE it. And I love that I get to kind of get some little things to make her bed hers (little decals or reusable stickers, that kind of thing), but it’s a little sad because in changing her room up, we tossed out some of her baby things that we had been saving for Baby #2. These are things like an old exersaucer, old baby toys we can just buy new (or borrow), things that haven’t been used in over two years.

I guess tossing them out was kind of a step for me. While we are keeping the five tubs of clothes Piper has outgrown (and a lot of her unisex things were passed down to friends), and her swings and bouncy seat, it’s time for me to let go. Holding on to an exersaucer isn’t going to guarantee we have another baby. It DOES guarantee too much crap in a little girl’s room. So if we have another baby, fine, we’ll get a new one. I can’t hold on to stuff with the thought that we may get to use it again someday. And who knows? Maybe by the time we have another baby, things will be much cooler…  you know, like flying automobiles and teleportation.

So, Paul dragged Piper’s things out by the trash (the exersaucer can be picked up, but it was old when WE got it, so doubtful anyone will want it), and we moved on to our life as parents of a young girl. We picked up new underwear, new socks, and clothes in a bigger size. We walk past her toy every time we have to drop off a baggie of Woofie-poop, and she always gets excited when she sees it. “Oh! My toy!” She runs over to it, twirls it around and plays the little musical things. Piper sighs a little and asks why it’s out there again. I try to tell her, “It’s here so other people who can’t afford toys can take it home for their babies.” She doesn’t quite get that yet, you know, how some people can have toys and others can’t. While I’m glad she doesn’t seem to notice other people have it “better” than she does, I do want her to realize how incredibly lucky she is. Hopefully that will come in time.

It was a big weekend for us all. Paul and I can now sit next to Piper to read stories, and it’s so much easier to give her lots of kisses in this new bed. Each night she runs to get inside and asks  us to tuck her in. For the first time in her life, she has her own comforter. She’d previously been covered by her two blankets and another little throw. Now she’s got a bed that she’s SO proud of. This morning my mom came to watch her, and the second she came inside Piper dragged her into her room to show her a surprise. I got a phone call later from Piper IN her bed. My mom was reading her stories and she was getting nice and snuggly. It makes me happy to see how much she loves her new room. It’s also very funny to see that she’s still in the crib mindset. She doesn’t understand that she has the freedom now to get out of it and investigate the house while the world is sleeping. She just knows that once she’s in bed she stays there until we get her. Her little friends fall the six inches to the floor and instead of getting out to get them, or heck, even leaning over to get them, she just leaves them there. She’s such a good little girl.

Her Mama took some pretty big big girl steps, too. I’ve stopped holding on to everything, to a crib to house that “someday” baby to the belief that Piper just wasn’t ready for all the changes that are so wonderful for a three year old. I realize she’s ready. She’s been ready. Now I am ready, too.

In my life I have always been prone to dwelling. Dwelling on the good things, dwelling on the bad things. I live in the past in a lot of ways. I have a hard time looking ahead because it’s far easier for me to remember the good things in the past than imagine/hope for good things in the future.

I used to be an optimist. Then 2012 was a pretty bad year. 2013 didn’t start off that great, either. Gradually my optimism has been reduced to small little things like, “I’m going to ovulate this month.” This fact seems to depress me even more, which keeps that “Half full” cup of mine leaking from the bottom.

A friend said, “No matter what, your life will be great.” Meaning, second kid or not, we have a lot to be thankful for. I had a mini panic attack thinking that I’d unwillingly become a member of a family of three. I think it’s fantastic to be one and done. But I think it’s great if it’s YOUR choice, and not a choice MADE for you. I honestly get fear shakes worrying that all these baby clothes I’ve had saved in tubs will never be used again, that all our things we bought as “investments” for the next baby could be pointless. I’m scared that that’s what is ahead for us.

I just want to be able to live without sadness and fear. I want to be able to think ahead and think of joy. I’m tired of being bitter.

So I guess it’s been a little long since the last time I posted. In the last month or so I’ve had my follow up appointment with my OB, and we saw that not only had I ovulated, but my period was imminent. I got my period on time (relatively, I ovulated a little later than usual), and then ovulated early this cycle, the cycle we were cleared to try again.

Unfortunately, despite trying incredibly hard for a few days, Paul and I weren’t able to give us a chance this cycle. It was incredibly heartbreaking, and left me wondering what our future held. It’s so hard because I’m torn between pushing for a baby, which EVERYONE IN THE WORLD knows is not conducive to having a healthy sex life- putting pressure on your spouse. Or just giving up on having another one because ultimately a baby being born into a marriage that has been tested and broken is not what I want. I don’t want another baby more than I want to be with Paul, in love. Does that make sense? It’s an ugly cycle. I love him so much, so creating a baby with him is a dream. But when creating a baby brings stress, blame, and pain to our normally happy marriage, then what point is creating a baby?

A large part of my resentment is the fact that in our long time together (10 years in November), I have been the one to initiate sex. Let’s say it’s about 80/20%. It sucks for your self-esteem, when you’re constantly being turned down. So I’ve decided to give in. If he wants it, he can take charge. I’m not going to offer it up only to be denied time and time again. It just makes me resent it, and that’s what I am trying to avoid. In order to follow through with that, it means I’m no longer going to have to remind/harass/cajole him into having TTC sex with me. It just sucks. I guess that means we’re no longer TRYING to conceive. It it happens (Did you just see that pig fly by??) that I should get pregnant, then so be it. Paul will be seeing a doctor in April (he has no time free to see anyone until then) about his issues, and hopefully things will improve. Until then, I’m going to just let him decide what he wants to do, what is more important to him.

I had effectively given up completely. Just never ever initiating, let him handle his own shit and I’ll just be happy with no sex and our lovely three year old. While my need for a baby is intense, I figured this whole thing was just God’s way of saying, “Listen, I’ve been trying to tell you subtly that you are not meant to have two kids, but you’re not getting it. NO MORE KIDS FOR YOU.” Then something miraculous happened.

Back story: I used to baby-sit for my Boss when I was 12. They lived across the street from my Grandma, and I spent a lot of time with my Grandma so I saw them a lot. I watched their kids until they were too old to be watched. My Grandma was a huge huge HUGE influence in my life, and we were going to name a daughter after her if we ever had another one. Her name was Ora. Kind of an old timer name, right? I love it. 

Anyway, at work my boss received a call from “an old neighbor”. Her name was Ora. I was like, WHAT? Oh my goodness. Then I put her through to him and sat there thinking about it for a while. I remembered another Ora across the street from my Grandma. But wow, it was like, my Grandma was trying to say that she wasn’t gone. She was watching me and to not give up. Ora… Another Ora. How often do you hear that name? I had JUST been thinking about how sad I would be to not get to have our little Eleanora (It was going to be Eleanor Ora, but it’s pretty much sounding like Eleanora anyway), then I get that call at work.

The next day I was thinking about it, after having talked to my dad who definitely remembered this other Ora, and “What are the odds?” And she called again. She had given my boss the wrong phone number and wanted to give him the correct one. Before i took her number down, I asked her, “Did you live on XXXXXX?” She said, “Yes, I’m still here!” I said, “Did you know my Grandma? Ora Brown?” There was a silent pause. She quietly said, “She was my best friend! Of course I know her! Oh my gosh. Whose daughter are you?” I mean, in my 14 years of working here, she has never, ever, not once been mentioned or had she called. And the few days when I was questioning our future, our children… she called. I’m sorry, but I believe in signs. My grandma’s same name best friend called at work. As I spoke to her I felt such a weird connection to my gran. I was clutching the phone cord with my eyes closed, trying hard not to cry. I got off the phone and cried, and thanked her for sending me a sign. Because I dearly needed it.

I’m not giving up permanently. I’m giving up until Paul gets his shit looked into, and then we’ll see where we are at that point. My grandma always knew what was best for us, so I’m going to trust that in this case she’s still knowing more than I do.

When I was pregnant with Piper, it was my first pregnancy. Other than the typical first timer fears of “OMG, is this pregnancy going to stick? Is everything all right?” I was okay. I waited the weeks until our first appointment, a little panicky but overall okay.  After all, I had no reason to be suspicious. I peed on various tests, watching that test line gradually darken, knowing hormones were kicking in, thankful for the nausea and the boobs that were so freaking sore I couldn’t go without a tight bra.

The second time I got pregnant, I was still nervous. I was excited but okay. Then my temp started dropping and I got a little scared. I stopped temping to avoid the stress. My tests didn’t get darker- at all. I had no nausea, no sore boobs, nothing to tell me everything was okay. Still, I made that appointment, hopeful everything was going to be okay. Then I saw brown on the tissue. I called the doctor, fearful but knowing brown spotting = old blood, and we all know old blood isn’t the kind to be scared of. “Watch for bright red blood and cramping, back pain. Even then, a little spotting isn’t bad, it’s normal.” Luckily, the spotting had ceased. The next morning I had to drop Piper off at school, Paul had to leave early. I was getting her ready and went to the bathroom. There was red on the tissue, and my heart stopped. Still, I had to suck it up, I was in charge of Piper. As I continued the morning routine, I repeatedly went to the bathroom, red, red. I was starting to cramp. I was scared, so scared. Before we left for school, I sent Paul a text saying, “It’s red blood now. I think I’m losing the baby.” I put on Piper’s music in the car and let her sing along while I was deep in thought. How we didn’t somehow die on that trip I’ll never know, my mind was not there at all. I remember walking up to the door, saying hello to the teacher. The whole time thinking, “I’m probably miscarrying and there is nothing we can do about it.” I kissed Piper goodbye and headed to the office. The spotting turned to bleeding. I called our nurse crying. It was the beginning of the end.

“Next time”, I thought, “next time- it there IS a next time- I will go in early for betas. I will stop temping, I will do whatever I can.”

There was a next time. It was a very, very unexpected next time. Still, I did everything right. I kept temping a few days, until it all went haywire and I freaked out and threw it into Paul’s nightstand. I kept taking my vites, I kept testing and seeing the line get darker and darker. Everything was moving as it should. I called my doctor to get my betas done- at 15dpo it was 258. Then, at 17 dpo, it was 817 or something equally high. Things were really good. There was no instance of spotting, not one speck of red or pink. My boobs were hurting, but that was it. I was worried, but not overly, as I had the betas done, right? I was scheduled for an early ultrasound at what should have been 6ish weeks or so. We saw two gestational sacs, one with a yolk sac. It was measuring a few days small, which isn’t a big deal- I have a tilted uterus. I went back, and it had grown but not that much. And well… you know how it turned out.

I’m going over all this because I am not sure what I have left to do. We did the “wait and see” approach, and it didn’t help. We did the cautionary way, and nothing helped. Everything was looking great this last time. We had no reason to be suspicious. Now, we have no safety nets. I have nothing to turn to in order to ease my fears. Betas have proven nothing is concrete, and early scans are just a window to a chain of events that will break your heart.

Where do you turn when you have no more options left to keep you sane? I have two options for the next time- if there is a next time, and I’m not sure there will be-, I can just be an outright fucking mess from that first positive test until I get to 14 weeks (or the baby is born, depending on what we determine the issue was) , or I can just let go and do whatever I can personally (baby aspirin and whatever else is an option) to ensure I will feel no guilt should something happen again, but otherwise just have faith.

Gotta be honest, neither one of those plans sound particularly awesome. I’m trying so hard to be optimistic, and happy that it appears I am ovulating today or ovulated yesterday (based on cervical mucous and opks and ovulation pain), which means the hcg is low enough to ovulate. I’m working really hard at being hopeful that the next pregnancy will be the success and thus, the last. But right now I am being inundated with pregnancy news. Left and right people are announcing pregnancies, and I am foolishly taking joy in being happy that I have an appointment on Tuesday for a scan to make sure my body expelled the last of the baby I lost. It all seems so unfair when I look at it that way. They get to be happy knowing they have no reason to be afraid. I envy them. I wish so badly that I could get that feeling back, that feeling of being scared for the future, but knowing deep down the odds are great that all will be well. At least, for me, the odds didn’t make one spit of difference. I was still the odd loss out. I know no matter what, I am going to be absolutely terrified. I don’t know if I will be able to experience a pregnancy without fear now. I’m terrified right now, and there is no reason- no pregnancy to worry about.

I don’t know what the future holds for us, but I’m trying so hard to not try to envision it as a total black hole of despair and fear. Very hard.

This picture was taken when she turned three. I am so gloriously proud of our girl.

It’s been two weeks to the day since I went in to pick up misoprostol (generic cytotec) from my Obstetrician. If we’re going by actual day, that is. And if we’re going by actual day, it’s been 6 weeks since we found out our baby didn’t make it.

Two weeks ago, I called my doctor. I was tired of waiting for something to happen, having hope and still being sad that I couldn’t move ahead. What follows is the story of my missed miscarriage ending.

***** Probably horrible and graphic miscarriage talk ahead, so if you don’t want to know, skip to the end. I just wanted this to be here in case others have to go through it. *****

After two weeks of waiting for the missed miscarriage to make itself known, I called my doc per her orders. She again said I could wait another week to see if it would eventually happen, I could have the d & e (with suction only), or I can try misoprostol and hope that the meds help get my body kickstarted to miscarry. Since I wanted to avoid the d & e as much as possible, I asked for the pills and picked them up after work on Friday the 11th. The picture is what was waiting for me at the welcome desk. Go ahead, laugh, I did, too, a tear slid out, but it might have been a mirthy tear. I had experienced a faint faint bit of light light pink discharge the night before, so hopeful my body was already getting ready for the process, I figured the pills were better than nothing- and I couldn’t wait any longer.

After Piper and I stopped by CVS to get an industrial strength bottle of Advil and some ice cream, I went home. I inserted the pills vaginally (and dried out ASAP, no es bueno, I have since read some sites that said to moisten them, whoops) at 6, and waited.

After wrestling Piper to sleep around 8, I got on the couch with some dull aches, nothing big. At 8:30 it started getting a little more persistent, but no bleeding of any kind. At 9pm, I took the four Advil my doc recommended, put a huge post-birth style pad in and got into bed. By 10pm, the contractions- not cramps, contractions- were so bad that I was thankful I had already taken the Advil. At 10:30 the pain dulled to a smaller ache because the advil had kicked in, and I began bleeding. I continued to feel small gushes with every small shift I made to get comfortable. I was too scared to take anything to sleep, or heck, even try to sleep before 11:30 because I was scared of hemorrhaging and not being able to fully wake up (I read horror stories of people passing out in the bathroom). Finally, at 12a, I turned off the tv and went to sleep. It was a restless night and every time I’d change sides I’d feel gushing. Finally at 5:30, I got up to use the bathroom and just standing made everything pour out of me. My contractions had turned into the kind I felt when I had to push, mostly felt in my butt area (not apologizing for the TMI, this whole post is TMI). I sat down on the toilet and saw I had bled through my pad, my underwear and my PJ bottoms. As I sat, I felt something pass, a very large something which I’m hopeful was the sac and all the sad things it included. I tried to look, but it was too red in the water and I couldn’t see anything. I took that as a sign to stop looking and just trust that my body was doing what it should. After that, I got back into bed with a new pad and slept for four more hours. When I woke, there were small gushes but nothing like earlier that morning. I took two more advil and the rest of the morning was fine, like a heavy period, with the normal cramps. It continued like that until early evening when Paul and I were at dinner with Piper. Again I got hit with the pushing cramps, strong enough that I had to do some breathing to calm myself down, and popped a few more advil. It mellowed down, and Sunday was a lighter version of Saturday- less cramps and the bleeding had slowed. The week that followed had me experiencing random cramping and more clots, and the bleeding remained like a period. Yesterday was the first day I didn’t wear a pad/liner of any sort.

While I remain hopeful that everything has cleared out,  I’m scared that I’m one of the 25% that doesn’t have the medicine complete the miscarriage. I’m worried that I’ll end up needing a d & e after all. Right now I’m at a standstill. Even if everything was cleared out, I wouldn’t be cleared to try again until I get my period and THEN we can try again.

Unfortunately, before we can try again, I need to have a serious talk with my doctor. See, about 9 years ago I was given the news that I tested positive for antinuclear antibodies, which means my body attacks cells at the nucleus, and causes things to clot. When your body is trying to make a placenta, it needs to be able to have a steady blood flow from the growing placenta to the baby. If the teeny little starter placenta is getting all clotted, the blood flow to the baby stops, and the baby dies.

Now, I’m not self-diagnosing myself here, it’s just something I’ve been researching the last few weeks when I was twiddling my thumbs waiting for everything to stop. I think this is a likely miscarriage cause for me, especially this last loss. See, we had seen a heartbeat. We saw it was okay. It started out fine, then slowed down, which I guess is par for the course with +ANA. When we saw the final scan, the yolk sac had gotten bigger, when at that point it’s supposed to be going away. Could my body been trying its hardest to keep the baby alive while it’s placenta was getting attacked? Could that be why the yolk sac was getting larger? Perhaps trying to sustain this healthy baby when the placenta wasn’t helping? Who knows.

There are simple “fixes” to this issue- baby aspirin. It is a blood thinner and prevents the body from clotting the placenta. Prednisone- a low dose form of this steroid can help keep the body in line. And in extreme cases- daily injections of blood thinners like heparin. I was told to take baby aspirin for my migraines- apparently the kind I have causes stroke- which I’m going to assume has to do with clots. I stopped taking them when I got pregnant because I was worried I was hurting the baby. If that could have saved our last baby with its beating heart… I don’t know how I can possibly forgive myself ever. I guess the only bright side to that is, we won’t really ever know what happened to the last baby. I didn’t save the “products of conception” for inspection.  I am kicking myself for not mentioning the +ANA reading to my OB, though. I had thought that having Piper has proven that I’m CAPABLE of carrying a child to term, so the +ANA wasn’t an issue. However, the research I’ve read has said that a healthy and normal pregnancy can awaken autoimmune disorders, which would make sense.

There is a general rule amongst obstetricians- two losses is unlucky, but three is something to look into. Hopefully, even though this is our second loss, I can persuade my doctor to test me to see my titers for the +ANA, and depending on how high they are, she can treat me for that with the second I get a positive test next time. If there is a next time. I hope to God there is a next time.

Doing this research has helped me greatly. I can feel like I’m doing something for my family, for my body. This isn’t a huge stumbling block, but this isn’t something to ignore. Something is wrong, and I need to fix it.

One of the Bees said something that helped me more than anything else has helped. When I was questioning the “God’s Plan” thing aloud, she told me that while it’s not quite God’s Plan to hurt us, maybe God’s plan was to relieve our child of a lifetime of pain. If the losses were chromosomally linked and not to do with my clotting issue, then had they grown to term with life-altering difficulties, they could have suffered a horrible life filled with pain and sadness. Given the option, would I have preferred to be spared my pain of loss to have my child be born in pain, or would I prefer to release their pain at the expense of my own pain? I will always choose to feel pain over the pain of my children- alive or not, born or with us just a moment.

So I have to have faith that if this is a problem we’ll fix it. And if that’s not it, that I was just doubly unlucky, and try again.

I’ve been having a rough go of it all lately. I am so lucky to have many great and wonderful friends, and fantastic and supportive family to support me, to love me, to talk with me.  Unfortunately, even those who understand pain like that still can’t do much to soothe my soul. I guess miscarriage is like that, right? People can know what you’re going through, can empathize, but still… nothing can fix the hole in your heart where hope used to reside.

My body is still stubbornly holding on to this pregnancy. Hey! My body is all, “Shitty pregnancy or not, I AM NOT LETTING GO.” Way to stay strong, body. Now, I give you my permission… let go. Please. Please let go. Let me let go of this whole nightmare, and move on. Let me stop hoping that PERHAPS they just saw the other sac from our first scan (oh yeah, I didn’t mention that- there were two sacs, one had a yolk sac, the other didn’t), and that’s why there was no baby in there. Let me stop hoping the REAL healthy baby with a beating heart was hiding somewhere, ready to pop out to say “Surprise! You’re not broken after all!” Please, body. Let me forget this ever happened, because if I have to live another day of “Is this the day when my baby leaves forever?” then I am pretty sure I might die. Please, let me stop asking Paul for the 20th time, “Are you SURE you didn’t see anything in the sac? Are you positive the tech looked for a long enough amount of time?” I want to stop asking that. Stop asking him if he’s sad that I can’t stay pregnant. I want to be free of worry, free of guilt that I am carrying a baby that should have been Piper’s sibling.

I want to be free of all of this heartache and pain, the stress and the anxiety and the uncontrollable sadness and anger. This time around, I had enough time to get used to perhaps getting to keep this baby. But God, I didn’t mean keep the empty shell of a baby. I meant keeping this baby alive and well. Why won’t the world stop taking everything I say so literally?? As I drove past Paul’s parents’ house on the way to get Piper from school, I’d again thank my deceased Father in law for the luck of getting pregnant again. I’d thank him and ask if I could please keep this baby. But again, I wanted to keep it and grow it, not live this purgatory I’m living now. Perhaps it’s time to stop asking otherworldly people for the right to keep our babies. No, perhaps it’s time to just accept that I’m on my own here.  Nothing can help us now, higher powers can’t stop me from losing our babies. We have to walk this road alone, Paul, Piper and I. We have to realize that sometimes things don’t work out how we had hoped and prayed.

Losing two babies has changed my life. My day to day life, my likes and dislikes. I can’t watch certain tv shows, I can’t talk to certain people, can’t read certain books or listen to certain songs. Music that I had loved and considered music of hope has now been tainted with a tinge of sadness and anger. What was happy music is now forbidden. I don’t want that joy in my life anymore. There is no joy if I have to deal with this shit AGAIN.

Then there is Piper. Before, when I’d look at her, I’d think she was magic. After the last few months I know- she IS magic. This girl of ours is what’s keeping me from completely breaking down, from letting go and just crumbling into myself because I had nothing else to live for. I DO have something to live for. It’s not her fault I’ve been so unlucky. It’s not her fault that I’ve been living a nightmare for the last three months. Piper is keeping me afloat, reminding me of what I have. Waking up in the morning, hoping I’m bleeding, but I’m not- that dismay and anger is soothed by her greeting when I get her up. Her joy at peeing in the potty is like nothing else. I mean, how could I not want to be around for that? And no, I’m not dangerously close to that line that goes from sadness to pure depression that borders on suicidal. I would never do that to Paul, to Piper. Just because I’m (so far) unable to give them that other child that they so want, it doesn’t mean that I can’t give them the rest of me that I have left to give.

My mindset might border on the morbid right now. But it’s not because I feel worthless. I just want this baby out, as naturally as possible. I can’t live this way. I’m terrified of the future, simply horrified by what is ahead for us. I don’t feel like I have anywhere to go. I’m surrounded by pregnancies, by good news. My good news is fleeting, and isn’t enough to bolster me up enough to be around the rest of the good news. My resentment is strong, stronger than my ability to be hopeful. I feel like I’m alone, wandering with a belly full of the end of my hope. Looking at the world from a dark corner, grasping at my girl to keep her safe, keep her away from everything that is horrible in this world. I cling to her, pressed up against Paul like my life depends on it. I can’t stand on my own, it seems. I feel badly for Piper right now. I’m constantly asking her for big hugs, for kisses, to hold her hand. I’m so clingy, it’s scary. If I could hold on and never let go, you bet your ass I would. Right now I must be content to hold on to her, to smell her perfect head, and to just cry silent tears for the siblings she won’t know, but be thankful she DIDN’T know about them because the idea of having to explain to her why the baby in Mama’s belly isn’t coming home is enough to make me want to just never try for another baby ever again.

Piper has saved me. If there is a God, he hit a home run when he gave us this perfect little angel. I can’t blame him if he thinks that I got all the good I deserved with her, thus won’t give me another chance. I get it.