I recently read a blog post from a girl that had been married for about a year, talking about how marriage wasn’t hard. How life was hard, and that in fact, marriage should not be hard at all. 

I disagree. 

We’re still in a young marriage, only two years and some change. But I can tell you that marriage IS hard. It’s hard when you have to sacrifice the things that you thought you wanted because they don’t fit the same anymore. It’s hard when you get pregnant on accident and you suddenly have to reevaluate every plan you’ve made together, and there’s resentment there. It’s hard when you’re throwing up every morning and he doesn’t know the routine that your mom used to go through every time you ever got sick. It’s hard when you learn that your baby is dying and he doesn’t react the way you think he should, and you have to go through this massive learning curve because you grieve differently. It’s HARD to live every day loving someone that isn’t perfect and annoys you and knows how to get under your skin. 

BUT….

It’s worth it. This hard life we live together is worth it for the  laughter and the joy that is in every day. It’s worth it for the millions of times I’ve broken down and he doesn’t understand but he holds me anyways. It’s worth it for the hiking trips and him pushing me to be the best I can be. It’s worth it for the beautiful life we’re building together. 

The happy moments outweigh the hard ones. 

And I’m proud that we can get through the hard days to enjoy the good ones. 

I’m proud of him. And he’s proud of me. 

Waiting.

I don’t know how to do it. How to live month to month praying for a little plus sign. The disappointment that crushes your hope and will and the need to just take another pregnancy test, “that ones probably just faulty.” I don’t know how anyone does this. The waiting and waiting when just last year you were pregnant on accident. People say “it’s the stress.” Or “just not the right timing.” “Not the right month.” So you just wait. And hope again. Take the prenatals and stop drinking alcohol and only drink one cup of coffee instead of the six you want and don’t go to the amusement park, or lift too much weight.  And you start the waiting again. 

It’s been three months since I lost my second baby at six weeks. The doctors say they can’t find anything wrong. But here I am and I know, it’s only been two months of trying. But I don’t know how to look at next month or the next. I don’t know how to face this if I don’t get to be a parent. 

Maybe it’s too early to think about what we’ll do if we don’t get to have any more kids. But the thought keeps sneaking in. And I can’t tell you, because this wasn’t supposed to be us. We are supposed to have a little family right now. 

How do I live if all my children are dead. 

Unending Love

When I was really young; I remember my dad took us to a very old grave yard. It was close to our house and only recently cleared of undergrowth. There was a grave that was so small. The gravestone so worn I couldn’t make out what it had said. But there was an angel child on top of it. I remember feeling broken for that child. For the mother and father that had to bury this tiny body. I couldn’t have been older than 9. I stood by that grave while everyone else continued to look and remember the other stories that were told on other stones. I couldn’t shake the feeling that this child mattered so much even though he had only been on earth for a short time. I look at my heart and I don’t want to say I’ve been prepared. Because nothing could prepare me for the loss of Austin. But I see that my heart had a love built into it. A love that I’ve been preparing longer than even I understand. A love for this child that I won’t get to hold and raise and teach. A love that I’ve known was there since I myself was a child. 

I don’t know why I had to be the one to give up my baby. But I do know that my love for him knows no barriers. And I think that my heart was ready. Even when the rest of me wasn’t. 

February

This month has seemed shorter than most of the February’s I’ve experienced. Technically, we’re only about halfway through but I think the next 16 days will go just as quickly as the first 12 did.

This month began with a million questions. Questions like what is amniotic fluid? How low is too low? What is causing this? What is the survival rate for  a baby with less than 3 centimeters? And does my baby have a chance?

We recieved the answers two days ago and have been absorbing and praying ever since.

Our baby has no kidneys. This is a lethal diagnosis. Meaning the doctors have no hope for survival. They called it some fancy something but I don’t remember enough to be able to tell you the medical name for this. At 21 weeks our first option that was never really on option for me was terminating the pregnancy. The second option and what we will be doing is continuing the pregnancy as is. I have been permanently transferred to a fetal care specialist in San Diego and will continue regular appointments with her. Each will include an ultrasound to see how baby is growing and make sure there are no other problems. Since the amniotic fluid is so low we have not been able to determine the gender, but we had a blood test done and should know by the end of next week or so. If all goes well our baby will continue to grow until we come to term. At which point we will deliver and plan for comfort care to help her or him be as comfortable as possible for the little time we will have with them. With this defect it is also a possibility that the baby’s heart could stop beating at any point between now and 40 weeks. If that is the case we will deliver whenever that occurs.
Our baby also has a heart murmer that we will be getting checked out this Tuesday. Our specialist is not too worried because she says this can be quite common and will most likely work itself out. We have had a blood test done to try and determine a cause for the kidneys not growing. We will know more at our next appointment in March.

As you can imagine this week has been devastating. I am at a loss. I find comfort in knowing the Lord is never lost. This is an impossible situation and yet we know through him all things are possible. We will, and we hope all of you will, continue to pray for a miracle. We all know he can, and if he doesn’t then we all know there is an eternity after this that I will get to spend with this little one. I am scared of these next few months and the grief that will come with the joy of having this beautiful baby inside of me. Pray for Gods peace to stay with me through this. Pray that Thomas will have strength when I fail. Pray for our young marriage. This is so much more than we ever thought we would go through. We were ready for war, and yet this is a whole different battle. Pray for us.

I am falling

As Monday approaches I get more anxious. The thought of going to the specialist has half of my soul in tears wanting to know everything so badly right now, and the other half is curled up in bed with this constant dread and want to never get up again.
We went to church last Sunday and it was one of those services that you know are sent straight from God to you. The pastor began this service with a prayer for healing, and then continued to talk of the healing power of Christ. At the end he asked for those who needed healing to come to the prayer teams so they could pray over us and whoever needed it. Since that moment I have felt peace; a stability about whatever is to come next.
My mom got into town yesterday and her presence is ever comforting. There is still such a childlike feeling that everything will be ok now that moms here. I can do anything if mom is close and I am so thankful to have such an amazing mom that will drop everything to fly across the country just to be near us for this. I am also just so lucky to have a family that is in constant prayer for us. I wouldn’t make it a day without your texts and phone calls. Thank you for your love. We feel it. 
As Monday approaches; pray for us. I feel we are in free fall and I don’t know if we’ll land on a cloud or hit bottom. It is an exhausting place to try and stand stand.

Be Still

It’s midnight here in Southern California and I am at a loss. Sleep seems like an impossible feat and one I am not quite ready to conquer tonight. I’m writing because I feel there is so little I can do and doing nothing just isn’t an option. So I will ask for prayer and peace. I’m sorry this will not be well worded or easy to read. I was never a writer.

I went for my twenty week ultrasound on Friday. It was a bit early but my OB wanted to get in so we could confirm a due date since the baby was measuring less than what my expected gestational age should be. When they began the ultrasound the tech knew pretty quickly that something was off. The heartbeat was perfect and strong, but she had a lot of difficulty getting any good view of baby. I was informed that the amniotic fluid that should be about 15 cm of fluid around the baby was measuring around 1 to 3 cm. At this point she told me to sit tight and she was going to grab a doctor that could answer a few more questions.
Who knew that two words that had never entered my vocabulary before could suddenly be all that mattered. Amniotic fluid.
The doctor who came to talk to me then explained that he was setting up an appointment with a specialist and that they should be calling soon.
His opening statement was “there is always a positive” and then proceeded to explain that there is nothing any doctor can do. That there is nothing I can do. The specialist will be able to explain why this has happened.
There are two possible reasons that there is so little fluid; either there is a tear in the sac holding the baby, or the baby is not developing kidneys or a bladder so she/he is not producing any fluid.
Both are terrible options to be facing at 18 weeks and 6 days. From what I can gather this is not very common. It happens in about 4% of pregnancies and in the ones it does; most are during the third trimester leading to an early delivery. There is very little chance of good news from any doctor.
.
The Marines let Thomas come home from the field last night and he has been with me which is truly a blessing. Having him beside me through this is my anchor to the world right now.

I spent most of yesterday in a haze and a constant ache I felt through every bit of me.

In one word. Terrified. I am terrified of every step that could come next. I am terrified to move and terrified not to. I am terrified to go to this next appointment to find out and I am terrified that I don’t already know.

We are in need of prayer. We are in need of a miracle. I know the Lord has a plan here and we need prayer for patience as we wait for that plan to unfold. I am trying so hard to hand this baby and her/his life over to our Lord and to find peace in knowing that baby is safe in his hands. Pray for us.

No matter what comes next; I am so proud to be the mother of this little girl or little boy.