Our five-day baby.

To fully tell this story, I need to back up a bit. Before we went to Disney World, I really thought I was pregnant. I was having some symptoms, and I just felt pregnant. But test after test confirmed that I wasn’t. I took one more test the day we got home, and again, negative. I was still confused as to why I was having symptoms, so I called my doctor and asked to get my blood drawn so we could make sure I was ectopically pregnant. I wasn’t, but I had started having some pain in my abdomen, so we made another appointment to go see him. He wondered if it was maybe appendicitis, so we did another blood draw to check my blood cell counts, and all were normal. Four days after that I was in a lot of pain, so I went in for an ultrasound and found out that I had an ovarian cyst. I wasn’t upset by this, because our bodies make cysts for a living, and one cyst isn’t anything out of control, plus if it is something that has happened before, it kind of explains why it took us a little bit to get pregnant with Carter, but that’s a story for another day.

My doctor was out of town when I found out about the cyst, and was gone for two weeks after, so I didn’t have a chance to talk to him about it before my follow up appointment. When we went back in (two weeks after finding out about the cyst), the ultrasound tech told me that the final ultrasound report said that my cyst had actually ruptured (which would explain why I was in so much pain the day I went in) and that we didn’t need to do a follow up ultrasound because the cyst was gone. For some reason, I felt like being naggy and kind of insisting that she do another ultrasound. She said she would just do a quick scan, and if she saw something, she would do a full exam. She looked at both ovaries, and they looked fine, then did a quick swipe over my uterus and said “I think there might be something there.” I said “like a baby?” and she said “I think so!”

We ended up doing a full exam, and found out that there was indeed a tiny baby with a little heartbeat! Brandon and I were so surprised. We just kept looking at each other and shaking our heads and laughing. We hadn’t anticipated being pregnant, but I was so glad I pushed for that ultrasound! It was just crazy that I stopped taking pregnancy tests when we got back from vacation, but that was when I should have started (tmi but oh well!). We went upstairs to meet with the doctor, and everyone was so excited for us. The first thing he did when he came in the room was give both of us a hug haha.

The appointment that day was exactly 39 weeks, almost down to the minute, from the day we found out we had lost Carter. That whole day had been kind of crappy, but finding out we were pregnant on such a hard day made it a little easier. I measured 5 weeks 6 days, and our tentative due date was set for March 22, which meant that with our early induction due to our losses, we would have a baby a day or two before my birthday.

That night after our appointment, we went directly to our neighbor friends (who are also loss parents) and shared the news. We went to a wedding the next day and had to keep the secret from Brandon’s family, and it was so tough! All weekend we were so excited. I kept wanting to call our parents and tell them, and it was so hard to be patient! We let ourselves get really excited, talking about bringing the baby home and all things baby. A friend, who didn’t know I was pregnant, sent me a rainbow blanket she had made me herself, and we got it the day after we found out we were pregnant. I thought it was a sign that this one would stick, and that we would get to bring it home. In retrospect, I should have known that getting too excited would jinx it.

Monday morning at work, I went to the bathroom and found that I was bleeding. I called Brandon as I was leaving work, and he met me at the doctor’s office. The doctor looked me over, said I wasn’t actively bleeding and that there were no signs that we were losing the baby. We even did an ultrasound, and the baby still had a very strong heartbeat. For the moment, we were safe. He sent us home with orders to rest and eat lots of ice cream. An hour and a half later, I bled more, and I knew it was over. I called my doctor the next morning to tell him I had been bleeding all night, and he said we were probably losing the baby. We went in for another ultrasound Wednesday afternoon, and even though the sac was still there, the baby was gone. We had lost another baby.

The rest of this last week has been spent recovering and dealing with the physical pain that accompanies a miscarriage. Our doctor said that ours was just a very typical miscarriage, and that unfortunately, they are very common. He said that it in no way relates to either of our other two losses, and was just another stroke of bad luck. He also said that this should not deter us from trying again. It was nothing we did, nothing my body did (and not caused by the cyst or my thyroid meds or anything), and that we should try not to be discouraged. Then he sent us home again with orders to eat ice cream, and to plan another trip instead of going to the gym. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it a million times, but he really is the best.

We’re sad, obviously, but we have to keep moving forward. If someone wants to make me a giant banner that says that, keep moving forward, I’d love to hang it in my house somewhere. It has definitely been our motto for the past nine months.

Even though we’ve been dealing with another loss all week, my heart has felt so full. Brandon is the most incredible husband; I couldn’t have asked for someone better to go through all this with, and our babies are so lucky to have him as their dad. Together, we have two little angels, and another little baby that brought sunshine back into our lives for just a few days. Our house is so empty, but our family keeps growing. Even though our family is not the most traditional one, we are still parents, and our children are ours to love forever.

Hi Little Bean: May 23, 2017

May 23, 2017

Hi Little Bean.

I miss you so much. I haven’t written to you since the excitement the day after the ER, and now you’re gone. The two weeks since we found out about your swelling have gone so terribly fast, yet I feel like we had just enough time with you before we lost you. Thank you for staying with me through Mother’s Day. And thank you for coming to us at all. We love you so so much.

I came back to work yesterday, bean, and I have felt pregnant both days. I have gotten a little bit of afternoon sickness, have been so tired, and if I didn’t know any better, swear I could have felt you wiggling around in there. But you’re not here, and my body is still confused. One minute I was pregnant, the next I wasn’t. I don’t know how to comprehend the change that I had no part in. With Carter, I was an active participant in his delivery. With you, I was asleep on a table.

I’m waiting to hear from the doctor if he was able to have you cremated or not. I’m going to guess he wasn’t, but I don’t know how to get some closure on your loss without that. Maybe daddy and I can just say some words next to Carter’s grave and pretend you’re there. Maybe we can get a little plaque with your name on it or something. But I just really want to be able to spread your ashes. I want some physical proof that you were here, and that I’m not making it up like I made up Carter.

It’s such a confusing thing, to lose a baby. How do you lose something you barely had? And I barely barely had you. You were still so little. The report says your hand measured 1 centimeter, and your little foot measured 1.1 centimeter. You were barely there. And now you’re not here, and I can’t grasp it.

I can’t understand why we had to lose you. I get that maybe the timing was just meant to be this way. You were supposed to come for a bit, but that you have other stuff to take care of up there, and that you’ll be back. I hope you’ll be back. I knew it was you and I knew you were here before I even knew I was pregnant. You and I have a special, special bond that I wouldn’t trade for anything. But I hate that I knew  you were gone. I hate that you had to go in the first place.

This week we would have been sixteen weeks pregnant, and we would have been sharing you with the world, finally. Instead we shared the news the morning we went to the hospital. And instead of sharing the news with joy, we shared it with sadness.

I miss you, little bean. We love you very, very much. Stay safe.

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9 Ways to Help a Grieving Parent

After we lost Carter, I looked at a lot of articles on what not to say to a grieving parent so that I would know what kind of things to anticipate hearing. People say things with the best intentions, but even now, after losing baby #2 and hearing all these things yet again, they still hurt. If you've lost a baby (or anyone in your life, really), you know the things that hurt: everything happens for a reason, God needed another angel, you're young and can have more babies, you can always adopt, it's for the best...there are too many to count. If you are someone that has said one of these things, don't kick yourself; it's hard to find the "right" thing to say. Rather than tell you what not to say, here are some pointers that might help when you're trying to find the right words. 

1. Talk to them about their child. Nothing hurts more than being avoided by family or friends because they don't know what to say. Just because we lost someone doesn't mean we aren't human. Interact with the grieving parent like you normally would. If they seem down, ask them how they are doing. If their child comes up in a conversation, DO NOT steer away from that topic. If you aren't sure what to say to them, let them talk. I guarantee they would love to talk about their child.

2. Let them know you are thinking about them and their child, but specifically, their child. It's really hard to be a parent and not be able to share pictures of your growing baby with family and friends. It's terrifying to think that people might forget about the child that got taken too soon.

3. If you want to help, just do it. We've all read articles about how saying "let me know if I can do anything" is not the right thing to say. If you want to help, take them dinner, take over a stack of movies you think they might like, give them a gift card to an activity of sorts. If you really want to help, just do something, anything, but don't ask what you can do. They are already making a lot of decisions, one more may just add to the stress.

4. Acknowledge their child! First time parents are still parents, even if they lose their child before, during, or after birth. Unless they tell you otherwise, include the lost child when you are counting the number of children in their family. Send them a message on their child's birthday. Let them know that even though you can't physically see their child, you remember their presence.

5. Try to accept that sometimes things just happen. If a parent loses a baby and no cause is found, do not poke and prod asking questions like "Did you have to much caffeine? Did you lift something heavy? Did you fall down?" The parents have spent day after day asking themselves what they did wrong, they don't need people adding to it. If they know what happened and feel comfortable sharing it, they will do so.

6. If you don't know what to say, don't. Unfortunately, there are a lot of "wrong" things to say, and only a few "right" things. If you are struggling to find the right thing to say to someone, just give them a big hug and tell them that you've been thinking about them and their child. Honestly, sometimes it's better to say next to nothing than to say the wrong thing. Don't just do nothing, but if you're unsure what to say, don't try to overcompensate. A simple gesture is enough.

7. Don't treat them like they are an empty eggshell waiting to be broken. They are still your coworker/friend/family member/neighbor. Interaction is still possible without constant puppy dog eyes. But at the same time...

8. Be thoughtful and understanding and patient. Losing a baby is really hard, and it's not just something they can "get over." Be understanding when they go through each wave of emotion. Don't be offended if they get angry or if they are quiet. Just understand that each and every emotion they experience is acceptable, and it is normal for them to have "off" days.

9. Be there. This one is simple, just be there for the parents. Make it known that you are always there if they need something, or if they just need to talk. There is no such thing as too much time spent talking about the one they lost, so the more ears that are available, the better.

Keep in mind that these are just some of the things Brandon and I feel have helped us; everyone is different. The best thing you can do is try! If you have experienced a loss, what are some things your family and friends have done to help you through the hard time? Leave your response in the comments, you never know who will benefit from it!

it's not fair it's not fair it's not fair

I've had a lot of time and opportunity lately to think about how unfair it is that we had to lose not just one, but two babies. I sit and wonder what I've done wrong in this life to deserve such pain, and honestly, I can't really think of anything. I've made just as many mistakes as the next person, but nothing so wrong to deserve this.

I think about all the crappy people in the world who don't deserve children. Parents that abuse their children. Neglect them. Lock them in closets or car trunks. Parents that sell their children for things no person should be sold for. Parents that yell at their children on a daily basis, that use cruel, obscene words at home or in public, and make their child feel like less than they are. There are also good people that simply don't have the means to provide for their children, no matter how much they wish they could. But I wouldn't abuse our children, and we have the means to provide, so why us? How the hell is this fair?

It's so nice to get messages or emails from people saying how much I have helped them, even if they haven't lost a baby. I'm glad I'm able to do something with this loss, but honestly, I would much rather have my babies than help anyone. And I understand that's a bit selfish, but I also know that any other parent in my situation would say the same thing.

Here's the thing. Every mother I've met that has lost a baby deserves to be a mother. They are not the kind of person you look at and wonder if they've ever been around children in their life. You can feel their motherly love resonating from their body. You can tell by the way they care for their husband or siblings or friends or absolute strangers that they are meant to be a mother. And it's so, so, so unfair that they had that ripped away from them. Some of us more than once, and for some people, more than one baby at a time. 

Growing up, our parents always tell us that life isn't fair, and that we should probably get used to it. The funny thing about that now is that we have watched our parents struggle with how unfair this is too. I think their definition of unfair was "sometimes you won't get the promotion" or "sometimes people are jerks." They never think unfair would be that sometimes you lose a baby. Or that sometimes you lose two.

I understand that this is not the worst thing that could ever happen in the world. I have lived a very privileged life, and I do realize that there could be worse things. But it's really really hard living in a state/stage of life where basically 70% of the female population is pregnant at any given time. I don't look at pregnant women and instantly hate them. Seeing their cute pregnant tummies make me miss mine. I would love to be pregnant all the time. And I don't hate women who tote around their newborns. It doesn't even bother me to be by babies anymore, and only rarely does it hurt when I hear one cry.

It sucks to talk to people and know that they have no idea who I really am. I'm not this innocent little girl anymore. I am a mom who's heart has been ripped out and shoved back and ripped out again. People look at me and they would never know I've had a baby. Two babies. With one, I was full term and full-pregnant huge, but you'd never know. They don't know about the stretch mark on my stomach that has faded too much for my liking. They'd never know that I have delivered a baby. Nobody would know any of this, because there's not a seven month old in the backseat of my car, or in his crib, or in the cart at the the store. And there's not a baby in my belly. I don't get to wander through the baby clothes or toys and buy things for either of them. I don't get to buy baby food. I don't get to buy diapers. I don't get to do any of that.

Instead, we get to buy flowers and take them to the cemetery.

I'm happy to have my babies as much as I do. But I would trade everything in the entire universe to have them just a little bit more.

Someone commented on one of my pictures the other day and told me how disgusted they were that I would share pictures of myself and Brandon in the cemetery. I told her that when this is all we have, it makes sense, and she fired back with some garbage about how intimate moments shouldn't be used for likes or comments, which is definitely not the reason I do what I do. I don't blog to get pity, or likes, or even to help people; I do it because it helps me, and sometimes I feel like it's easier to share my emotions with family and friends this way rather than through direct conversation. Her comments didn't upset me, because honestly she's no one to me (we don't even live in the same country. I thought Candadians were supposed to be nice?!), but I was still annoyed by it. Every other day this week, I've received messages from people letting me know how my blog has helped them, or that they think of Carter often, and those messages make the comments from crappy people disappear.

But it still makes me mad that people, like the two negative Nancy's I've dealt with and the tons of other garbage people who have rude things to say, feel like it's wrong for still parents to share anything, just because our baby isn't alive. I doubt that anyone would ever have commented on a picture of a mother and their live child and said how disgusted they are that the parent would share an intimate moment on social media. Just because our babies aren't alive doesn't mean that we don't love and care for them the same amount we would if they were alive. We're just forced to do it a bit differently.

It all just makes me mad. Makes me mad that we had to lose our babies, makes me mad that people don't understand, and makes me mad that I have to (somewhat) force the idea of my baby onto the world. It's not fair that it all feels fake. It's not fair that I don't have my babies.

I feel like I should apologize for writing this post, because it's super raw and negative. But these are my feelings, and if any of you (like the canadian) can't respect that this is my life, then you don't have to read these posts. Trust me, I'd rather be giving updates on my almost 8 month old, or sharing the bumpdates for little bean without the tinge of sadness, but it is what it is. We're here, we're sad, and we struggle to get through each day, but we do what we can and we keep moving forward.

**but honestly, the cover picture shows how loved and spoiled our babies are. thank you to everyone that visits them!

All the cemetery pictures.

I have a few other posts drafted, but none of them really feel right for today. This one's going to be just kind of a life update. I feel like I just need to ramble today!

Things have been kind of rough since we spread our little bean's ashes. I remember feeling the same way after we buried Carter; it's kind of just like the finality of it all hits and makes life a little harder. We've been doing a lot of nothing, not going anywhere, not interacting with people, and honestly I think we're just trying to stay sane and un-angered at this point in time. We've talked a lot this past week about how we don't really have a lot of patience right now, so home seems like the safest place for us haha. When we do go out, it's just to Costa to get dinner, or to the movies, where we can go and not talk to anyone. We've always been pretty anti-social, but it's kind of at an all time high right now!  After we lost Carter, we were okay staying home because it was cold outside, but it's so nice right now that we almost feel bad if we just stay inside and do nothing all day. If anyone has any ideas or suggestions of things we can do where we don't really have to interact with a lot of people, let us know! 

I'm finally able to work out after the surgery, so we've started going to the gym again. We worked out pretty steadily until we went to Amsterdam, but from then until we lost her, I was always just too worn out to go. I was super surprised at how much I missed working out hard though. Obviously I'd rather be pregnant, but it's nice to go and really push myself again. Plus it gets us out of the house and makes us feel better about how much ice cream we eat, so win win!

On Memorial Day, I woke up to a phone call from my mom letting me know that my dad's aunt had passed away. We've always been really close with her and her husband, and had thankfully seen them twice within the last ten months. We drove to Idaho for the funeral on Friday and spent some nice but sad time with family. We've had way too many family gatherings in the past year. I love my family, but I'm over seeing them just because someone we love passes away. We need something happy to get us together! Brandon and I talked to my uncle (dad's uncle, really, but I call him my uncle) and he was being so tough after the service. I gave him a big hug and he said "You know how it is. We just have to keep going. Keep praying, keep being faithful, and just keep going. We'll be okay."

 I realized then why so many people always tell us that we are so strong. I always say to Brandon "people tell me that I'm strong, but what else am I supposed to do?' but I understood by watching my uncle why people think that. Realistically, he could have been laying on the floor crying and no one would have thought twice about it. He just lost his wife of 63 years; he has every right to be angry and sad. But hugged everyone and smiled, and I know his wife would be so proud of him. I know there will be times when he breaks down, probably when no one is watching, or maybe when someone says the wrong thing at the wrong time, but that day, he really was being strong. 

I think that when we lose someone, or when something bad happens to us, we feel a sense of responsibility to put on a face and make other people feel better. Even though he was being so tough after the funeral, I know how he was feeling, in all those moments when he was talking to everyone. I don't know how a loss on that level feels, but I know that during that hour after the service, when everyone approached him with sadness and tears in their eyes, he somehow was able to summon the courage and strength to put his own tears aside and say what everyone else needed to hear. And people will tell him that he's so strong, but I guarantee that as soon as he got home, or maybe even before he made it home, the tears came, and he wondered how people could think he was strong when inside he felt so broken? But somehow, he was able to do it.

I wrote a post about being "strong" that I'm not ready to share yet, but I'm grateful for my little safe space on the internet where I can write about all the not-strong feelings and times that I have. Thank you for allowing me to have that!

After the funeral, we drove to Logan. We had to take all of Carter's things off his headstone again, this time for the Memorial Day cleanup, and decided that it would be easier to stay the night in Logan, rather than driving home and back up the next day. We stopped to see our babies on our way into town (as we always do) before heading to Brandon's parents' house to sleep. We had some really good family time on Saturday that consisted of breakfast, lunch, and sno cones, and also caught up with some old friends.

When we got to the cemetery that evening, I had some really mixed feelings about it. Overall, I was so happy that we were able to go twice in a 24 hour period. If we lived in Logan, I would be at the cemetery all the time. But I also was really, really sad. We've spent far more time in a cemetery than I ever thought we would. I never imagined we'd be in a cemetery for our own children. It's nice to go and clean up the headstone, take them flowers, and rearrange all the toys, and I don't even mind these times when we have to take everything off the headstone. It makes me feel like I'm being an actual mom and taking care of our babies in some way. We take a picture every time we go, either of the headstone and all their things, or a selfie of us with the babies. Sometimes I feel like it's kind of weird, but it's all we get, so we do it anyway. They aren't ideal family pictures, but they are all we have, and we cherish them so, so much. 

Sorry to just ramble today. Writing helps me to get my thoughts in order (even if they don't make sense on the page) and I actually feel better after writing this post. It was an emotional weekend! And also, thank you for all the kind comments and messages we've received over the last two weeks. I don't know if I've said thank you before now, but we really do appreciate everything you guys do for us!

What today should have been.

I did a silly thing a few weeks ago and let myself get excited about the pregnancy. You all know how much we love Disney (too much, probably), and at the end of April we had booked a trip to Disney World so we could announce the pregnancy and gender there. We had the whole thing all planned out: Mickey balloons, a just celebrating pin, and cotton candy. And in my head I already knew it would all be pink. I wanted to take the picture in front of the castle, since last year we announced we were having a boy in front of the ferris wheel in California Adventure. We were so, so excited.

We're supposed to be at Magic Kingdom right now riding Pirates. I just got the notification for our fast passes.

After the visit with the specialist, we decided to cancel our trip. We would have hated to be so far away from our doctor if anything happened, and we decided that even if we lost her before or after, the trip still would have been a little hard. Of course we still would have had fun together, but I know I would have cried every time I saw a pink Mickey balloon.

When we were discussing how we could announce the pregnancy at Disney, Brandon was pretty adamant that we don't use the balloons since that is how we announced Carter's gender. I think he was nervous that if we planned to use the balloons, it would be a boy, and then it would have been pretty much the exact same picture as last year, minus the background. Isn't that so silly for me to have to say? Last year. Our official due date for little bean was November 8th, six days after Carter's due date last year. We found out we were pregnant with her a year and one day after we had found out we were pregnant with Carter. And, had we been announcing the pregnancy today, we would have been sharing her (and her gender) with the world 363 days after we shared Carter's. I kind of loved that we were on the same time frame as our pregnancy last year. It makes me feel like both of our babies were already really close. There was a short period of time where I was super stressed about how we would do Carter's birthday with a newborn. We would have been induced at 37 weeks, so about a week and a half before Carter's birthday, and I didn't know how we could properly celebrate him with the restrictions of a new baby. I would give anything to still have that struggle.

Please don't mistake my sadness and grief for depression. I think I mentioned some in the post about losing our little bean, but there are a few things that make this round of loss a little easier than the last one. I'll write about them sometime. It's funny; some days I feel like I can only talk about all of this emotionally, and other days (or minutes, really) I feel like I just talk about it intellectually, with facts and no emotions. I'll write about the bright spots when I'm feeling more intellectual and not emotional.

I think I'm still going to go buy pink balloons today, because I was really looking forward to buying baby girl her very first Mickey balloon, and her first set of ears. The ears will have to wait, and so will the Mickey balloon, but she still deserves some pink balloons, just for making our lives that much brighter while she was here.

Losing Little Bean.

A year and a day after we found out we were pregnant with Carter, we found out we were pregnant again. March 8th. I had known for a while, but we didn't get a positive pregnancy test until that day. It was the best day we'd had in a long time. And we were finally getting another chance to bring home a baby.

Everything was really good for a long time. We had an ultrasound at six weeks, then another at seven weeks, and another at eight weeks, not because anything was wrong, but because we wanted one early, and then our doctor was so nice and did one each time we saw him. We got to watch our bean grow from a tiny little dot on the ultrasound until she looked like an actual baby, and it was wonderful. I don't know how many doctors allow their patients to have eight ultrasounds by the time they are 14 weeks, but if yours does, I highly recommend it.

The first trimester was, like Carter's, a dream. I was more nauseous than I was with Carter, and food didn't seem to help, but I still never threw up! Sleep was hard to come by, but I wasn't as tired as I was with Carter, so it seemed like a fair trade. We were in Amsterdam right during the thick of my sickness, so that was a fun thing to deal with. But it didn't really matter, because I was so happy just to be pregnant again. And with this pregnancy, unlike Carter's, I craved sweets all the time. Fruits and vegetables made me want to throw up, so I just ate a lot of breads and chocolates and cookies, and already little bean and I were the best of friends.

Two Tuesdays ago, May 9th, I woke up and thought I had leaked fluid. We hurried to the ER (where they, of course, didn't hurry) and waited to have an ultrasound. When we finally got in there, the tech told us that the baby's fluid looked like, so Brandon and I relaxed, and enjoyed being able to see our wiggly little babe. She was so wiggly, just like Carter. We went back to our room and waited for the doctor to discharge us. He came back in with the nurses and sat down, and told us that the fluid levels looked fine (I just peed my pants, no big deal), but that there was something else we needed to talk about. He told us that the baby had what is called a Cystic Hygroma. He told us it was abnormal growth on the brain, and that we were going to lose the baby. We were devastated, and kind of blindsided. Everything had been fine, and we'd just had an ultrasound six days before and our doctor didn't see anything, so we had no idea where this was coming from. We went in to see our OB the next day, and he was just as frustrated as we were. He said the radiologist didn't tell him where the growth was, or how big it is, and furthermore, the ER doctor hadn't exactly given us accurate information. A Cystic Hygroma is abnormal swelling of the lymphatic system, and while it can be fatal, it can sometimes go away too. He did an ultrasound that day and said that he could maybe see what they had been looking at, but that he couldn't confirm it. We had gotten my blood drawn the week before to do DNA testing on the baby, so he said we would need to wait for that to come back before we drew any conclusions or made any plans.

That same night, he called us and said he had our results, and that he wanted to see us first thing the next day. All night we worried and talked about worst case scenarios. We sat around the house for too long, then finally left and drove around for about three hours before coming home and crashing on the couch. When Thursday morning finally came, we went to his office and waited. Our results showed that the baby had Trisomy 13, meaning she had an extra 13th chromosome, and essentially confirmed what the radiologist had seen on Tuesday. Trisomy 13 babies often have the abnormal swelling, and generally have failure of all internal organs. The hygroma would not go away, and neither would the chromosomal abnormality. Babies with Trisomy 13 can sometimes live to birth, or even one year, but the majority don't make it a full 40 weeks, and if they do, they don't usually live more than a few hours. We found out then that she was a girl, just like we knew she was. Our doctor sat with us for a long time and answered all of our questions. He told us he'd had his nurse send a referral over to a Maternal Fetal Medicine Specialist, and that we would probably hear from them by the end of the day. We left the appointment shocked and sad. We were going to lose another baby.

We drove to Logan that day to spend time with Carter. We visited with Brandon's parents while we were there and delivered the bad news, then called my parents that night to tell them. We felt so bad telling everyone, because nobody really knew what to say. We didn't even know what to say. It just seemed so unfair. But spending time with Carter that day helped. I've had a lot of spiritual experiences since we lost him that I won't go into detail about, but I know our other children have been with us through all of this, and that they were preparing for their sister to return to them.

We had Friday off too, and went to see the specialist that day. They did another ultrasound and talked us through everything they were seeing. We saw the swelling then, and it made us so sad. The baby was probably about ten centimeters long, and the swelling was 1.5 centimeters on either side of her neck. It spread down a little over her chest too. The specialist said it had grown significantly since the ultrasound on Tuesday. They told us that we would probably lose her, because the hygroma would grow and her heart would get weaker, but they couldn't give us a time frame. We could have lost her that day, or I could have carried her through to delivery. They talked about us making the decision to end her life, not that we had to, but that it was an option if we didn't feel like we wanted to carry another baby full term just to lose them. I didn't even want to think about having to consider a decision like that. No parent should have to think about that.

We were supposed to go to Boise that weekend. After the appointment, we went home to grab our bags, got an hour away from home, and I decided that I just wanted to stay home. I wanted time alone with our little family, and I felt like I needed a few days to let everything sink in before I went back to work. Little Bean was super active all weekend, and Brandon and I both got to feel her move a little. We spent Mother's Day as a little family of four, soaking up all the time we had before anything happened, and not thinking about what the future could bring.

Monday morning I woke up at 4:30 to our little bean kicking, but when I got up an hour later to shower, I felt different. I didn't say anything to Brandon, because I didn't want to believe it, but all day I think I knew. I went to Costa for lunch with Alycia and had a Diet Coke to see if the baby would move, but I didn't feel anything. I called Brandon and told him I wanted to go in and listen to the baby's heart, even though we were supposed to have an appointment on Wednesday. We showed up at the office, and even though we weren't on the schedule, our doctor made room for us right away. I felt so bad for the nurse, because it wasn't the usual nurse we see, and we had to explain why we were there. I wanted to tell her not to listen, and that the doctor should be the one to do it, but I didn't want to seem high maintenance, so I let her do it, and in turn, broke her heart. She finally gave up and went to get the doctor, who fought it for a long time too. Finally he took us into the ultrasound room, looked at her fluids, and essentially everything but her heart, until it was the last thing left to look at . There was no little flutter, no heartbeat. I had asked Brandon the day before to download the recording app so we could record the sound of her heartbeat, and we didn't get to do it. That was what made me the most sad. I knew she was gone before we went to the doctor, but I'm glad I listened to my instinct and asked to go in.

Losing our little bean wasn't as much of a shock as losing Carter was. We had known it was probably going to happen for about a week, and were honestly glad that it happened on its own, rather than us having to have considered ending her life. Her pain didn't go on for longer than necessary, and we had her with us for Mother's Day. Really, the timing was okay. We hadn't planned to do the blood draw for the genetic testing until this last Wednesday, but I got antsy and did it two weeks early. Had we not done it then, we would have had to wait on an autopsy from her to find out why we had lost her. Had we miscarried in the first trimester, we would never have known why, and would have wondered if it would be safe to keep trying. We had a karyotype done in November to check mine and Brandon't chromosomes, and both are completely normal. This was, once again, a rare stroke of bad luck. 

The chances of having a stillborn are 1 in 23,000. The chances of losing a baby to Trisomy 13 are 1 in 20,000. The chances of both happening to us are 1 in 460 million. And this is why we don't gamble.

The doctor got me on his schedule for a D&C the next day. I could have been induced and tried to deliver her naturally, but more than likely I would have needed a D&C anyway, so we decided to make the process as stress and pain free as possible. We went in Tuesday, and had our little girl.

Our doctor was so sweet, and treated everything as much like a normal birth as he could. He took the giraffe receiving blanket we had for her and told us he would get it to her. He told us she was born at 2:45, and he told us she was pretty.

And just like that, we became a little family of four.

There are bright spots among all the clouds of our situation. We know we can have healthy babies, it just hasn't happened for us yet. But it will. We are as optimistic as we can be right now, even though the days are painted with occasional meltdowns and fits about how life is really unfair. I miss being pregnant, and I miss having a reason to get out of bed smiling every morning, but it will happen again.

We love our little bean, and are so happy to have had her for the time we did.

**We took the picture in the hospital for the sake of remembering. We wanted the "delivery" to be as typical as possible, even though it most definitely is not, and wanted to remember May 16th as the day our little girl was born.

Fear of forgetting.

Half of this was written on the bathroom floor, and I couldn't bring myself to read through and edit it, so sorry in advance if there are any typos/grammatical errors.

I was going to post another day of Amsterdam, but I wanted to talk about Carter today. It's going to get real, and if I say anything that makes you feel like you should apologize to me, please don't. That's not what I'm getting at, I just wanted to write about how I feel.

I wrote about this two weeks ago, but it has still been looming over me. Honestly, I don't know that it will ever go away, but I wish my anxiety about it would just simmer down. I'm afraid of a lot of things in life, spiders, snakes, death, heights, the dark, but I've never been so afraid of anything as much as I fear people forgetting about Carter. It's a very strange feeling, to have carried a baby for nine months, have the ultrasounds hanging on your fridge, all the clothes washed and in his dresser, have the crib and bassinet set up, ready for a little body, and then never get to bring him home. I've said it before, but I'm the kind of person that over-prepares for everything. It feels like that's what I've done. Like, in preparation to maybe have a baby someday, I bought all this stuff, and even went so far as to have other people buy it for me, and I washed everything and I hung pictures on the wall and I straightened the sheet in his crib, just in case I one day was lucky enough to get pregnant and bring a baby home. And then I think about being in the hospital, and sitting at the cemetery, and I look at pictures of him, and sometimes I just wonder, whose life is this? Whose life am I witnessing because it surely isn't mine. It's not solid or tangible enough to be mine. I can't grasp onto any fleeting memory strong enough or long enough to recognize it as my own. It all went too fast.

But I, as his mother, am the only person that knows how it felt to carry him, to feel his little kicks, to feel the contractions and to go through the process of delivering him and know the pain of recovering emotionally as well as physically. I am the only person that knows what it's like to watch my husband hold his son and gently kiss him on the forehead as he cries. 

Other people know our pain. They read our stories and they see Carter's pictures and I know they know him and love him. For now. But what happens in one or five or ten years when everyone's lives get busier and our pain lessens, and not every single thing I post is tinged with a hint (or a heap) of sadness? How is everyone else supposed to remember when some days I feel like none of it was real? 

It means so much to have people write or say his name. It means the world to me when other people validate that he was real because sometimes it feels like he wasn't. There are days that I can't validate it myself, and other people, unknowingly, do it for me. But what about when no one does that anymore? What about when other people have babies born on October 27, and no one remembers the little boy born that didn't get to live with his parents?

I don't feel like a real mom, because my son is not here. What if, down the road, people will forget about the son I had in 2016? What if they look at our family, me and Brandon and whatever kids we have at home, and they forge about the one that isn't there? What if we move away and no one goes to see him? What if our future kids get made fun of because they talk about a brother that lives in heaven? 

What if what if what if.

What if Brandon and I are the only two people that ever remember him? Realistically, that's all that really matters. But what about when people forget that I have a giant, permanent hole in my heart? What about when someone wants me to do something on October 27 and I don't want to? Will they remember why I spend the whole day crying, or will they just tell me I'm too sensitive and need to get over it? How long is it okay to not be okay? Because right now, it feels like it will be forever.

Airplanes on airplanes.

Before we went to Disneyland in January, I knew that certain aspects of the trip were going to be a little difficult/sad. We announced our pregnancy to my family at Disneyland last year in March, and the one thing I remember most prominently is standing teary eyed on a corner near city hall as we shared our wonderful news. That corner was the one thing I knew I really wanted to avoid. 

In the days leading up to our trip, Brandon told me that he bought me a gift, and that it should be at our house before we left. We checked the mail right before we left, and it wasn't there. He was so sad, because he had double checked with the seller that it would be here on time, and it still wasn't. He ended up telling me what it was, and even though I didn't have it, I still thought about it all weekend, and it was just as special. 

The gift wasn't just for Disneyland, even though it is Disney themed. We have taken it with us when we've driven somewhere for a weekend, and it's with us now (yes, as you are reading this) as we sit on the airplane heading somewhere exciting.

This little pin is one of the many ways we get to take Carter with us on trips, even though he isn't here. It's perfect, since we go to Disney for vacation so often, but I love that we have it to take with us everywhere else. We didn't know that an airplane themed nursery would be so perfect, but I love knowing that wherever we go, he's up there in his little plane, following us around the world.

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