LL Scoop

I’m not even sure where to begin this blog. This pregnancy has had all the feels and much information to process regularly. Many have asked about the details, so in true Carly fashion, here I am writing about it:

We were at one of our first appointments for this pregnancy, and the nurse was checking my medical history. She said, “And this is your seventh pregnancy?” I laughed out loud and said oh no, definitely not 7. She very kindly looked at the chart, looked at me, and turns out, when including extremely early miscarriages, this is in fact the seventh time I’ve been pregnant. (I immediately thought of Sound of Music and Maria muttering “Seven?? Yes, but SEVEN??”)

Seventh pregnancy. It’s our fourth since Abram. The second since then that made it past a week, and the first that has had a heartbeat and growth. It’s the fourth time that I’ve made it past the first trimester, stretched enough to have to give up pants that button (oh, darn), and the fourth time we’ve nicknamed a little one growing in my belly while we pick out names.  With Abram, before we knew anything was wrong, being simply busy with life, I took very little pictures. I didn’t write down much about it, didn’t stress about appointments, and pretty much took the “third kid, less attention” route. Now, every picture I took with that bump matters so much more. Every detail we remember is stored carefully in our hearts as a part of his story.

So, this pregnancy from the start was different. So much knowledge. So much history. So much that I fear, and so much that I hope. We have been monitoring this baby since the first HCG test came back, and as we watched those numbers double, we began to hope. Then we saw the first heartbeat at 6 weeks, even though we couldn’t hear it yet, and we hoped a little more. Then we heard the heart at 8 weeks, saw the little paddle hands, and we hoped a little more. Then we saw her/him waving to us at UVA and crossing those tiny legs, and I began to feel like this could actually happen. Cautious hope every day.

Some have asked about the medical logistics of all this. The complications we had with Abram are a risk again. Abram had what’s called intrauterine growth restriction (IUGR). It’s when the placenta – what Erin calls the ‘life force’ inside the uterus attached to the wall, where all nutrients from me go through to baby – kind of sucks. In my case, really sucks. With Abram, these vessels within the placenta that were supposed to be pumping, filtering and cycling nutrients/oxygen etc…they were a swamp. The blood was pooling and clotting, rather than flowing healthily to get nutrients to Abram. So while there was nothing genetically wrong with him, he could not grow; you cannot “fix” an already “broken” placenta, and ultimately a blood clot is what caused his heart to stop beating, a very simple fact that makes me cry every time I write it.  Between preeclampsia and not amazing placentas (in Abram’s case, a completely dysfunctional one), my pregnancies have potential to be…risky.

So we have a pretty stellar care team to try to prevent IUGR from happening again. Erin Baird at Centra Women’s Center is our freaking rock and answers literally every question I think of at any time of day or night, and if you know me, you know my brain is WIRED to generate questions. Many of them. Whether it’s medical or emotional support, she’s there. She works closely with an amazing MFM physician, Kate Pettit, at UVA, who actually diagnosed Abram’s issues, and walked us through the news, the bridges we needed to cross, and the complicated medical pieces simply beautifully, with the exact amount of information we needed and incredible personal compassion. Erin has also been with us since Adalyn’s pregnancy, delivered her, got us through Bria preeclampsia fun, and was the one who delivered Abram with complete care and compassion. She also happens to be one of our most favorite friends, along with her fam. She does All The Things.  Erin and Pettit are both merely amazing, communicate as a team, and we feel very, very, very lucky to have them determining the plan of care and walking us through this.

So our actual plan of care has included extra hormones for the first 12 weeks to decrease risk of miscarriage, improve uterine lining, make me crazy(ier), etc; lovenox shots to combat the god awful placentas; and frequent monitoring. While I don’t have a blood clotting disorder, when pregnant, my body pretty much acts like I do. Thus, they treat it like I do. The lovenox should preventatively help the placenta both form and function in a more healthy fashion. I get to give those shots to myself daily, right in the belly, and thus am daily reminded that clinical stuff FREAKS ME OUT. I pretty much am terrible at these, but am happy to do them the entire pregnancy to try to keep this baby healthy and growing. My stomach looks like I’ve been pelted with several miniature paintballs. Bria calls them my polka dots.

In terms of the actual being-pregnant end of things, I’ve been way more sick with this one than any others. We take this as a good sign! Morning sickness is also evening sickness and lunch sickness and late night sickness. Sheaff finds it hilarious to attempt predicting what will set me off as it’s pretty random. Plain English muffin sent me puking.  A bag of Cheetos, I could joyously inhale in 5 minutes, especially if followed by a pickle (gross, right?!).  Mostly cold fruit seems to be the ticket to happiness. Little Love, so far, does not make much sense in her cravings, but hey, you do you, LL. The first trimester fatigue is fading a little bit. Sheaff says my moods are totally stable (LOLZ).

Little Love is technically due Oct 5^th.  The closest I’ve gotten to a due date was 11 days early, so chances of making to October are slightly laughable. We are mainly rooting for a viable, healthy baby, so while late September would be amazing, we’re supposing that the months before that are also possibilities. Plans are cute, but not something we can really make at this point (which is toooootally fine with my Type A personality…. she says as she plans how to not make plans).

It’s impossible during this journey to not think of Abram. People ask how it’s been emotionally, and to that, I just say All The Feels. All of them. I miss him. Especially because this should be the time of year we are celebrating his birthday watching him destroy his first birthday cake, seeing his first steps. I should be hanging diapers out on the line. We should have a son beside our daughters. The what if’s are awfully loud in the Spring time, reminding me what could have been, and what is not. My heart still feels cracked and perhaps even rubbed more raw around the edges. I’m no less thankful for Abram and all he is to us, and no less thankful for Little Love, but the heart still grieves. And you have to let it.

Of course, worry for this baby overlaps with what we went through with Abram.  Every time they look for a heartbeat and it takes more than a few seconds, my own heart seems to freeze, afraid that the baby’s has stopped, remembering those moments when we knew Abram had gone. Each ultrasound, we are checking every sign of growth, comparing it to Abram (who was fine at this point in pregnancy, before the placenta took over). Telling myself not to worry isn’t very realistic (Sheaff is much more talented on this front), so I’ve worked on trying to make sure I acknowledge the fear, and find a healthy way to breathe it out.  Some who know me know that my faith is like a river, and so I have to remind myself to simply cast that worry into the river and let the waters wrap around it, asking it to heal and comfort and protect. Some days are peaceful. Some days are anxious. I’m not sure what most moms feel during a pregnancy after loss, but I feel like it’s probably close to normal.  Ultimately, I know that we were and are okay after Abram, and we would go through it all over again, just to know his spirit. I have to trust that our family is going to be okay, whatever our story looks like.

Which brings me to where we are today and each day: one week at a time, one milestone at a time, one little bit at a time. We want this baby to be loved and know love, just like we have for all of our little ones. We know this is the last time I want to go through a pregnancy, so I’m appreciating each moment that I am, and simply hoping that I get to keep doing so through the summer. While worrying is going to happen – how could it not- the fact that we’re worrying means that there’s a baby, and so we’re grateful for all of it. Our people and our village have already shown us such incredible love and support. And most of all, Adalyn and Bria keep us grounded and joyful. They are excited, they ask questions, they say so clearly and simply what we are feeling. And their hearts just seem like they are made and ready to love. At the end of the day, I think the best we can do is follow our kids, and echo that wide open honesty, hope and love.