Here Comes the Sun

I have been preparing my heart to accept the idea that we may never have living biological children. To be clear, there is no actual reason to believe that we won't; I am 30 and healthy and all of the tests that the doctor was willing to do before the one-year-of-trying mark came back normal. For me to be sane and enjoy life, I need to be able to accept the possibility that I may never conceive again. It is pretty hard for me to believe in happy endings when our daughter has been in the ground for 18 months and our second chance baby, our Grace, was gone before we got to know him or her. This is our seventh cycle trying to conceive and we weren't exactly careful for the three cycles before that. Why would we easily conceive twice, then struggle, unless something was off?

Lately, I have a love-hate relationship with the baby loss community. On the one hand, I think it is important to have connections to people who know how you are feeling, but on the other, it seems that most of those communities have only half the story in common with me now. As much as I celebrate each new "rainbow" pregnancy or healthy newborn "rainbow," I am not anywhere near knowing what it feels like to find comfort in the warmth of a new life. I used to feel so encouraged and hopeful when I read those stories, but now I feel bitterness and loneliness as I think again and again, "why not us?" I try not to be resentful when the well-meaning rainbow mommies reassure me that my time will come. Though no one likes to talk about it, for many parents the rainbow baby never does come. I have met some absolutely wonderful friends and acquaintances online over the past 18 months, but I find myself withdrawing from that world to try and protect my heart.

I accidentally came across a wonderful blog today called Losing Lucy and Finding Hope (click the text to visit). The author, Bethany, and her husband have been through stillbirth, two miscarriages, and adoption loss and just welcomed their "rainbow baby" in July at long last. I wept as I read post after post; her story and all of the scripture verses she shared along the way touched something in me that I have been trying to squelch. Hope. Though I am a long way from being able to believe in a happy ending for us, it helped to read her stories because I realized that she must have felt how I am feeling at so many points along their journey.

What is hope, anyway? These days, I'm trying not to be so specific with my hope. My heart believes that, one day, we will have a chance to parent children, however it is God chooses to bring them to us. When Haven died, I thought that my redemption as a mother, a wife, and a woman would only come through successfully bringing home another baby, but I don't know now if that is where our lives are headed. I surely do hope so, but I am trying to keep my heart open for the other possibilities that God may have in mind for us.

Soon after Haven died last February, we treated ourselves to iPhones. I immediately downloaded the Beatles song "Here Comes the Sun" as my ringtone, because it spoke to me of hope after such a heartbreaking winter. I feel now that we are coming out of a figurative winter and into the sun. I'm looking forward to what this "summer" will bring.

"Here comes the sun. Here comes the sun, and I say 'it's all right.'"

You know, I really think it will be all right.

Recognition

"Boy, your body is just not the same after having babies, is it? Your abs just don't go back the same."

We were walking out to our cars after our Pilates class, where we'd both laughed as we failed at trying to do a full sit-up. I don't know her name, but she is quiet and nice.

I mumbled some kind of agreement and thought, what if she asks? What will I say? Does she know? I never know what to say.

I said, "yeah, it is just not the same." Dang, she is gonna ask...

"So you have a very young baby, do you?"

Pause. Panic. "Uhhhhh, I did, but she died. Oh goodness, that sounded terrible, I'm sorry... yes, I had a baby daughter, but she died."

She kindly said, "I am so sorry, I didn't realize."

"No, of course, it's not your fault. It just comes out so awkwardly sometimes."

We said our goodbyes and got into our cars.


On the way home, I thought, how did she know I was a mom? Then it dawned on me that I have a mommy body now. She could see my baby pooch and the same weaknesses presenting themselves in my body as in hers. It made me proud and sad at the same time to be recognized this way. I'm part of the club, but not really part of the club. My body was a baby home, but my arms stayed empty.

I drove home to my quiet house and now I am sitting here intensely missing my little love, wondering what she would be like now. My 15 month munchkin, drooling and giggling and causing beautiful chaos for her mom and dad. I know she would have been a character - she already was, even in my belly. When a child dies, they leave such a void. A lifetime of I wonders and memories you don't get to build. I have been thinking a lot about our second baby lately too. We would be in the final stretch now, just about ready to bring home Haven's little brother or sister.

I really took it hard when my period came this month, especially with Mother's Day right after. I can't help but wonder when? or...if? My arms just ache to hold, my body to give, my lips to kiss. I yearn to see my husband fulfilled as a dad, finally able to give way to all of that love inside him.

I wonder where we will be this time next year? Will we have a house that is alive again, or will I still be listening to the refrigerator hum? Will we be facing a life without biological children or will my womb finally be blessed again?

Grief is a winding road with no destination...

How to Let Go?

As I sit here facing the disappointment of yet another cycle where we didn't conceive, the seventh such cycle in a year, I can't help but think how hard it is to let go. I know that I need to let the hope die and just live my life, because the heartache every month is too much to bear. It is always a reminder of how much we have lost.

I often drive past an abortion clinic on my way to work and think, "what I would give to have those babies." On that same stretch of road is a pharmacy which I remember walking to when we were first married where I bought a pregnancy test; I was worried that I might be pregnant. How I wish now that I could shake myself and tell that version of me how wonderful it would be and to not be afraid. I can't believe this is my life sometimes...

How do I let go of the dream of a family and live my life? I wish I knew. For more than a year now, my daily focus has been on bringing another baby into the world, hopefully one that is screaming his or her lungs off. Even though a part of me feels that I will never have more babies, my mind can't wrap itself around that possibility. I watch the pregnancy announcements roll on with a numb feeling and wonder, "will it ever be me?" 

How the heck do I let go?

Mother's Day and Empty Rooms

I can feel Mother's Day lurking around the corner. Last year, I felt something like panic in anticipation of it...facebook was thick with sappy memes and posts (which are, without meaning to be, very exclusive), stores were oozing with merchandise, the radio and TV blared its soon-coming arrival, and everyone soaked it up. My broken heart was filled with bitterness and anger instead.

I avoided church last Mother's Day, knowing they would have all the mothers stand to be presented with flowers. It never occurred to me until Haven died how many women that tradition hurts - the infertile, the single women who want to be mothers, those whose family is broken for some reason, those who have come so close, like me, only to have their babes snatched away...and the list goes on and on. I won't be taking part this year either. Honestly, I don't think I would even if I was holding a new baby in my arms or my belly right now.

I don't feel the same level of panic this year as last, but there is an ache in my heart all the same. 

An order from Old Navy was the first time I bought anything for Haven. I was only a few months pregnant but found these cute onesies that said "I love my mommy" and "I love my daddy" for Mother's Day and Father's Day. I hope one day I can fill them with a new life. Right now, they are squashed together with all the rest of Haven's unused things in a big tub in the nursery closet. The nursery is still a reminder of what is not. I may finally work up the courage to dismantle it in the coming weeks. It stands as a symbol of expectancy and it crushes me every time I look inside.

Always, With the News

Today, some good friends told us that they are expecting their first baby. It is the second friend's pregnancy we've learned of in a week. The third announcement in two weeks. I expect there will be many more in the coming months as many friends' babies who are Haven's age hit their first year. I'm not sure how many more facebook profiles and posts I can "unfollow" on facebook - I already shield myself from a lot of other people's joy.

I always feel both elated for our friends upon hearing this kind of news, yet completely distraught and empty at the same time.  Every pregnancy announcement is a little like a punch to the stomach. It's hard to not be jealous of the innocence of pregnancy that they are experiencing...which I will never take part in again. I always think (with a little bitterness, I will admit), "when will it be our turn? We've waited long enough."

I wish our friends all the happiness they deserve. I just hope it is our turn to be happy someday too.

Missing

There is always a piece missing from our lives; the little dark-haired girl who would be finding her legs and warbling out her first words. Well, two pieces; the little one we never got to know. There aren't words for how hard it is to be a childless parent. Because no one can see you are a parent, it is easily forgotten that you are constantly navigating a present that is drastically different from what it should have been.

I should have my hands full with Haven, big and pregnant with our second baby. We had talked about getting pregnant again right away so our kids would be close in age and so I could be home with them for as much of their early lives as possible. Yet here I am, nearly two years from when I first became pregnant, three negative pregnancy tests in the bathroom garbage, laying on the couch listening to the silence. One baby in the ground and one...I don't know where. 

I have been trusting God and choosing to believe that my time will come, but when months pass without another pregnancy, I feel like I am losing them again and again. When my period comes, it always feels so final. A friend of mine was talking about how stressful it can be to try and conceive and I felt like saying, "just imagine if both of your experiences with pregnancy ended in death." It's so hard to believe I will ever know the joy of parenthood.

As selfish as it is, I get anxious and angry when I think about the fact that some of my friends with babies Haven's age are probably already pregnant again and will have a second child before I bring home one living baby. I selfishly feel that it is my turn now. Anytime. 

I miss my babies so much tonight. I miss the life I should have had. 

Crystal Ball

There has never been a time in my life where I have so wanted to know the future. If I could just look forward two years and know what becomes of all this, I could make decisions and find a way to be content with whatever our lot is. Instead, we are back on the trying to conceive wagon hoping that this time is different.

It's so weird to be in this place. My pregnancy with Haven was a blessed, unplanned surprise. I was totally happy to wait to start trying, but she just...happened. I was sure everything would be okay, and everything pointed to me being right. Even after she died, I felt positive that, once I conceived again, that would be it, our second chance. I was worried about the end, not the beginning. Again, I was wrong. 

My mind is full of worries over my reproductive health and whether I will be able to bear living children. My body has changed so much since birth and even more since the D&C and I am worried it has been damaged.

My confidence is in tatters.

Ugh. Down day.

The End, the Beginning

One year ago today, perhaps to the very hour, I felt my daughter kick inside me for the last time. Sometimes I wish I could go back to that night and savour it. Just soak in the magnificence of my big belly and the beautiful life inside.

We stayed up late even though the next day, Valentine's Day, was my last day of work before maternity leave. We were in a good mood, I remember. High on life - our family was about to be made complete. The next day was the final step toward parenthood - once maternity leave started, it was just a matter of days or weeks before our baby was here. We went to bed like any other night. Our lives as we knew them were over...we just didn't know it yet. Sometime between Haven's last kicks and the morning, she died.

I remember thinking the next morning that she must be sleeping in; usually she was pretty active in the morning. I even poked my belly a few times and said "wake up, sleepy-head." A coworker wanted to feel her move, but my belly felt soft. I was having Braxton Hicks contractions all morning, which felt sometimes like she was stretching inside me, so it wasn't until I returned from my farewell lunch that it dawned on me that she hadn't kicked yet that day.

I called Danny and waited for him to pick me up from work - I was distracted and a bit worried, but the possibility that she was gone didn't fully sink in. Someone handed me a big gift on the way out - they had missed my baby shower a few days before. It would sit in the back seat of our car with the car seat while I laboured to bring Haven into the world, silent.

Those days haunt me. They have played on a loop so many times in my mind since then and the sting has never left. I remember so much of that day in excruciating detail - what I ordered at lunch, what I was wearing, that I accidentally ripped my purse as I sat down, the winter storm raging outside. Later, my clothing piled on top of my winter boots next to my hospital bed as the look came into the nurse's eyes...

I wish I could let go of this trauma. I live with it pretty well most days, but it is always there under the surface. 

One year. I should be planning a birthday party, wiping up drool, trying to get some rest. I should also be halfway through a second pregnancy, but I am laying in bed typing this with an empty womb and an empty, quiet house.

I hope it is not always so.

Not Your Typical Fast

I have a confession to make:

I am a research addict.

When Haven died, I spent literally 2 months, morning to night, researching everything relating to stillbirth. And I mean Every. Single. Day. When her autopsy results came back, I again researched every day for several weeks so I could understand as much as possible about her cause of death. I am now a veritable encyclopaedia of knowledge on the topic. 

The problem? It turned me into a total basket case. It took months for me to figure out that the research was causing me intense anxiety. So much so that I fought insomnia for about four months and was having symptoms like shortness of breath, attacks, and heart palpitations.

Fast forward to the night of my D&C. I was only a few hours out of surgery and the search engine on my phone was being worked overtime.

Hubs has suggested (or told me sternly, perhaps) that I need to cut out the research completely. I think that he might be right. If I don't, there is no "cross that road when we come to it" because in my fearful mind, we are at ALLOFTHEROADSRIGHTNOW! I don't think I can handle much more of the constant panic (or the palpitations which have now been my friend for the last month and a half or so).

I hate to admit when hubby is right, but I have been slipping down that slippery slope again. I had a total meltdown this evening after finding out some really scary things I was unaware of and the fear and pain just swallowed me up without warning. See, though I am partly grateful for my extensive knowledge and understanding of the things we have gone through and now face, all of that research coupled with my fears has pretty much turned me into a fertility hypochondriac. If I read about something that is a scary cause of pregnancy loss or a side effect of the procedures I have had to go through, I am immediately convinced that I have those things. My hope is in tatters and I don't know how to overcome this.

So, dear husband, who reads my posts, I am going on a research fast...for now at least. You are permitted one free "I told you so" on the house.

Lessons and Signs

I have been thinking back to a post that I published on my Map to Joy blog in September (click here to read it). We had just come off of our fourth unsuccessful month of trying to conceive again and I was overwhelmed with weariness and sadness and feelings of failure. When I read that passage of Hind's Feet on High Places, it came to me so clearly that I had a choice to become twisted and bitter or to accept with joy the circumstances of my life. As I sat on the gravel overlooking the river at my in-laws' cottage, I surrendered.

The same weekend, I wandered into the kitchen and froze; there was a rainbow dancing against the white of the oven. For those who don't know, rainbows symbolize babies born after miscarriage or stillbirth in the loss community (rainbows come after a storm). I looked up and saw that the rainbow was coming from a flat crystal which hangs in my mother-in-law's kitchen window on which Haven's footprints are etched. It was one of those experiences where time seemed to stand still; I felt so strongly in that moment that we would have another child.

We found out I was pregnant again about a month after that day and I thought immediately, "this is it! The baby I sensed was coming." We had come such a long way and this was our second chance. As you can probably imagine, I felt so betrayed, angry, and confused when we lost our "rainbow baby" to a miscarriage. I told Danny then that I didn't believe in signs anymore. How could I? He said that maybe we just misunderstand them when they come, though I thought, "what is the point of a sign then?"

I still don't know what the rainbow moment meant, or if it "meant" anything at all. Perhaps it was just that I needed hope that day and so it was communicated to me in a way that really caught my attention. I think I needed to receive that "sign" and this important lesson of acceptance at the same time so that I would not forget either one. I can't explain all of the changes that have happened inside of me this year, but I believe that God is at work in my heart, teaching me acceptance with joy. Teaching me empathy and generosity. Out of the worst pain has come some of the most beautiful fruit. It has been a year of surrenders.

Air

It hurts to breathe.

Memories crowd 'round,

Precious and terrible both.

I can't tell them to leave me;

They are all that is left.

I gasp for air, sobbing breath.

Like her, but I go on. And on, and on.

Living, but not living, aching with want.

I died that day. I know it doesn't look like it.

Future. Hope. Confidence. Innocence. Gone.

How do I get those things back? Am I able?

Hope: is it something that can regenerate?

Confidence: is it something I can mend?

Innocence: is it possible to restore?

I long to cradle new life, but

My womb is a tomb.

It hurts to breathe.

Journal

I keep a daily journal that has space for only a few lines a day. The idea is that this diary will take you through 5 years. Each page represents a date; for example, March 5 has its own page with five sections so you can compare five years' worth of March 5 experiences. My first such journal was given to me when I was pregnant with Haven and was intended for mothers (click here to check it out). I couldn't bear to keep it up after Haven died, though now I wish I had. I started a new one (not mom-specific) a few weeks before we found out we were pregnant this time.

I decided to look through my current journal the other day...I missed Haven and I missed being pregnant. I noticed two things:

1) A few days before this little baby died, I had expressed to him or her that I loved them. It was a big deal for me, as I was so afraid to bond this time around. I am thankful that I said it before it was too late. Even though this little person couldn't hear me, I hope that the love was felt somehow. I've realized that no matter how I tried to deny my feelings, I was bonding anyway. I hope that, next time, I will open up my heart right away, no matter how hard it is. Life is delicate and too short to not love fully.

2) Around the time this baby died, there was a wicked winter wind storm and I noted in my journal that it reminded me of the weekend Haven died and was born. From the day we found out she had died to the day she was born (Friday-Sunday), the wind was violent, spewing ice pellets and freezing rain from an angry gray sky. It is fanciful, but I remember laying in my hospital bed watching the chaos outside my window and thinking with pleasure that she didn't go quietly. That the gale bore her up to heaven. Perhaps, my imagination says, that same wind visited and whisked this little one up too.

I have been reminded this week of how much I need this blog. Writing about my experiences is one of the only ways I have found to process this grief. Friends have told me that I am "brave" for sharing it publicly, but I only keep it public because I know how desperate I was to relate to someone after Haven died. If my blogs can provide that even on a small level for someone else, then it is all worth it.

Another Ending

I had begun writing my 9 week post, but it sadly became moot.

Yesterday, at 10 weeks (ultrasound date), I woke in the night and found a little blood when I used the washroom. Due to some other symptoms, it seemed I might have a UTI, so in the morning we went to the ER to be safe. After many hours of waiting, multiple doctors and waiting rooms and tests (all clear), we found out the sad news that our little one stopped growing at 8 weeks. My body just didn't get the message; it's commonly called a "missed miscarriage." The doctors were concerned that I might have some type of infection in my abdomen and rushed me up for a D&C to clean out my uterus. Now I am recovering (in all senses of the word). 

We had finally found a nickname this week: Walnut (because of baby's size). We had been "showing" little Walnut the sights on our little road trip. Just started bonding. I convinced myself to buy a few onesies. I thought it was a boy. We finalized our name choices.

We may not have had a chance to get to know this little person, but I believe that he or she mattered. At least, they did to me and Danny and our friends and family.

It's hard to know what to feel. The sadness is so déjà vu...a lot of the experience was too: the bad news, the ultrasound, the wheelchair, the tests, the questions. The emptiness, physical and emotional. The feeling of being inadequate and less than. The anger. I went into this knowing that no one gets a free pass, but I still hoped we would, all the same.

I could keep writing, but it would just be more of this rambling and pain. I don't have the energy for silver linings and gratitude today. I think it will take me some time to find my way back there again. We're heartsick.

Of Time and Love

Last night, we watched the movie "Interstellar," which, being the sci-fi lovers we are, we enjoyed immensely. It is all about the theory that space and time are not linear as we perceive them to be. I'm certainly not an expert, but...in this theory, time is a layered thing that is beyond our perception. Some theorize that every decision and event has a large number of possibilities which follow as potential futures. In some sense, every one of those possible futures is being played out right now in different timelines, parallel to our own.

I don't exactly bring it up in conversation, as I don't like to come off as a complete lunatic, but one of my fondest thoughts has been that somewhere, in a different timeline, the words "I'm sorry, there is no heartbeat" are never uttered. Haven is born screaming and pink and we never know the anguish of birthing and burying our still daughter, nor the bottomless grief that a parent feels when they say goodbye forever. We would only know the joy of her smiles and laughs, of the sleepless nights and never ending laundry. In my thoughts, in this timeline, our family is whole.

Now, my even fonder thought is that, on this plane of time, our family of three is growing again. Our little nine-month-old Haven is going to be a big sister. We are overwhelmed but excited.

I don't live in these thoughts every day because I don't want to get lost in them, but every now and then, I think about the possibility and it brings me a little comfort. In my mind, I visit ordinary days in the lives of Other Us, where things are hectic but happy, and the house is filled with the sounds of a child. It's bittersweet.

The movie also made me think about this little bean growing inside of me. I realized that I have really been holding back because I am so afraid of losing another child. But I decided last night that I owe it to this little person to love him or her just as wholeheartedly as I loved Haven, whether this little life dies tomorrow or outlives and buries me.

Deep thoughts for a Thursday morning...

Week 6: We Meet the Blob-sac

What an exhausting week. I had truly forgotten just how much early pregnancy sucks the energy out of you. It's very different from late pregnancy, where your physical exhaustion has a lot more to do with being gigantic and uncomfortable, not sleeping, and having 50% more blood pumping through your body. It's also different than regular exhaustion. I know that for sure, as I spent 4 months straight with insomnia this winter and I am telling you that even chronic insomnia has nothing on early pregnancy. Unless you have both, which is happening to me this week. P-R-E-G-O-Z-O-M-B-I-E.

I was really excited when the doc ordered an early dating ultrasound until the ultrasound tech kept saying, "it's really too early, I don't know why they sent you this early, I can't really get a good look at it." She dated us at 6 weeks, 3 days just after saying she couldn't see well enough. I had placed myself more at 7 weeks, 5 days based on knowledge of my dates. I could be off by 3-4 days at most, but I really doubt I am off by almost a week and a half. Anyway, I digress. I am keeping my original due date until otherwise notified that I am wrong down the road. *Hiss*

We were really nervous going into in the appointment. The last time we'd had an ultrasound was on what I call The Worst Day (for obvious reasons) and the thought of looking at another ultrasound screen made me sick to the stomach. Danny was nervous too - he told me after that when the tech asked me to hold my breath, he was holding his too.

We ended up getting an okay look, saw a very healthy heart rate of 155bpm, and got this screenshot of our little raspberry (that is how big baby is right now). When I sent this photo to my sister-in-law, I said, "the baby is the little blob in the dark sac" and she called it the "Blob-sac." I swear we'll come up with a better nickname...

With that, I (and Baby Blob-sac) are signing out.

A Good Day (or, The Day I Peed on a Stick and it Was Awesome)

After a few months of trying to conceive (TTC), I wasn't about to get my hopes up. I waited until I was almost a full week late and having obvious symptoms before I busted out the pee-sticks (and I made sure they were the good ones). I was really excited that morning; I had a great plan for telling hubby if I was indeed pregnant.

I had purchased a bottle of consolation wine for myself in case we found out we were not pregnant and I told Danny that, if I was pregnant, it was all his. Well. I woke up at 7:30am, unable to sleep another wink until I found out for sure. I stealthily took a test and, lo and behold, what the TTC world calls a BFP (Big Fat Positive).

Big Fat Positive!

I snuck across the apartment and slipped the bottle of wine into a gift bag, crept into the bedroom, placed it on Danny's nightstand, then slithered under the covers. I was going to wait until he woke up, but when he stirred, I just couldn't wait...

Me: Babe, I have an early birthday gift for you!

Danny: Murphle murph.

Me: It's next to you on the nightstand.

Danny (groping around in the dim light, making contact with the top of the bottle): Whisky. Am I right?

Me: ...just...open it.

Danny: I can open it later.

Me: Gahhh, open it now!

Danny (starting to clue in): Do you have another extra-special birthday gift for me?

Me (sighing): ...yes.

Danny (finally waking up): REALLY?

Me (laughing): YES, you ruiner!

It just so happened that we were planning to spend the day with a friend of ours out in Witless Bay, a nearby town where we once lived. We snapped a few beautiful pictures, had a yummy fish and chips lunch, and headed back to the city feeling great.

October 11: the day we found out we would be parents for the second time.

I'm glad we had such a perfect day, considering the (hopefully) long and daunting pregnancy ahead of us. What an amazing and terrifying feeling it was to realize that we were pregnant again. We were so caught up with actually getting pregnant that, when we finally found out, we were a little in shock.

But October 11 was a good day. This little one deserves to have all the fanfare that his or her big sister had, and that is why this blog exists. I can't wait to welcome this little bean into the world.

Weeks 3 and 4: Hello, Blump.

"They" always say that every pregnancy is different and that your symptoms with a second pregnancy can be completely unlike a first pregnancy. Well, "they" are right! Around the time I started to suspect I might be pregnant this time, the signs were mostly familiar, but not the same early signs that I had the first time.

The Early Symptoms:

• Head to toe pimples (well, head to ankle, to be precise. Ewwww).
• Ovarian pain and severe cramping around implantation.
• Slightly tender breasts (but not the howling pain of last time).
• Fatigue (this took longer to hit last time).
• Dizziness. This one is totally new to me - I've had it since 4 weeks!
• A "full" feeling in my uterus at 4 weeks. I thought, "hmm, this feels familiar!" It was the first time I really thought I might be pregnant. 
• Last, but certainly not least, constipation (and its awful minion, THE SUPER BLOAT).

What is Missing:

• Morning sickness. I have had only the most minor nausea from time to time due to the hormones slowing down my digestive tract. But no morning sickness! This happened almost immediately last time.
• Morning Sickness's buddy, Super Smell. It is heightened, for sure, but nowhere near what it was last time!
• Extreme hunger. I haven't been any more hungry than usual. Last time, I was like a Hobbit with my "elevensies."

Some of the ladies on my message boards call a bloat-bump a "blump" and it always strikes me as funny. I definitely have a "blump"! So much so that, when I told a close friend I was expecting, she said, "I thought you might be, because I noticed your little bump the other day." I was only around 7 weeks at the time, though I have been this big since about 4 weeks.

My pants already don't fit and I am actually having a skinny day here.
Last time I was 12 weeks before this happened!

My affectionate name for myself right now is The Whale-rus. As for the little one, we can't decide on a nickname. So far, we have tried and ruled out the following (I love bullet points, can you tell?)

1. Bean
2. Spud
3. Squib
4. Sparrow
5. Snowpea (this one might grow on us).

We'll eventually get there. It's kind of hard to follow after a great prenatal nickname like "Shrimpy"!

Whale-rus, OUT!

A Beginning

It is hard to know where to begin. For those who know me, the back story is mostly clear, but for anyone who might happen upon my little corner of the blogosphere and wonder what I'm all about, a little introduction may be in order.

My name is Brandi. My hubby, Danny, and I live on the island of Newfoundland on the East Coast of Canada. We both studied Linguistics, but I'm a desk jockey and Danny works in Loss Prevention. I didn't grow up here; I fell in love with Newfoundland, then I fell in love with Danny and made this beautiful place my home. But I guess the thing I am trying to tell you, the thing that I am skirting around, is that we lost our beautiful daughter, Haven, at the end of a healthy and uneventful pregnancy on Valentine's Day this year. I won't tell the story here, but if you visit my pregnancy blog (click here) you can read about it. I no longer feel like I can truly tell someone about myself without first telling them about what happened. Even though it is not obvious, I'm a mother to an absent child.

After Haven died, my life fell apart for awhile. I look back now and it's scary to see how far into the fog I had gone. The shock took about three months to wear off, then I realized that a lot of the feelings I had attributed to grief were in fact severe depression and anxiety. It took time, love, medication, therapy, and people's prayers to get out of that place. Depression's grip is not altogether loosened, but I find myself living again. Scarred, but looking to the future that was so recently obscured. Joy has also crept in, and I find myself living with a depth that I have never experienced before. Grief has a way of focusing you; nothing looks the same through its lens.

Now I'm going to tell you another thing about us. We are expecting again after a few months of trying. I'm happy and grateful...and utterly terrified. I process best through writing, so naturally, I knew that this is where I had to come. I'm just 7 weeks pregnant now, but whatever may come, I want our loved ones to know where we are at. If this year has taught me anything, it has been that we need each other.

There is a passage in the Bible that became special to me this year. Matthew 10:29-31 says, "Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father's care. And even the very hairs on your head are all numbered. So don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows." It spoke to me that God knew my little daughter, even if no one else ever would, and that she was in His care. We had that verse printed on her headstone, and it is the inspiration for this blog's title.

I plan to use this blog to track my pregnancy and our journey along the way...to wherever life leads us. I invite you to follow along.