One year and a secret.

It has been one year since I lost my first baby. He was not the last baby I would lose, and not the last baby I would carry and love.

It was the end of my optimism, the end of the me that believed pregnancy to be happy.

One year. Such a long time. It feels like I was an entirely different person. I've changed many times in this last year. At times being someone I didn't like very much. 

I've been sad, and I've been angry. I've been more than bitter. 

Today though, Josh, today- I remember you. Today I am asking you to watch over me. Watch over the baby inside me now. Today we have a baby, today we are trying again, and today it is alive. 

It is far from easy to be pregnant when all you know of pregnancies are losses. Becoming a mother is supposed to be scary- far more terrifying for me is ending up with no baby. Pregnancy after loss- PAL as it is called- is hard. Harder then a lot of people would realize. For instance- even posting this is more public then I have any intention to be. We haven't told family or friends. This baby is our secret and we will hold it as long as we want. 

When will we tell everyone? 20 weeks, 28 weeks, 36 weeks? No idea. Not yet though. 

Everyone wants to tell you to be positive, to be careful with this one- as though you weren't with the last one. Everyone wants to tell you that if it is meant to be it will work out. Everyone is waiting to tell you they told you it would happen.... Everyone gets very close to getting punched. 

What they should say is; You are brave, You are strong, You are wonderful. Because we are. You, me, Papa, baby- we are all so strong, so brave and so wonderful.

One year Josh. I've missed you for one year. Don't think this baby makes me miss you less- it just makes me miss you less alone. Love you baby. 

 

Maybe

We aren't trying to have kids now. We will, someday.
But we've stopped.
We're making new dreams, new goals.

We are going to soccer games and staying out late.
We're gonna travel, we're gonna drink.
We are going to make irresponsible choices.

We don't have to worry about you.
You wont change. You already are.
You're already done.

I've already failed.
So now I can try something new.
No need to try what you know you can't do.

This isn't a poem.
Promise
I don't do poems.

You are, and you aren't.
You were but are not anymore.
And if I try again, you still might not be.
So why try now.

We're gonna try something else for a while.
But we still wish we couldn't.
We still wish you were.

Due date

Today I would likely have held you.
I would have yawned- probably from a lack of sleep.
Today I would have snuggled you close, and been grateful for your soft hair and your button nose.

Today you would have been born- maybe.
Or maybe I would be lecturing you on the importance of punctuality. Eating spicy food and bouncing on yoga balls to get you to come out already.

Maybe I would be holding your hands, reading to you, wrapping you in a blanket because your father keeps the house so cold.


But instead today I am alone. Missing you. I am holding your blanket, small and incomplete. Crying steadily and feeling so stuck, and so inadequate- a pain so strong in my chest that I feel sure there is an actual crack if you look close enough.

Last night I was fine. Part of me worried that I'd get to April 22 and it would pass without me noticing. Then suddenly, without warning, I realized I was sitting in the office. A room full of computers and bikes- the room that would have been your nursery. I drank a beer- because there is no reason not to.
I am not a mother. I have no child. No one calls me mom.

This is not going to be an articulate post full of wisdom for me to look back on.

No, this is an expression of hopelessness and pain. This is a woman feeling every inch of the failure she owns. It was not a choice, it was nothing I would have been able to change but it was my body that failed to keep you safe and it is my arms that are empty today.

Today I would have held you Josh.
and I am so sorry that I can't.

The difference you make

                                           

I am 27 years old and in the last 6 months I have had the 2 worst days of my life.


We lost two babies. One at 9 weeks and one at 5 weeks. These children we have dreamed of for over 7 years. These babies we have planned for, we had waited for. These babies had names and they had toys, clothes, shoes and family. They had cousins and they had grandparents.

I've written about both my losses. I call it mine only because I wrote about MY loss. I feel the loss only for myself and understand it only as I know it, but many people lost these babies. My husband lost them equally. I know his loss did not just include them- but in losing them he lost parts of me, both times.

The pain of losing a child is not something we are familier with as a society. It is abstract. We don't talk a lot about it. It is something that is so easily kept private, possibly secret.

However there are those who deal with this frequently. Those in the health field who face this often enough to have a practiced face with it. I know this- I've been this. I've been the nurse placing an IV in a young girl who wanted nothing more then the baby she's only just found out no longer has a beating heart. I've been the nurse who discussed how much blood is too much blood. I've held your hand as you walked to the bathroom, weak from anesthesia as much as grief and still so afraid to see the toilet when you are done.

With my first miscarriage I was lucky. I had a midwife- who'd met me twice before. Her nurse greeted me with a knowing nod on my visit during our loss. My husband and I sat in a small waiting room, full of children and mothers. We waited for ten minutes but were not ignored for one. No one handed me papers about what I owed, no one asked me to fill out six forms about my plans for the baby had it lived. No one pretended to not know why I was there. It was written next to my name in the schedule book I'm sure: Madison B-pregnancy loss.

The nurse guided us back to a small room and the first thing she did was hug me. She took my vital signs and handed me a tissue.

The nurse drew my blood. She told me what I could expect. She guided me through it and gave me the warnings- when to call her, when to go to a hospital, what to do for pain, how much water I would need... She did this with a tempered voice that was calm, caring and not the least bit cold. She did her job quickly and efficiently but she did it with love.

The midwife came to the room and too talked to me, looked at my vital signs and told me to call for anything. She asked if I had any questions. She took my hand and said she was sorry. She spoke to my husband, understanding this was his child as well, that his heart was breaking too.

The nurse gave us her cell phone number, we could call or text if we had any questions. No matter what time or what question, we could call.

They gave me a note for work, because a miscarriage is hard, bloody and painful. Its long and violent at times and no one needs to work during it.



5 months -2 days later I lost another baby. The previous pregnancy still so fresh in my mind I had barely yet convinced myself I'd managed to create another life. I'd barely been able to bond with the child, only that day having the thought, "Its real, this is it. This is your child, give your heart to it."

Having lost our last pregnancy, a boy we named Josh, I'd made an appointment with a OB-GYN office nearby. Gritting my teeth against my ideas of modern obstetric care in hopes that by asking for high tech help I would up my chances of holding my baby this time.

I never even got to the first visit. Two weeks before the scheduled visit, I saw some blood on a tissue- this blood slowly increased in amount. Panicked and heartbroken I called to ask the office to see me soon, that I was bleeding and I needed to see a doctor.
The receptionist was kind cordial and got me an appointment for the next day just after noon.

My husband and I walked into a large waiting room. People spaced evenly throughout the seats, not speaking. All older, no children. I approached the window, a receptionist handed me a clip board with papers to fill out, said to bring it back with my insurance card and my drivers license.

The first paper; Name, age, phone number etc... Reason for this visit. I wrote "Miscarriage" on this line. My husband squeezed my leg. Taking those papers back I was handed a second stack. The receptionist took my first set of papers and set them aside. Then told me that with this second stack there would be originals and copies of each, the one with the signature line were to be returned to her and I could keep the others. Then she asked me if I'd chosen a pediatrician. I blankly stated no, so she handed me a list of local children's doctors.

The papers included a notice of cost- $4800 for vaginal or c-section, not including hospital costs, labs, ultrasounds, prescriptions or additional testing. Next was a notice that VBACS (vaginal birth after c section) were not supported in this group or the local hospitals. Page after page of this... lastly a triplicate form- healthy baby program by the state of florida. Asking questions regarding if I'd wanted this child, was it planned, how did I feel when I found out I was pregnant.

Ten more minutes later a nurse called me back to a small area. My husband tagged along, she told him to wait in the exam room while she took me to another area to get my vital signs and my weight. She sat me in a chair and placed a blood pressure cuff on my right arm, started the machine and asked, "what brings you here today?"

"I'm having a miscarriage" I said. "I've had one five months ago, I started bleeding two nights ago, but now I know it's happened."
Not a flinch, nor a groan, "Are you still bleeding now?"

The nurse typed my vitals and my response into her computer then said I could go to the room where she'd let my husband wait. We would wait for about ten more minutes.

A doctor came in, shook my hand. Told me to get undressed and sit on the exam table, she would be back in a minute, handing me a paper drape for my privacy.

She came back and told me to lay down, I asked my husband to come stand near me. With no romance or delicacy she proceeded to do an ultrasound. Pain ripped though my pelvis- but I'd expected that. My husband brushed my arm back and forth, giving me little squeezes on my shoulder while he watched the screen.

The physician said-"This is your uterus- the lining is very thick, but there is no longer a gestational sac. At this point it is a miscarriage. It is very early so you shouldn't need a D and C. We will send you to get a lab drawn to measure your pregnancy hormone. Most of the time this will show that the baby is gone, sometimes, but not often it will come back high and the pregnancy will continue even after bleeding.
I will have you get your labs drawn today and then again on Friday. You can take some Motrin for the pain."

She was kind enough to ask if I needed a pad. Said the nurse would bring it in in a moment.

I won't go on, I feel like I'm rambling, droning on and on. This appointment cost $225 dollars after insurance not including labs, and the most useful thing I got out of it was that my uterus looks like a sad face- thank you dear husband.

I left feeling worse then when I arrived, both emotionally and physically. My bleeding went from a steady heavy bleed to a downright gush. The intensity of my cramps went from a 4 to a 9. Furthermore I felt angry, and bitter and used. Clearly I was nothing but a account number to these people and my baby was nothing but a specimen. My husband needn't have existed as far as they were concerned.
In addition to this I felt misrepresented. I know a nurse has great power. With a single pause, a touch of a hand they can change the entire feeling of an appointment. It takes ten seconds longer to treat a patient like a human instead of a chart.

This was the difference a person can make. Not one person bothered a sorry, no hugs, no tears, no comfort.

This is the difference you can make in the worst day of a persons life. There is no poetry to the end of this post. There is only anger and bitterness. I hold my loss closely. So much more was lost that day then just the ideas of this one baby. The bulk of my hope to ever successfully carry a child was lost and it was not addressed.

I got a phone call days later that my labs were low enough, the baby was gone enough, that I didn't need to bother coming back.

Thank you to those who made my first loss such a thing of beauty, so full of love that I can look back on the first worst day of my life with a sense of loss but also of gratitude.

If you have the power to ease someones pain, you have the moral obligation to do so. Never forget that.

A Tale of Two Miscarriages

We did it again. We opened out hearts and let hope come in. We have been once again crushed.
At this point I am a few days past the worst parts and I am bitter. I am hurt and I am angry.

I was five weeks along this time. We'd only just found out. I'd only just that day told my co-workers. Telling them early was a protection plan, they would not give me violent or dangerous patients, they would not let me do heavy lifting, we were all together going to protect this baby.

We hadn't had a chance to tell family, it was too early. We didn't buy any baby clothes and I never got a good start on a baby blanket. I didn't get a chance to know this baby and I never will.

Beyond the obvious differences of this being such an early loss existed many more ways this miscarriage was different.

We were yet still struggling to find a OB or a Midwife. We were wanting a midwife but part of me wanted to check out from an OB first, as long as all was well I thought we'd go meet a midwife. In fact I had appointments scheduled for March 4th- the earliest anyone would see me.

October 16th: Both my husband and I got off from work at decent times. We came home to a nice easy meal and were poised to get to bed early. Shortly before turning off the lights I made the fated trip to the bathroom, where I was greeted by a small spot of blood. I, being the level headed girl I am, absolutely broke down. I cried, my husband fetched me my small baby blanket I'd made during my first pregnancy and held me. I kept saying, "I don't want to lose this baby too."

The next day I was due to work in a different job. I woke up to not much blood. I'd expected to wake up in a puddle frankly. I know spotting happens and I didn't have cramps so I tried to be positive. I clung to the monkey we bought Josh during Christmas and made my 50 minute drive to work. When I arrived I stopped to check- more blood now, darker, more sinister. My boss is a wonderful person, who not only allowed me to go home, but insisted I go home- relax, put my feet up and have bedrest. As a nurse she knew that sometimes bedrest alone can help.

But when I got home I'd begun to get small cramps and the blood continued to increase ever so slowly. When I say increase I mean it'd gone from a small pink spot on toilet paper to a angry red mark when I blotted.

My Joel came home. He called in a favor and got the day off. He came home and we cried. He made a fort. We watched Harry Potter. He reminded me of how much Josh brought us together, and all the good that came from a 9 week life. He said this wasn't the end and he told me we would be, forever, OK.

The OB office I had called allowed me to bump my appointment up to the next day. So with any hope draining with each hour, my love and I passes the day easily and tearfully. Being delicate and gentle and crossing our fingers for a chance at keeping out baby.

Baby mind

Going into a pregnancy you get a lot of feedback. People want to help, they want to be a part of your journey. People offer a lot of knowledge and even more opinion. Despite this you may never feel entirely prepared for pregnancy, birth and certainly not for parenthood. Or so I assume.

Going into a miscarriage you are left with very little knowledge, and though you may find opinion eventually, there is a good chance that even that is not abundant at the moment. 

I was lucky. Our miscarriage was as lucky as they come. Which is a hard enough thing to admit.

We had our first appointment with our midwife, and opted to not have a ultrasound yet. It is not recommended at this time, not entirely necessary. The nurse took blood from me and we left with a sense of euphoria. 

A day later we received a message to call her back. My labs showed my HCG was low. They wanted us to come back for a re draw, we would come as soon as we could. We'd scheduled an appointment for a few days from then. 

My husband and I are nurses- it was then that we knew what was happening. 

We went to work the next night- a 12 hour night shift in critical care units. At 1:40 am I found blood in my underwear. Not a lot, but enough to just absolutely break me down. 

I ran down to my husbands unit, yelling behind me I was taking my lunch, grateful to have observant co-workers.

No words had to be said. The first words from his mouth were, "This is not your fault." That is my best friend- no pause, no thought, just honest comfort. We hugged for thirty minutes. I sobbed uncontrollably. People moved awkwardly around us in the break room- not sure if they should acknowledge my obvious breakdown or not.

Life got a bit fuzzy there. I remember someone prying when I went back to my unit that night... and I remember another nurse telling her to leave me alone and mind her business. 

I remember crying on the drive home, and barely swallowing a sandwich. 

I remember faking a smile while picking up the dog at the in-laws house.

Three hours of sleep before the midwife fit us in for an appointment.

When we told her about the blood she knew. Her eyes said, "there is no point in drawing this blood." 

Then she did the kindest thing she could have. She prepared me, us, for what was to come. She did not make me walk blindly into that darkness. 

She said it would hurt, that I should watch how much blood and when to call. She said it could last days, a week... come back if it starts to look infected.

We went home. 

My Joel- he went into best friend mode again. Pillows from the room, cushions from the couch, all the blankets in existence- they combined on the floor to make our fort. 

I mentioned before that he does this. When your heart is on the ground he makes that ground soft.

Hours past and the blood increased. Cramps became contractions and I went from sad, to panicked, to despondent and then finally, for a small period- I became present. 

I hit a wall. I couldn't handle the pain, or the reality of our loss. How was I supposed to mourn when all I could do was feel my physical pain? 

I went into the shower, I meditated and I cried. I immersed myself in my pain and I embraced it. 

It was 2 am September 20th 2014. That was when my sweet boy passed. 

Why am I writing this?
Because it is too often not spoken about. How are we as a society supposed to prepare, supposed to know how to handle this tragedy if no one ever talks about it? 

Why am I lucky? Not everyone has warning signs and small starts. I baby stepped my way through a miscarriage. Not everyone goes though the worst for only one night. And most importantly not everyone has a support system that would bring down Mid-Empire Rome just to make them smile.

I am lucky. And the truth is life goes on after you lose a big part of yourself and that kind of sucks. But eventually life moves on to a place where joy rebounds and pain dwindles and all that is left its the impression of love that a small life shared with you for a short time.

We are trying again and that is no easy feat when each time we dream of a baby there is a portion of that dream that still says- I had a baby.

I had a baby. And hopefully with any luck and enough glasses of wine I will again soon.
                       

Just wanted you to know that we are OK.

Life is Ok Josh. Dad and I are ok.

We miss you everyday, but we are ok. 

We are still so deeply in love. I don't know how we got so lucky. Our relationship is stronger and more honest. We trust each other more than ever. We appreciate every moment we have together. All of this is the byproduct of not only our loss but of your life. 

We love you Joshua. Thank you for your life. 

A very special ornament.

Its coming up on christmas Josh.
I keep thinking of the discussion your Papa and I had in Sam's club. Shortly after finding out you existed. I told him at christmas you'd be halfway done baking. It was the only, very small, panic period he ever had about you.
It didn't take long before he was back to planning geeky outfits to buy you for Christmas.

It sucks without you here. Constantly feeling torn between wanting to remember you, every minute of you. Making you present in our lives. You were such a happy memory. But now, without you, there is an emptiness that dulls the lights and erases smiles.
We put an ornament on our tree for you. It is more elegantly painted then the dog or cat's ornaments. It's nice to give you a place. We're going to leave it up every year for as long as we have a will to celebrate.

I feel so ordinary without you. You made me special.
You made me more.

I miss you so much. I don't know if writing this is helping or hurting really. The reality is you are never going to read it.
I will though. I'll read it a hundred times.
I'm fighting every day to make myself me. Its a cliff I'm leaning over. Risking falling off, and into the abyss. But the view is beautiful.

You were magic my boy. You took the best of a great girl and made it bloom into so much more.

And with you gone, I feel diminished. So much less.

wonders

Its been just over two months.

At the two month point, I nearly jumped on to write. But write to who? I talked to you all day Josh. Did you hear me?

Your father and I are having a hard time. I hope you know just how much we will never forget about you.

You changed us Josh, in all the best ways. We will never take the shape we were before you. You were the best of us.

We want a baby, we've always wanted a baby. For nine weeks we had one. We had you, the best one. Now we want you. We miss you, not just a nameless faceless baby, we miss every feeling you sent through us. We miss who you made us as individuals and as a family. We want a baby, but so much more than that we want you.

Two.5

Sometimes you feel overwhelmed. Sometimes you cry and pout. You feel angry and annoyed. You start to worry that you've over stayed your pity welcome. You worry that even the most patient and loving of men might get fed up and throw in the towel, so frustrated by your endless woe, tired of picking your spirit back up again and again.
So you leave your room, you decide not to sleep there, next to him, crying.
You panic.
Realizing that hard times beget hard times. What if you lose more, what if you lose him. So much has been lost. But so much remains that can be lost.

That is when you must change your perspective.

So much remains and hard times beget strong relationships. So much remains that is so worth fighting for.

What is most important, make sure he knows that you realize his loss and sacrifice. That worse then losing a part of yourself is losing any of all of him.

I painted him a picture. Rather I made progress on a painting I'd started for him, then left it out. With a note. I'm sorry and thank you.



Wake up to a warm hug and a forever kiss. A kiss that never wavered.  A kiss that never felt burdened or doubted.

The clouds parted today when my heart went into shock, realized it's fortune and opened my eyes.

I was so grateful for that kiss. For that man, who built me forts and kept being a rock.
A lovely lunch, movies, laughs and a pumpkin vase of flowers followed.

Today my tears were happy.

Two weeks

Two weeks past.
Two weeks gone.

I am doing better, some days at least.
Today I'm ok. A little bitter.
Last night I cried and the husband put Josh's blanket over us and we cried together underneath it.

The world moves on. That might be the hardest part to understand. Some of the world never stopped, some yielded, some paused. Some of the world took a minute and others took a few but they all have to move on.

I am trying. I succeed sometimes now, for brief minutes, to not think about it.

Is it bad that it is still most of my mind.

It is a weight I have to carry, I drag it behind me, or throw it over my shoulder, on my head or in my arms. Never able to fully let it go. Chained as it is to me I don't think I'll ever be free of it. But like everything else, I will adapt and it won't feel so heavy. Every day it'll feel less of a burden. Some day I'll not notice it for an hour, then for two. It'll always be there though. I just have to get stronger through practice.

Josh, Papa and I bought you a book. Robert Munsch's I'll love you forever.

I'll love you forever
I'll like you for always
As long as I'm living
My baby you'll be.

One Week Later

What I learned in the week that followed my miscarriage:

1) Some relationships can grow and become stronger with any trials thrown their way, some can crumble and cannot be blamed for it. It is not easy to deal with loss of any kind, but I think saying goodbye before you ever said hello might be the most difficult type for me. From my view, we are the lucky ones. Our love has not wavered in the slightest. We are, as always, a balance of friends and lovers. This week friends took the back seat and we let our souls do the driving.
My husband is amazing.
He called me a Gryffindor during my contractions but I didn't remember until yesterday. Normally we're both Ravenclaw.
If you get it, you get it.

2) Most people don't know what to say, so after the initial, "I'm so sorry, if you need anything…" you either stop hearing from people or they may at some point put their foot in their mouth. Try to not take it personally. I hardly know what to say. Next time though, start with I'm sorry for your loss, and then compensate for words with food.

3) Natural Miscarriage seems to be relatively undocumented territory, and with the exception of googling forum responses it is really difficult to get information on what to expect. My midwife's nurse prepared me better then most, and was always a text message away with any questions we had. Still I had questions that I wished I could just find a simple answer to. The answer is however, with miscarriage as with birth and pregnancy- rarely simple.

4) Everything about this sucks, but it can suck less if you just let yourself go. Just feel your way through it.

• Don't think you have to put away the baby items the first day. Trust me, you'll just end up taking them back out. It is nice to see them. 
• If you feel like crying don't fight it, just cry. 
• Keep taking your prenatal vitamin, for me it helped keep me feeling better, stronger. Plus it gave me a bit of hope back, like I was helping my body prepare for eventual pregnancy again.
• Take time, from work, from chores. Build a fort in your living room. It would have been easy to stay in bed and cry. My husband wouldn't let me, but he would let me stay on a pillow fort in the living room, sleeping and watching movies, reading and crying. One day he had to make a five hour trip to pick up a car we'd been in the process of buying. I stayed in bed that day. By the time he got home I was so drained from wallowing in my sorrow and not moving all day that it was like I'd regressed from any healing I'd done. Partially it was not having him with me but largely it was allowing myself to stay in a dark room and a dark place. I didn't snuggle my baby's blanket or play with the dog, nothing made me laugh that day while I was alone. I didn't do anything life affirming like take my dog out or water my plants. I haven't done that since. If I am in that bed in my room it is with my husband and we are going to bed.

I don't pretend to be an expert in this. Who would want to be an expert in this. I am not even entertaining the idea that any one will read this but me. This is a list for myself to read. From: a me that is feeling optimistic and sad. To: the me that was hopeless and depressed.

One week ago I lost my baby and thought I was alone, but in truth I've not been alone. I have a ring on my ringer that says I never have to be alone again. And I'm not. I am lucky, very lucky. 

You were lucky too Josh. In the nine weeks you lived you experienced more love then some do in 90 years. As the Doctor says, “Some people live more in 20 years than others do in 80. It’s not the time that matters, it’s the person.”

The Tenth Doctor, The Lazarus Experiment
You didn't get twenty year Josh. But the time you got was wonderful for everyone who got to be there.

Dear Josh

Last night was the hardest night of our lives.

We lost you to the universe Baby B.
And now I'm writing this only for therapeutic purposes.

Three days ago we found out my labs were low for the hormone that helps keep you safe and cozy.

Two nights ago we went to work, cautious and not very hopeful. Seeing some blood on toilet paper caused a pretty massive emotional breakdown.

One day ago we went to get my labs redrawn.

Yesterday it became obvious that we couldn't keep you.

This morning is the first alone I've been in nine weeks and four days.

Everything is a blur. Some things do stand out against the rest.

Your Papa held onto hope a lot longer then I did. He is a rock and we are the ocean that crashed against him. He held us up when we couldn't do it ourselves. Now that we is back to I he is the sand that we rest on, giving only slightly and holding me softly. He is helping me to let you go.

Papa made Mom a fort on the floor, of all the pillows in the house. It is our management of hard times. When your heart is on the floor, he makes that floor soft and cozy and he puts dogs and cats and hot cocoa on it until you can get back up.

We named you Joshua. Papa came up with the name, at first I wasn't sure. Then Papa reminded me of my favorite book and why Joshua was a good name, and I knew that you were our Josh.

I finished your blanket off, tied in all the loose yarn and made a small border. It is only a fourth of the blanket it would have been, but every stitch I crocheted I did with love for you. It is what we will hold when we wish we could have held you.

The most comforting thought about you, my sweet baby Josh, is to know you never knew pain, or cold. You never felt sorrow or fear or jealousy or rage. You never heard a word of judgement or prejudice. You knew only love and warmth. You were held for every second of your life in a womb that was proud to have you. Even as you left us, your Mommy was proud to call you hers.

I am a mother. You did that. And I want to thank you for every second you gave me. Sleep sweet baby Josh and know that you are loved.

Tidbits of life

It has been a while since my last post. Life often gets in the way of goals and intentions.

All of my resources say you are now the size of a pecan or a blueberry. They don't seem to agree with each other always.

Mommy is feeling pretty rough this last two weeks. I am very tired and my legs are cramping like crazy. I've read that this is normal but it is not fun at all. You are worth it all though baby.

All of our family has found out now. I got a call from your Papa and Nana D in Colorado. They are very very incredibly excited. They are going to work with your Aunt Shilo to try to find a way to get Mommy a very important chair for when you arrive. If it works it will be a lovely old rocking chair just for us.

Your Aunts and Uncles are very excited too. They all really wish we would move back to Colorado so they would be able to get to know you better. Though Aunt Kristy lives not far from us in Florida and I think she'd prefer we stay here.

Papa and I went to another soccer game and it turns out you like Cuban food.

Tomorrow Mommy and Papa might get to hear your heart beat for the first time! We have a midwife appointment. As long as we like the main midwife when we meet here we will be going ahead with the first prenatal appointment.


I'll update more soon. Don't you worry though, you are always on my mind and as always right there with me.

Love you baby. Please stay with me. We can't wait to meet you!

A long week

Hello lovely, soft, cuddly baby.

How is belly land? I hope you like it in there. Stay!

It was a very long week baby.

You are the size of a small blueberry. It was that knowledge that helped Papa and I struggle through work this week. Mommy is nauseated, has started crying a lot about the silliest things, and can't watch most commercials on TV without a emotional breakdown.

We've been taking turns reading you articles from our magazines, Papa read you a big long article about the idea that our universe is a holograph of a base universe. We are getting a basic understanding of particle physics and learning about the Higgs Boson and the CERN super collider.

He also has been reading you The Giver by Lois Lowry, it is one of Mommy's top four favorite books of all time. He is planning on reading you all the Harry Potters between twenty weeks and when you are born. Get ready for that!

Mommy has been chugging along on your blanket. Molly keeps laying on it though, so we hope you don't mind cat hair.

Mommy Going to meet the birth team. 

On thursday Papa and I woke up very early and went to meet with a midwife and birth team.


The first person we met was the nurse called Shannon and she practically sold Papa and I on the team as a whole with how warm and comforting and friendly she was. I could easily imagine her helping us welcome you into the world. We met one midwife and a midwife student, they seemed pretty nice. We have yet to meet the other midwife yet, her name is Diane and we are going to schedule an appointment for sometime in the next few weeks. Hopefully we can meet her then. If we like her we are going to choose them as our birth team.

Papa driving to meet the birth team. 

After that we went to a baby store and bought your first outfit and first pair of shoes. Converse, just like the tenth Doctor (you'll learn about Doctor Who later.)

Papa bought Mommy some preggo pops to help her not vomit all the time. He's been very nice about me being such a mess.

He can't wait to teach you to ride.

 The next day Papa and I took a long drive with your sister Bambina to visit a beach. In March, right before you come to meet us, Papa is planning to ride his bike nearly 100 miles from our house to Varn Park beach. We did a practice run of the path he will take. Its going to be a very hard and lovely trip for you daddy. We are very proud of him.

Bambina's first beach

The Atlantic Ocean

She doesn't like sand.

 Love you little one. We can't wait to meet you!

Oh the little things

Hi Baby B, how is life in there? Comfortable? Warm enough? Hope it is good. Stay there for another 36 weeks please. 

New this week; you are a pepper corn, I am nauseated. I am so tired, poor Papa is being very kind. He wakes up and makes me eggs when I finally feel like eating, then puts up with me when two hours later I have to go to sleep again. He gives me little meals and puts up with my mood swings.

We are planning a trip for next week to meet a birth team, they would do a home birth if possible. We're not sure we're going to stick with this one, it's hard to tell until we meet everyone, though I have to say options here are sparse.

We are going to tell your Grandparents about you soon. 

Love you

Mama

First Fetal Football Game

You should know, Baby B, that in this family when I say foot ball, I mean the kind actually played with your feet.

Daddy surprised us with a trip to a Irish pub, which even though I couldn't "pub" was great for me. Mommy loves the atmosphere and food in those places. Apparently you like vinegar covered potatoes as much as Mommy does. We got to walk around downtown Orlando a bit too. This is great for you especially. You are making your Mommy very tired and trying to get her to walk around for twenty minutes is not easy.

After that we went to an Orland City Football Club game.  Your first Football game!!! Sure it was in fetal form but you might as well know. They played against the Harrisberg City Islanders and won 3-1. They also wore pink breast cancer support jerseys. We like that, someday I'll tell you about your Great Grandma Scal, we called her Jam and Green Pees. We wore pink too, in support of her.

Here you are, dressed in pink and ready for the game.

Your amazing father. He was going for pensive here.

The pitch, and a beautiful sunset just for you (and a couple hundred other screaming fans

 Other then that let's see what has changed…

You are the size of a poppy seed, and might have a heartbeat. Mom is sore and nauseated but has yet to throw up! I started working on your blanket. Its going to match your furry sisters, that one was supposed to be yours but somehow over the last year was accosted by animals.

 Daddy thinks you're a girl and keeps calling you by your girl name. Mom keeps calling you your boy name just to create some balance. We have a broad idea for your nursery already and I do think your going to like it.

Moms been juicing vegetables and some fruit to fulfill any extra caloric intake requirements. Though so far I've just been making it in place of parts of meals. So far you seem happy about this. Growing strong.

Next week we will go pick out a midwife!

Love you Baby B, stay safe. Talk to you again soon.

Here we go little B

Ok baby B, we just found out you exist. We are very excited and Mommy doesn't want to forget a thing. Lets start at the beginning. Mom and Papa wanted a baby very badly for a long time. However we'd been waiting to get life to be just perfect until we asked you to come on over. We had only just started to think ok, now is the time, let's get Baby B on the way. Everyday when I woke up I took my temperature to see if it was time to put up the For Rent sign on Mom.

Monday morning August 11th 2014.

Mom and Papa work as nurses and had just gotten off of work, we went to sleep and when I woke up a little bit earlier than Papa, I took my temperature as normal and it was just a tiny bit higher than normal. This is sometimes a sign that a Baby B could be on the way. So I went to the bathroom and took a test to tell me if a Baby B was here. I didn't expect it to say yes.

I took one, and it had not one, but two lines. "That is strange," I thought. So I took another and again, two lines! Its just not possible I thought. We hadn't expected you to move in so quickly. Maybe you were as eager to meet us as we were to meet you.

I (barely) waited until your Papa woke up and very calmly stared at him and smiled until he asked what was wrong with me. I told him to go into the bathroom and see. Papa couldn't believe it either!

We took a couple more tests to make sure we weren't imagining things, but left and right they all said the same thing. Baby B was on the way.

So there is the start Baby B. We just found out you exist and we love you so much already.

Talk to you again soon.