It was our second go. It had been six months since we buried our first babe, and while a lot of healing had happened, my arms still ached to hold our child. Grief is a funny thing. It follows no formula or rules, and shows up at the most awkward and inconvenient of times. Our baby's due date (September 5th, 2012) came and went, and brought with it a sense of a closure. I allowed myself to move on. I don't remember the exact date, but it was around mid-October that I found out I was pregnant again. When I told Ian, there were no tears of joy or shouts of excitement on either of our parts. Just a hug and a sigh. A week later I couldn't tell if I was miscarrying again or if I was seeing signs of implantation. Regardless, I was preparing myself for the worst.
A year ago, this week, I was 6 weeks pregnant and aside from a positive pregnancy test I had no symptoms. I pleaded with God to give me "raging morning sickness" so that I would have some reassurance that I was indeed pregnant. Like the crazy preggo that I was, I called my clinic several times, and someone finally called in an order for a lab to check my hormone levels. I remember that day vividly. I had the day off because it was parent-teacher conferences, but Ian still had to go in. I wasn't going to be able to go to the hospital until Ian got home from work that day. I had grand plans for myself but instead I sat on the couch eating an entire pack of Oreos and sobbing my way through dozens of Parenthood episodes. I heart you Hulu. By the time Ian got home I was quite the hot mess. And I mean the I'm-surrounded-by-a-mountain-of-dirty-tissues-and-I-have-Oreo-crumbs-in-my-hair hot. The labs were fine, and turns out I was baking a bun in my oven. I have a flair for the dramatic, and I don't mourn gracefully. I was convinced that this baby wouldn't make it, and one night I was up way past my bed time. I started to look up little caskets. I know. But they are out there, and we had to use one the first time around. Fortunately I had family and friends willing to knock some sense into me. A week later we got to see our little baby's heart beating.
Pregnancy after a loss is scary, especially if that loss was your first baby. All I knew was loss. I had no other child to lovingly wrap my arms around to soothe the pain. I had no other experience of seeing my body successfully carry and nurture a child. How could I trust it? And yet, here we are a year later. This year I am taking the time to enjoy the world around me. This year, instead of sitting alone in our home avoiding the world, I'm taking my baby out into it.