Sharing My First Pregnancy: Hope, Loss, And Life

October 15 is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. I've never shared my story on here before, so I wanted to today. It was healing for me to go back to this time in my life and write it out for others to read. I hope it is encouraging to those of you who know the pain of loss or are struggling toward motherhood.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I have always known I wanted children. It's the one desire I can trace back to my roots – ever present, never changing, never a doubt in my mind that someday I wanted babies of my own. I'd always felt that mothering was something I was born to do.

When Clint and I decided we were ready for kids, we wanted to just let it happen. No 'trying', no stressing – just letting it be. I had always loved the idea of holding a pregnancy test in my hand and letting the wave of shock and excitement rush over me as the second line appeared. I wasn't in a hurry. I truly believed it would happen in its own time, and there was no reason to rush.

Even though I'd read that it can often take several months, I still expected it to happen pretty quickly. After all, don't most people get knocked up accidentally? How hard could it be? Have sex, have a baby. BAM! One of the easiest things in the world, right?

A few months went by. No worries. I figured the wait was just giving me a little more time to be completely prepared. Then a few more months went by. And a few more.

I started to feel a little sick – not from pregnancy, unfortunately, but from the fear that had always resided deep within me. As a child, when I'd hear about women who'd never been able to have kids, I'd pray that God would protect me from that kind of pain. The worst thing I can possibly imagine, I'd think. The thought terrified me. It made me miserable to think that the one thing I'd always wanted – the only thing I'd ever felt as though I couldn't live without – might never happen.

More months. More waiting, more hoping. More pregnancy announcements, but never my own. I finally got to the point where I was no longer hopeful, but frantic. This needed to happen. Now.

I finally told Clint, “We need to figure out if something is wrong.” I couldn't fathom going another year with the possibility that there was something we could fix. Our relaxed approach was not working – it was time to take action.

Turns out there was no need. Even though I didn't want to see another negative pregnancy test, I took one anyway. As I waited for the result, I tried to suppress my hopes. I feared it wasn't meant to happen for me and prayed that I would accept the inevitable.

I sighed and picked the test up. Am I imagining that line? I thought. I squinted hard at the little window – one dark pink line and one very faint pink line. My jaw dropped. I stared hard, certain that it was a figment of my imagination, that all these months of waiting had truly driven me crazy.

I showed Clint. “Do you see that line?!” I asked excitedly.

“Yeah,” he said as he squinted at the tiny window.

“Do you know what that means?!” I said.

His eyes widened. “Scary,” he said.

I'm sure he meant awesome. In a big, scary, exciting, phenomenal sort of way. (Men react to these sorts of things a little differently.) Finally, I thought. I was elated.

We kept it mostly to ourselves, deciding to wait until after I'd seen a doctor before making a big announcement. We just told immediate family and a few close friends.

I felt great as we geared up to make a weekend trip out of town. We were thrilled to get away together and celebrate some time alone, knowing that those opportunities would not come as often once we had a little one. A sweet, perfect, cherished little one. I smiled inside, everywhere we went. Each moment of every day. Life was about to get so, so good.

I started bleeding that weekend. I tried not to worry – I knew that bleeding didn't necessarily indicate a problem. I had wanted this baby for so long – surely, God intended for me to have it. Surely, my patience was being rewarded. Surely, I was going to be a wonderful mother, and there was no reason to fear.

But the bleeding increased throughout our trip. Cramping set in. My assurance turned into concern.

I returned to work on Monday feeling uneasy. Everyone who knew about the pregnancy told me not to worry. I was told to kick my feet up and relax – all would be fine. I wanted to take their words to heart, but I knew I couldn't. I just knew. And by Tuesday morning the concern turned into panic.

I left work before lunch. I was a complete wreck. And yet everyone kept saying, “Don't worry. Everything will be fine. Just relax.” But I knew from what I'd seen and felt my body doing that everything was not fine. I just needed someone to tell me. I needed to know. I couldn't wait for the OB appointment that was still two days away.

So that evening I headed to the E.R. I was escorted to a room where I was calm as I answered a lady's questions while she filled out paperwork. She finally asked me my reason for the visit. “Possible miscarriage” were the words I managed to force out before I burst into tears. I wept while she forced her eyes back onto the forms. “I'm sorry...sorry...” I kept saying as I sobbed. She wordlessly handed me a tissue, her eyes glued to the paper as she wrote.

I don't know why she wouldn't look at me. I felt guilty for even being there because I knew it wasn't really an emergency. It was my own mental emergency, my need for closure in something I could no longer continue wrestling. I like to think that maybe she understood. Maybe she gave me space because she'd been down this road before with others, and perhaps she knew this pain all too well. These things happen so often, you know.

I was admitted to a room, poked and prodded and tested until I could take no more. I was there for hours before I was finally told the news I'd come to receive: there was no baby.

I went home, where the emptiness began to overtake the grief. Life continued as normal. Our plans were halted, and yet nothing had changed. To my husband, it was a disappointment. To me, it was devastating.

Just two days later I went to my scheduled appointment. I was there to have blood drawn to make sure my hormone levels were dropping, not to talk about my medical history and birth plan, like it was supposed to be. Instead of sitting in the waiting room, looking at all the swollen bellies with excitement, I looked with envy and longing. I dropped my eyes to the floor to keep from crying.

I scoured every article on the Internet about miscarriage. Every forum. Every blog post. I could not read enough to squelch the grief. I wanted to try again immediately. I wanted it back...the joy that had been ripped from me. And I wanted it desperately.

I became obsessed with learning all I could about fertility. I began taking my temperature every morning, charting my cycle, predicting ovulation. I turned it into a task to be conquered. I needed it to be something that I could make happen.

People started asking questions. So when are you guys going to have kids? How many do you want? Well, what are you waiting for?! They didn't know about our struggle – I couldn't share it. It was too deeply personal. On some level I felt responsible, as though there was something wrong with me. I felt embarrassed, ashamed.

I clung to my faith to get me through the pain. I tried to understand why I was not yet a mother, but I never received any satisfying answers. All I could do was go back to the truths that had always sustained me before: God's wisdom is infinitely superior to man's. I am ultimately not in control. He will give me the deepest desires of my heart.

But none of that made it fair. None of that helped me to understand why.

Then along came Christmas. I had hoped for a baby. Instead I got a stomach virus. Not just any stomach virus – it was the virus from hell. I saw several doctors, went to the ER twice, had numerous tests done, was unable to eat, and lost twelve pounds in two weeks.

I was scared. It was terrifying to be that ill and to receive no answers from the doctors. They told us it was most likely 'just a really bad virus', but we feared it was something much worse.

When your life is disrupted so much, you realize just how blessed you truly are. I realized I just wanted to be healthy. I wanted to spend many, many beautiful years with my husband. I was tired of trying to make my life perfect, tired of spinning my wheels to feel like I was in control. I just wanted to be well again. I was not a mother, but I could still live.

Gradually, my condition improved. It took a while to feel normal again, but I'm thankful for that illness. It taught me that I wanted life. I chose life. I no longer wanted to be consumed by fear and worry, plagued by that which was out of my control.

I let go. I was reminded to savor the present because we never know what tomorrow will bring – what illness...what blessing...what tragedy...what miracle.

My own blessing came about just three months later. Another positive test. And this one resulted in the most hilarious, precocious, beautiful almost-four-year-old that I enjoy today. She has a handsome little brother, too.

I know that for many women, their struggle to become mothers goes on for much longer on a road that is paved with much more pain. My heart aches for them in a way I could never express. My hope for them is that they know there is still life to be lived – that when they feel consumed by despair, they still know that joy is just a moment away.

The Passage Of Time

A mama watching video clips on the computer is like a magnet to her offspring. At the first sound of familiar little voices coming from the speakers, they drop whatever shenanigans they’re up to and come running to check out their former shenanigans. I suppose I can see the appeal – there’s not a whole lot out there that is more fun than reliving the moments of your life that were a blast.

One of our best moments

When I reviewed the video from my sister’s wedding, Hannah ran up to the computer, face practically pressed up against the screen, and flipped out with excitement. As she watched herself twirling around the dance floor at the reception, her eyes lit up. “Mama, I want to go back there! Can we go back there? Please.”

I laughed and explained to her that the wedding was over, that nobody was there anymore. Everyone had gone home.

“But I want to go back there,” she said longingly.

I know how she feels. I know that in a few short years that is exactly the place I’m going to be in – wanting to come back to right here, right now. I guess I’m glad that I’m at least aware of that, but I’m not looking forward to the moment I find myself missing what’s gone.

I’ve never been one to mourn the past, but I’ve never had it this good before.

Raising little ones is not easy, and I don’t have the greatest track record when it comes to patience, so in the midst of the ‘daily grind’ moments, I don’t always have that perspective. But it’s the hard truth – the phrase ‘they grow up too fast’ has never felt more real and raw, and that load gets heavier by the day.

I’ve had Abram in my life for nearly two years, and I know from raising Hannah that it’s about to get really different. There is so much that he does right now that will not be a part of him for long. He laughs hysterically at the faces Hannah makes at him. When you tell him he can’t have a popsicle or some other such disappointment, he says, “AW, MEH!” (Aw, man!) He begs for the Ipad so he can watch Jack and the Beanstalk. (“PYE-PYE, peeeease. BEAN-TAH!”)

He cuddles with his "bappy" in his crib. 

He is growing and changing at lightning speed. All I have to do to see that is look back at all of our captured moments. I have documented so much of our lives...hours upon hours of video, hundreds upon hundreds of photos. But it never feels like enough. It will never, ever be enough.

The things I used to find myself immersed in? The stuff that used to be so second nature to me that I could never imagine not thinking about constantly? They exist no more. It’s no surprise...I know that’s how life is, that it’s continually changing and we are creatures that are always transforming. But nothing quite smacks you in the face with it like watching your children grow up.

Though I feel blessed to have the technology to be able to take a peek back in time, taking that peek always makes me ache. You can hit pause on the video, you could rewind it over and over and watch it until you had it memorized, but you'll never have those buttons on your life. You can never go back.

I just hope that when I find myself in that place, wishing he was two years old again, I’ll be able to look around and say, “I’ve still got it so good.”

It's Not Always What We Expected

But sometimes it's something much better.

I think one of the most surprising things I've learned about raising a child is that I'm not raising a mini-me. I used to think that having a baby was like having a tiny version of yourself, and you would know how to raise that baby based on your own character and experiences. In other words, since I understand myself pretty well, of course I would always understand what my child – my own flesh and blood, a creation from my very own womb – needed.

Oh, wait – there was another person involved in the creation of that flesh and blood, and some traits come from him. AND, even more surprisingly, it turns out that the little being actually develops personality traits of its very own that are an enigma even to both parents.

I mean, how can anyone not like mashed potatoes? It's just bizarre.

So I have discovered that raising a child is not an opportunity to re-raise myself. Instead I have the pleasure of raising this unique individual unlike any other who has ever walked this earth.
 
That means realizing that although we're alike in many ways, she's not always going to make sense to me.

I was an introvert who barely spoke; all she wants to do is talk.

I was a bit of a tomboy; she is obsessed with princesses.

I think mashed potatoes are like manna from heaven.

We are two different souls – woven together by an eternal love that knows no bounds, but different, nonetheless. And the truth is it's probably best that I'm not raising another little version of myself because I'm still raising me (and I've got a long way to go).

That's part of the beauty of parenthood – it's full of surprises. It's totally one of those gigs where you really don't know what you're getting into until you actually dive in.

I had no idea that ‘mommy blogging’ was such a big ‘thing’ until I started my own blog, and when I delved into the world of online sharing, I discovered that mommies everywhere – stay at home, working, homeschooling, and even dads – were baring their souls to the Internet.

Why is that? Why are there so many parents out there willing to share their private thoughts, their struggles, their failures, and their triumphs with the world?

It’s because it really is one of the most important things we’ll ever do – raising these little people up to be honorable adults – and we’re all battling the same foes. We’re all trying to escape those thoughts that rise up within us that we're not good enough, that we're failing, that so-and-so is doing a better job than us because he/she does x, y, and z...

Let me tell you something: I guarantee you that you’ve never had a single emotion that has never been felt by another human being on this earth. We all doubt. We all fail. We all question ourselves. That's why so many of us choose to share these things – to know that we're not alone and to tell another struggling human being that he/she is not alone either.

By all means, try to be a perfect parent. But know that you will not be.

Sometimes she will talk and talk and talk, and it will drive me nuts, and I will get impatient. Sometimes she and her brother will run circles around me, and I will lose my temper. Sometimes I won't know the right thing to say because I won't know exactly what she's feeling.

And yet we were chosen for each other. I'm meant to be her mama, and she's meant to be my baby. We were uniquely designed to go through this life together.

Nothing else on earth brings me more joy.

It's not always easy. It's not always predictable. It's not always what we imagined. But do you know what makes you a good parent? Taking it seriously. Knowing its worth.

It's recognizing that you're in a relationship unlike any you've ever had before and that you can make it something great. This is your gift, your joy, and your privilege – to get to know your child every day and to guide her in becoming the best she can possibly be.

I don't want her to be exactly like me – I want her to be better than me. And that's worth more than all the parenting books can ever say.

I'm An INFJ...What Are You?

I think horoscopes are a crock of manure. Most of the time they are so vaguely written that they could apply to 98 percent of the population, and, just like the fortunes in fortune cookies, they’re more accurate when you add “on the toilet” or "in bed" at the end of them.

Or they’re totally inaccurate, meaning that everything ever written about your sign is the complete opposite of you. As an Aries I supposedly have spontaneity, extreme boldness, and a magnetic personality. Sure, if cuddling up on the couch with a rousing game of Candy Crush is your idea of a hot Saturday night, then yeah, I’m your woman!

Anyway, I just wanted to bring that up so you wouldn't think I was crazy when I told you about my love for personality profiles. I don’t usually buy into any of that stuff that claims to know all of your innermost secrets, but then I discovered the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator. And then my mind was officially blown.

 

According to the Myers-Briggs assessment, I am an INFJ, which led me to the discovery that I was right all along - I’m a total fruit loop. Okay, not exactly, but based on the info I found online, it’s the rarest of the types, making up only 1-3 percent of the population. And here are some of the traits listed that struck me the most:

1)"INFJs are gentle, caring, complex and highly intuitive individuals." Well, ahem…thank you.

2) "INFJs are far less serious inwardly than they may appear outwardly. Their inner world is well described as playful, imaginative, colorful, mischievous, and daring." GUILTY!

3) "At intervals INFJs will suddenly withdraw into themselves, sometimes shutting out even their intimates. This apparent paradox is a necessary escape valve for them, providing both time to rebuild their depleted resources and a filter to prevent the emotional overload to which they are so susceptible as inherent ‘givers.’" <insert sound of mind being blown>

4) "...many INFJs report feeling like aliens in the world." Now this is just getting creepy.

Clint, the hubs, is an INTJ, which is another one of the rarest types, accounting for 1-4 percent of the population. Yep, he and I are just a couple of weirdos. The most interesting standouts about him:

1) "They generally withhold strong emotion and do not like to waste time with what they consider irrational social rituals."  It would take me ten pages to go into all the reasons why this is accurate and hilarious, including an explanation of what happens when we have to pull over for a funeral procession, but I'll just leave it at this - it's accurate. And hilarious.

2) "They may even be considered the most independent of all of the sixteen personality types." Again, accurate and hilarious.

3) "By nature INTJs can be demanding in their expectations, and approach relationships in a rational manner." Seriously, it’s like Wikipedia wrote this article specifically about Clint.

So, I don't know - maybe Carl Jung really was on to something when he came up with his theories. All I know is it's fun to get some insight into your quirks...and your husband's quirks. And then laugh at them. A lot.

And it's also nice to know that I'm not alone in my weirdnesses...even if there aren't that many of us.

What about you? What's your type?