The truth about being pregnant after a loss...no one can prepare you for it...ever.
Not a day goes by that you don't wonder if "today is the day" that this pregnancy too will come to an end.
Every twinge, cramp, stretch, ache, pain sends you into sheer panic - even if you don't show it on the outside, it's eating you alive on the inside.
Even on your best, most positive, happy days, you don't trust your instincts. You always wonder how or when your body will betray you yet again.
No matter how many kick counts you do, baby meeting or excelling every time, it is never enough to assure you that this baby is real and will be in your arms.
Listening to her heart beat on the doppler really only keeps you sane for maybe half a day. If I was honesty, and if I could, I'd have that doppler attached to my stomach with earbuds in my ears at.all.times.
Meeting our 25 week milestone and surpassing it has aloud us to breathe...a little. Every week is a milestone. And every week -- although it's closer to the day we meet our baby girl -- is still a day too far away from our goal - 37 weeks.
I don't want to hear statistics. I don't want to know that her survival rate in the NICU increases with every week. I don't want to have to visit the NICU with her in it ever. I want her in my arms, in our regular maternity ward room.
Strength - what is strength? What is courage? When you're pregnant with your rainbow after having suffered the greatest loss you never expected to endure, neither strength nor courage matter. You don't care about being strong. You don't understand the meaning of courage. You just survive. You survive the racing thoughts that keep you up all night. You survive the "normal" braxton hicks and false labor cramps by putting your feet up, holding back the tears, and drowning yourself in gallons of water. You survive every single ultrasound, holding your breathe until the moment you see both heartbeat and baby moving. You survive every single exam holding your breathe until the doctor tells you your cervix is still long. You survive each and every weekly shot, wincing from the stinging pain, counting the number of shots left before you meet your new bundle of joy. You survive the phone calls to the nurse where she can't really provide you any genuine comfort but she's trying. You survive the look on your husband's face when you tell him your feeling "achy" and "off" today knowing that he won't express his full worry but inside, he's freaking out just as much as you are.
I can honestly say that I don't know how strong I am or want to be at this point.
I love my baby girl. I want my baby girl to be healthy. I want her to stay in my womb, snuggled safe and sound for 8 1/2 more weeks. 37 weeks - that's our goal, and nothing less. But I can honestly say, I will be relieved when this pregnancy is over. Not only will I have my daughter, our rainbow baby, our angel Logan's baby sister, but I will have a less fear, a little less worry. I will no longer worry if my body will fail me and my daughter. Instead, I'll just worry about providing for her, caring for her, and keeping her safe for all my days. Even then...I'm not sure the fear or worry will be less....just different.
Being pregnant after a loss is not for the faint of heart. This pregnancy is a blessing, a miracle, happiness and joy all bound together...but it comes with it's price. It comes with it's undeniable, inconsolable fears, and plenty of desperate tears.
I have had some good times in this pregnancy. I have been excited about buying clothes. I have found peace and joy in decorating her nursery. I have rejoiced and laughed while watching my daughter wiggle on the ultrasound screen. I have dreamed of her arrival and planned the years to come. I am loving her with all that I am.
It's still incredibly hard.
That's the truth.
I came back to read this because I'm at this point now, I can't tell you what it means to me to see that you were here, where I am now. Terrified. I'll never be able to thank you for your inspiration through this pregnancy.
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