Mother of Two.

There are lots of things that are hard to talk about. Sometimes it’s good news that’s hard to share. Maybe it’s too early to get all worked up about something that will  (only maybe) happen so far in the future. Things are happening to make the time for sharing not quite right: others are having difficulty, or someone else has a celebration that shouldn’t be “highjacked” or you just don’t end up seeing the people you want to tell in person for a long time.  And I’m having a hard time thinking of a time when it was “easy” to share bad news. There’s never good timing for that. Good news turned to bad news is even worse. Maybe THE worst. There hasn’t been time to share the joy before you are suddenly left with this tremendous pain. It’s someone’s birthday, or an engagement was just announced, or it’s Mother’s Day and it feels wrong to tell even the few people who knew you were pregnant that you are no longer pregnant when they ought to be enjoying this admittedly made-up-by-the-card-companies holiday, but still. No one wants to rain on a parade.  

Our newest little one would have joined us sometime in that little space of breathing room between Thanksgiving and Christmas 2013. Logistics were already being considered. Care providers had been selected, doulas brought on board for the birth and postpartum period. Matt was in charge of a boy’s name. I was struggling with preparing a name in the unlikely event of a girl. Would we “find out” beforehand? Or let it be a surprise this time? When should we talk about Godparents? I bought a book on Blessingways, and had been giggling over some of the more obscure entries on the various baby name lists scattered around the Internet (certainly Matt wouldn’t choose “Adelbert” for a boy!). Researching the latest studies on prenatal testing and birth methods suddenly turned into typing “spotting, ten weeks pregnant, normal?” into Google. By the Friday before Mother’s Day, we were gathered in a small room at the radiology lab, telling the sweet ultrasound tech that it was OK, we knew why we were there, and that we were “ready” if she had bad news for us. We weren’t ready. Who is ever ready for something like this?

Our carefully selected “team” has not let us down. Even more than their professional caring, their kindness and gentleness to us these past few days has been such a gift. One of our doulas came to spend Saturday night, sitting with me, talking with me and monitoring me so Matt could sleep, and I could release my fear of bleeding too much (blame hormones, but for a little while there, I was in great, real fear that I was going to die if I didn’t go to the hospital, if someone wasn’t there to check on me).

Teddy knew about the pregnancy. He was so excited to be a big brother. We were careful to tell him, from the beginning, that it was important to remember that sometimes babies don’t “grow big enough to come out”.  He hadn’t been feeling well ahead of my appointment at the lab, and, not wanting to potentially infect our friends’ seven month old, but also not wanting to postpone confirmation of our fears until after the weekend, we opted to bring him with us instead of leave him with them, telling him that we were going to go see if the baby was going to get big enough to come out. He is disappointed, of course, but he has talked it out with me, with Matt, with one of our doulas, and seems to be handling it well. Definitely better than I am, I can’t lie. And because of these verses, and the story of Samuel, and the gender neutrality of the shortened name, Matt and I have named our second child Sam.

Three weeks after we discovered the presence of our second child in our lives, the image below popped up into my newsfeed on Facebook. At the time, I was so excited, and I focused on the first sentence, “I have prayed for this child, and the Lord has granted me what I asked of Him.” I basked in thankfulness and joy. At the time, it never crossed my mind that giving over our child to the Lord for his whole life would happen quite so soon, quite so literally, that his life here with us would be so short. And I know that it can be hard for others to understand, but those last two sentences have been so comforting to me over the past 48 hours. My sweet little one, my little love who I have never seen, is so safe and happy. I never thought I would ever be able to put my own wants and pain aside enough to experience the relief and joy of being certain of my little one’s safety and peace. At the same time that I marvel at and revel in the comfort of it, I feel as if I am purposely, selfishly avoiding the hurt and sorrow. When I feel the pain and sadness, I then wonder how I can be so selfish as to ignore my sweet little one’s greater good. I can go in those circle for hours, but instead I choose to let myself feel the feeling of the moment and try not to look behind it for motive, ulterior or otherwise.

I want to share some resources I found this past weekend, and wish that I'd availed myself of before all of this happened. I knew of at least one of these excellent websites long before my own miscarriage, but I deliberately avoided checking it out, hoping I would never need it. Now, I wish I'd looked through it and had this knowledge in my bank, ready to use, instead of having to search through it, half panicking, to find what I was looking for. I wish I had read these things before, so I would know how to help others in this situation before it happened to me.

http://lostinnocentsorthodox.blogspot.com This is written from a religious viewpoint, but the information on what to expect, and "the actual process" is helpful to anyone regardless of faith or spirituality. I have not found a more comprehensive and thorough guide anywhere.

http://www.mamaandbabylove.com/2012/01/31/my-natural-miscarriage-story/ I am so glad that I found this when I did. Again, I wish I had seen it before, but at least I didn't have to find it afterwards. I don't want to think about how my experience would have been different if I hadn't had this wisdom available.