In trying to stay true to the point of this blog (--> for the next girl finding comfort in having similar thoughts), it's only fair to update on the last couple of months.
Similar to some other parents I've met, Shay and I wanted to "try again" to get pregnant immediately after we lost Kyler. I'm sure it was a bit of an unhealthy desire so early (i.e. the next week), but that desire never once went away.
Months later, I'm now thankful for the time we had to solely grieve Kyler and that we weren't learning to balance fresh grief with fresh fear of a second pregnancy, and all the what-ifs that very assuredly would come with it. There were enough what-ifs as it were. "What if we had induced a week earlier?" "What if we had caught something sooner?" "What if we had done genetic testing?"
It's 9 months after his birth- to the day- and it's taken every bit of 9 months to figure out how to smile when harmless comments sting and learn how to carry multiple emotions in the same moment. Some of the hardest things after losing him had to do with relating to other people- those who were pregnant or had infants. To think outside yourself or to honor those emotions you feel rising up? Coming in as a close second was the difficulty in missing someone you didn't really know vs. mourning the event of the delivery/goodbye itself. There's still some guilt in not understanding how to miss memories that were never made.
After 5 months of "trying" and realizing we A.) really had zero control over the outcome, esp since I had no clue what my body was doing, and B.) were becoming way too caught up in the attempts and the failures, we decided to throw in the towel on timing and tracking. There's a lesson here with giving up control, I believe.
During month six of being incredibly irregular and irritated, I made an ultrasound appointment to see if everything was checking out okay. Well, it was... kind of. When I showed up, I was ~8 weeks from my last cycle, and were told there was a sac. No heartbeat, no solid evidence of a baby, but definitely a sac. The calendar would suggest that we had been pregnant but would soon miscarry. We did blood work for a couple of weeks and showed back up 2 weeks later to find out there was a heartbeat. I honestly don't remember much about the appointment except feeling a very tangible wall between my chest and the ultrasound machine that prohibited very little excitement from getting through. Because we had promised to be forthcoming, we told our families immediately.
Not sure how to describe my feelings initially, except that I KNEW I didn't want anyone projecting into the future with comments like, "Oh, we'll have another chance for 2 babies this year!" or "we can't plan a trip then because you'll have a baby by that point." No flipping way; that failed before, why set yourself up for extra misery? While I'm thinking about it, we had a very noticeable "grieving differently" moment that ultrasound day. Shay cleared out and rearranged the nursery that day and I took the pup on a walk while he did it. Denial sounds like such a strong word, but the first couple of friends we told had suggested that may have described me..
At week 8, we had another ultrasound to confirm we "were actually pregnant" because Shay and I were taking a trip to Europe and I had to know if I was cancelling the Tuscan winery tours for no reason.
I know... something wrong with this logic.
At week 12, the nurse tried to find the heartbeat with the doppler but wasn't able to. Knowing our history, she tried f.o.r.e.v.e.r. to find it. When my own heartrate got high enough, she left to get the doctor, and I sat in the ultrasound room for 20 minutes planning my D&C. I was legitimately planning which employer to call first to cancel the rest of that day.
Aaaand flashforward to today, almost 15 weeks. And I'm afraid I'll regret posting this now because our Thursday scan may be "the one" where we find out we actually won't have 2 babies at Christmas again this year. When it's happened once after the point when conventional logic says it could happen, you expect the words "I'm sorry" at every scan. Your head can tell you the odds are in your favor, but that gut reaction to AVOID PAIN AT ALL COSTS can flare up really strong.
We found out a couple of weeks ago that we're having another boy. I'm pleasantly surprised that my gut reaction was excitement. Maybe it would have been so either way. I was worried that having a boy would prompt comments that sounded like he was a replacement because we "got another chance!", but I immediately felt very aware that this was a SECOND son, not to be confused with Kyler. And I still get to walk around saying, "my boys!".
I'm not yet to the point where those who don't know me think that I'm showing, but I'm nervous for that infamous (in pregnancy-after-loss world) question, "Oh! Is this your first?"
To be transparent, it feels like a dishonor to Kyler and the months spent waiting for him to answer YES. But someone reminded me that not everyone deserves to know about Ky's precious memory. And that's not a bad thing, it just is. So I'm sure I'll do a mix of YES and NO'ing and fumble through some explanations if it's awkward. I will say, I've learned to care far less about others' reactions, but learned to do what seems right/true in the given conversation.
On the days when the pregnancy road feels extra drawn out, I've felt a new sadness regarding how much sickness, fatigue, and general discomfort and inconvenience we went through for over 9 months "for nothing." (Now, I know it's not truly for nothing, but at times it feels that way.)
So, I think the current battle is in staying present and thankful for each day of carrying this child ... who really needs a name soon so I can grasp he's in there.
Come what may, the true things in the world won't change, and my ultimate home for the rest of my life won't change. Sometimes it comes out of my mouth as, "We're all going to heaven anyway," which can sound morbid. But it's not. It's really the fuel to keep your head up.