Adulting is hard!

When I was young all I wanted was to get married and have eight kids. As I got older I thought about money, space, and everything else. I amended the amount to four. I would have four kids. That number seemed reasonable to me and I wanted to get started as soon as possible. Most of the jobs I have had revolved around my love of children. By 24 I was teaching First Grade, but getting pretty impatient. I went on the occasional date, but nothing was good enough for a repeat. My family would continuously tell me I was too picky. I signed up for classes to get licensed to foster. I would be a mother - husband or not! It was a process... classes, home inspection, fire inspection, interviews, and more. It took close to a year, but I was ready for a child. A couple months later, I got a call and my foster daughter moved in that night. There were ups and downs, but I was her mother. Her parents had signed away there rights, I was going to be able to adopt her! That would not come to be because around this time her grandmother stopped traveling for work and decided she wanted to adopt her. She stayed with me for ten months and then as quick as she came, she was gone. I had lost my first child. 

I "finally" met Ryan when I was 27 in 2012. We dated and married when I was 29. I had found the father of my children. Surely things would be easier now.  We decided to wait a little while before starting our family, but we would start soon. While on a summer trip to Nebraska in 2015 we found out we were pregnant. We both cried as we looked at the pregnancy test in disbelief. Our joy would be short-lived. We miscarried just before six weeks. I had lost my second child.  

(Recap for my readers) In October, we found out that we were expecting again. This was Philip, our rainbow baby. I was sick the entire pregnancy, throwing up at least once a day. After he was born, I experienced Postpartum Depression and Anxiety. A week long stay in a mental facility, medications, and therapy. In time, I worked through my Postpartum issues. Life was not getting any easier, but I finally had a child of my own. When Philip was about a year we decided it was time to work on child number two. 

In September, we were blessed with another pregnancy. At seven weeks, we heard the heartbeat.  The chance of miscarriage is two percent after a heartbeat is heard. Unfortunately, I am in that two percent. I didn't know it, but my baby's heart stopped about a week later. At my next appointment, I cried as I learned the truth. My body hadn't realized, but my baby had died. I had to have a D&C, surgical removal. I was put to sleep and it was gone. I had lost my third child. 

My simple dream seems so far from a possible reality. I know we can try again, foster, or even adopt. I have lost three children at this point and I don't know that I can do it again. Every time it is like a piece of me dies and is broken. I recover and move on, but those pieces are always missing. I am physically recovered, but emotionally it is a process. Life moves on and people continue living. It seems many people that I know are expecting right now. It hurts that my baby died and I can't help, but be a little jealous. Jealousy is one of those feelings that doesn't feel good. I am sure that I will get to a point where I am happy for these people again, but in all honesty, I am not there yet.  

I wish that I knew about all these things as I was growing up and dreaming of the future. I'm not saying that I think people should be walking around killing little girls' dreams.  I do think people should be more honest about their experiences. Miscarriages, Postpartum Depression, and grief should not be secrets to be swept under the rug. I have talked to many people who have shared some or all of these experiences with me. There is comfort to be found in sharing with others even years later. I had no idea how common these things were until I started experiencing them - miscarriage (1 in 4) / Postpartum Depression (1 in 9). I think every girl should know the truth about what might happen to them. It may not have changed anything, but I wish I knew. 

Necklace for my February and
May angel babies 

All this is not to say I am ungrateful for what I have. I am blessed to have Ryan and Philip. I have air in my lungs, a wonderful extended family, beautiful home, and more than I need. These are the things I reflected on during Thanksgiving despite the loss in my heart. Moving forward, I don't know what the future holds. Will the girl that I once was have her dreams come true? Are there any more children in my future? 

Luckily, these are my thoughts today... and thankfully, no decisions have to be made today.  

Where have I been?

I have been missing from a lot of my regular places for the last four weeks. A canceled vacation, missed celebrations/family events, no church, and all the other things I love about my weeks. Ryan and I found out we were expecting at the end of September. A few weeks later Hyperemesis Gravardium became my reality again. This is the fancy name for extreme morning sickness. What it means for me is constant nausea, vomiting, and dehydration. Nothing I haven't experienced before, I was just hoping this time would be different. Second pregnancy and the flexibility to rest at home more. Unfortunately, I would be seeing more of my toilet bowl than anybody wants to. Each day was a decision if I kept down enough fluids or we needed to go to the ER. This was a sheer guess and we stayed out of the ER, even though we likely should have gone in. 

I have had a lot of guilt over the last few weeks. The sickness has taken over and it has taken a lot to do my typical day to day. Philip has gotten to watch a lot more Sesame Street than I would like, but it was all I could do to make it through. Ryan had a business trip and my parents offered that I could stay with them while he was gone. They could help me with Philip and would be there if we needed to head to the ER.  

On Tuesday, I had my regularly scheduled ob appointment. The second ultrasound and appointment for this baby. Almost twelve weeks - the coveted second trimester in sight. My dad would drive me just in case I needed to throw-up on the way. I would text Ryan the latest picture of our baby after the appointment. The ultrasound technician started looking at the baby and almost immediately the look on her face changed.  She marked a few things on the screen and then said she needed to go get the doctor. As I laid there alone I began to cry - this couldn't be good. They came back in and told me that there was no heartbeat and the size of the baby was just over eight weeks.  My uterus was still growing and my body still thought it was pregnant. The doctor recommended that I have it removed surgically. The risks of carrying it any longer were too high.   

Yesterday I had the surgery to remove the baby. I didn't know what to expect, but I was put under general anesthesia.  The recovery process physically is going really well. Emotionally things are going to take a while longer. I will hold my blessings tight and be thankful for all I have, which now includes two angel babies in Heaven waiting for me. I'm sure there are a lot of details that I left out, but these are the words I can get out and share with you right now.