Let Hope In

I’ve been wanting to write about what it’s like being pregnant after a loss. I’m sure everyone experiences it differently, but for me, carrying this child has simply been different, trying to be healthy about it physically, mentally and emotionally but having to work at all of those.  As someone who takes great comfort in being prepared but also has been raised to believe in optimism, those two sometimes felt at odds with each other. It’s been a learning curve, this constant balance between bracing yourself and letting hope in.

Some observations of what’s been different:

-Putting off small, specific tasks, to-do’s or ‘official’ plans. It’s the little things. Before we lost Abram and had multiple miscarriages, once we saw a positive pregnancy test, I wrote ahead in the calendar how far along I’d be each week all the way to the due date. Something in my Type A mama brain loved to see it all laid out and reaching the next milestone week after week. I only had Abram’s “weeks” written down through December as the planner stopped there, but I remember seeing what week he should have been after we had lost him. Each number naively written in the top squares of the calendar before we found out something was wrong, before we delivered and held him, before we had to say goodbye when we had barely said hello.  Writing things down felt scary this time. I wouldn’t even sign up for the usual babycenter weekly updates online that I had done with the others until several weeks in, because I was afraid of having to un-sign-up again. None of these little things made our grief that much worse after Abram; they were just specific small things that I didn’t expect to sting a raw heart, and I didn’t want them to blindside me again.

 It took me to Week 28 to write down the remaining weeks in my planner this year, and after that seemingly “big” act, I had this flood of planning, writing lists for each month, creating a little registry of items we needed, picturing ‘normal’ life and routine with a baby, actually worrying about how we’d handle 3. It felt so good to hope unabashedly.  Holding back isn’t exactly my nature, and I don’t think I realized how much I had been holding in a breath, waiting until “the next ultrasound” just in case, month after month.

-Big Sister Prep: Adalyn and Bria have been a great reminder of perspective. We told them there’s a baby in mama’s tummy since the beginning, but even with them, it took several months before they moved past “Is Little Love’s heart still beating?” “Is Little Love growing?” I found myself wanting to finish every statement of hope with one of caution, and every statement of caution with one of hope. I didn’t want them to be worried; I didn’t want them to be blindsided. We’ve tried to just let them lead, answering the questions they ask. They also have a less hesitant hope that I find myself so grateful for.  When they talk about what they want and imagine, we are right there with them saying “Us too!” I don’t know if there’s a right way to navigate these conversations with kiddos, but I think there being conversations is the main thing.

-Due date: Lately people have begun stopping me in public to ask when my due date is. Typically I’m chasing after the kids or concentrating on them not acting like hellions in public, so it usually takes me a second to figure what the heck this stranger is asking me (during which a brief flash of panic crosses their face wondering if in fact the large watermelon-like shape on the front of me is a baby). Once I realize they’re asking me when the baby is coming, I normally stutter for a few seconds before saying “hopefully end of September-ish.”  The grocery store with a total stranger is usually not the time to get into the fact that this entire pregnancy, the due date has seemed very, very, very far away and something I was afraid to attach myself to, and for 29 weeks, we’ve just been trying to get to a viable baby that has a chance of living. However, friends and family usually get the total mouthful of when baby could actually arrive, which is probably different than the very simple date they were expecting to hear. Sorry, everyone. J

-Gender: We truly did not care if this baby was a boy or a girl. When we said we just wanted a healthy baby, we meant it 100%. I imagined both with love. Adalyn did tell us, “I hope it’s a brother. Because we had Abram and he was a boy, but I also want a real baby I can hold that is a brother, that we can play with.” Leave it to a 5 year old to name exactly how you feel.  There’s a hole where the idea of a little brother gapes, what it would have been like to have a little boy in our house … part of me certainly hoped we would get a second chance. Not to fill the hole, but to change its shape a bit. Bria just said, “Hmm, I want a…baby!” Well said, kiddo.

-Preparing: The “nursery” has been a very unsure, in-between space for over a year since Bria moved to the bunk bed. Now that we feel more sure it will be LL’s room, I’ve been torn between being afraid to jinx it and wanting to celebrate. Luckily, I have great fam/friends, several of whom have lost too, who simply say – embrace hope. Go for it. Plan the nursery. Look at the baby clothes; sort those sizes while you “aww” over the little outfits. Make a list of things you need. Decorate for your little boy. After a while, I’ve realized it’s not like I hadn’t started hoping and imagining anyway. There’s a certain relief in the permission and act of letting it in. Sometimes a small trickle of hope, sometimes huge waves of excitement.

-Check-ups: Thank God for Centra Women’s Center (and Erin, always Erin). They know me; they know our history; they know our family. In one the latest appointments when LL was measuring 2 weeks ahead, Erin understood my reaction of disbelief and stubborn concern completely and convinced me as many times as she needed to that we were looking at really good news. They have never made me feel crazy for coming in for a heartbeat check and have simply walked the journey with us.

The ultrasounds often make me think of Abram. That’s where we got to see him moving, wiggling, sucking his thumb, turning, kicking. I will also never forget seeing him on the screen that day we lost him, as Amy and Erin cried with us, confirming what we already knew. He was so still. It wasn’t a surprise that morning, but my god our hearts broke. That’s how we knew our baby was gone.

 The day of the glucose test for LL, I hadn’t eaten much at all, thus he was moving much less than usual. I can’t tell you how fast fear flashed through every bone in my body until Amy showed the heartbeat and got him wiggling again. The surges of relief are huge, every heartbeat, every ultrasound. The gratitude for that simple sound and sight of this little love.

 Because the placenta is located on the front-side of my belly, movements have felt much different. Adalyn, Bria and Abram I felt very early (thank goodness we had those extra weeks of feeling Abram!). LL’s were soft for weeks, and I wouldn’t realize I was worried until I felt that movement and let out a sigh of relief. I’d flashback to when Abram stopped moving, even for his beloved Ben and Jerry’s, the night Sheaff and I sat in bed and knew he may have gone.  There are continual flashbacks one has to talk oneself through.

This pregnancy has been healthy. For the first time ever, we have a big baby. Adalyn was our biggest at barely over 6 pounds, 2 weeks early. Apparently I’m a great example of a variant of anti-phosphate lipid syndrome with improved outcomes due to lovenox daily injections (did I get that right, Erin??). Aka, the shots are working! High fives all around! Every pregnancy symptom that’s cause for complaint is actually a cause for thankfulness. Hurray puke! Hurray sore feet! Hurray huge awkward belly! Hurray Things They Don’t Tell You About Pregnancy!

Abram was born at 22 weeks, and was only 8 ounces. He was even smaller than his gestational age due to intrauterine growth restriction/what we very technically dubbed a “shit placenta.”  At 26 weeks, LL was 2lbs and 12 oz, which seems HUGE comparably. And viable. There are many emotions with this. Mainly: Joy. Joy. Joy. Our baby is healthy. I’ve also noticed that sadness and guilt also sneak in when we are relieved and happy that this is different. I don’t want it to feel like we are associating something bad with little Abram, or that we don’t want this baby to be like him. Sometimes, I forget that grief still hits. One day it hit me right after we sorted some items in the nursery, and the tears just started pouring. I didn’t realize I could be so thankful for LL and so heartbroken to have lost Abram in all the same moments. Sometimes joy and sorrow lean on each other, sharing a space, and an understanding that this story has many threads woven into it that all matter.

And I wouldn’t give up any piece of our story, from our two girls to our two boys.

Another friend told me that he believed that when Abram died, his spirit shattered and burst into so many pieces, and that there is a piece of his spirit within LL. I believe that completely. LL is his own person, but he also carries part of his brother with him, I know. We all do.

It’s work to process. There are many times to be patient and kind to yourself while you learn to heal and celebrate at the same time. You have to sort through the anxiety regularly.  As mom told me once, if I can’t let go of fears, maybe think of just not holding too tightly to them. There is the river after all, ready to wrap its waters of good around us in joy and understanding and hope. For there is good in every thread of our story.  And I suppose that’s what I’ve learned the most about this pregnancy. From the beauty in Abram’s story; from our girls’ beautiful perspectives and funny ways; from LL’s rolling flips; from my husband’s quiet strength; from my own love for all of them; from our village that holds us…. I have learned that at the end of the day to let hope in.  Let hope in.

Just let it in, and the rest will unfold.