Losing Mom

The first two weeks after Carson was born were blissful. Yes, I was exhausted and sore (birth hurts!), but I was also thrilled to have my sweet baby boy in my arms at last. And he was such an easy baby in those early weeks. He only cried when he really needed something and he would stop as soon as the need was met. When he woke up at 2 am for a feeding, I could nurse him and then lay him down to sleep. There was no walking and bouncing and shushing required in the middle of the night. He would just lay there and make cute little baby sounds until he fell asleep again. It was completely different from the troubled start our poor Claire had with her severe acid reflux, and we were thankful he wasn't having to go through what she endured. He was healthy, happy, and in my arms. It was wonderful.

And then came the sick. From the time Carson was two weeks old, until he was 10 weeks old, we had 4 rounds of sickness run through our house. Poor Claire caught all 4, Carson and I caught 3, and even Josh (who NEVER gets sick) caught a round. These were no simple cold bugs. One of them left me with 103 fever for three days straight. While nursing a newborn. Another felt exactly like the flu, minus the fever. We spent the weeks passing misery (and the tissues) around the house and even our sweet newborn was not exempt. There was no sleep to be had in our house with two sick kiddos.

But that was not the worst of it. The worst happened on May 1, when Carson was only 6 weeks old. The kids were in the middle of round 2 of "the sick" and I was just getting that tickle in my throat that told me I was about to join the party. My phone rang, and it was my mom's apartment complex manager, asking if I had heard from my mom lately. I told her we texted back and forth about two weeks earlier, but I hadn't heard from her since. That wasn't really alarming because my mom often ran out of minutes on her phone and sometimes it would be a while before she had more. It wasn't uncommon for her to be out of touch during those times. I explained that to the manager, and suggested she just go to see mom at her apartment rather than calling on the phone. The manager said she would do that and she gave no indication there was any concern, but I did ask her to call me back if she was still having trouble reaching my mom. I felt a little uneasy when I realized it had been two weeks since I heard from Mom. With a newborn and all the sickness in our house, the time had passed without much notice. I was buried in diapers and dirty kleenex. I hadn't looked at a calendar in weeks. Couldn't even tell you what day of the week it was before that moment. I called my mom, but it went straight to her voicemail. Yes, she must be out of minutes.

That afternoon, my husband kissed me and the kids and headed out the door to a meeting. A few seconds later he walked back in and said, "We have a problem." I looked past him through the open door and saw a police car parked in front of my house. Two people got out and started walking toward our door. I never made the connection. My mind was racing, trying to figure out why they were there. Did we have an unpaid ticket I didn't know about? Did someone hear my sick baby crying and think we were pulling out his fingernails instead of just sucking the boogers out of his nose? I could not understand why they were at my door, but I invited them in. I stood there in yoga pants and a cotton robe, bouncing a crying baby with green stuff oozing out of his nose while my 3 year old sat on the couch, wrapped in her pink blanket, looking pitifully ill. The house was a mess, I was a mess, and my brain could not grasp the meaning of this police officer's presence in the middle of my living room. A woman stepped through the door, introduced herself, and said, "I'm sorry. You're mother is dead." All the air left the room.There was a vacuum of time and space in that moment. It must have lasted a split second, but it felt much longer. I realized she was holding out her business card to me. I reached up to take it and saw that my hand was shaking. I took the card from her hand. I wanted to know what happened. They didn't know. It looked as though she had laid down to watch tv and fell asleep. No one had seen or heard from her in at least a week. They were going to do an autopsy and would have the results in about six weeks. She gave me another number to call for more information and then they were gone as quickly as they had come. Only everything was different now. My world was different than it had been 5 minutes before.

I was in shock. My mother had health problems, but there was no indication that she was on her death bed. She seemed to be managing her chronic conditions well and sounded relatively healthy the last time we spoke. What happened?

I have read that sometimes, when something is just too big to handle, people focus on the little things, the details. And I suppose that's what I did. I needed to focus on something I could do, because focusing on what I was feeling was unbearable. I was my mom's only child, and my parents divorced decades ago, so her final affairs would fall to me. I had to start with the worst task of all - telling the family. I called one of her sisters and stumbled out the news. The moment after - the small gasp, the silence - was more than I could bear. The rest of the conversation was a battle between my brain and my heart. I wanted so desperately to not feel what I knew I would have to feel - that pain. It would be easier to focus on facts, the phone calls that needed to be made, what I knew of my mom's medical situation. But the pain wasn't going away and I couldn't bear to make that phone call, to deliver that news over and over and over again. So I asked my aunt to take over the calls, and thankfully, she agreed.

I spoke with the apartment manager and, while she was very kind and sensitive to the situation, she did explain that we needed to empty the apartment quickly or rent would be due since it was the beginning of the month. So the next day, we went to the apartment. It was cold and overcast that day, and I could feel round 3 of "the sick" taking hold that morning. We took Claire to a play center for the morning and I brought the baby carrier so I could strap my newborn to my chest to keep him warm while we went through mom's apartment.

The manager warned me about the mess. They had to break down the door to get in because the security lock was engaged. And then animal control had to move things around trying to get to mom's cat, who was apparently quite talented at hiding from intruders.

I walked into the living room where my mom had died. It was a mess. The furniture was disheveled, mail from the counter was scattered on the floor, and there was a sense that something terrible had happened there. My mom didn't have much, and we didn't have a trailer, a storage room, or even boxes (how did we not think to bring boxes?). We were only there for the really important things - personal and medical papers, pictures, family mementos. The manager said she could have a local charity organization pick up the rest. That same organization had helped my mom when she first moved here, so I thought it was fitting to donate the items back to them. We worked as efficiently as we could with a sick, crying baby on a very cold day (the apartment heater had been turned off). We sorted through everything, and packed up the important things in boxes the apartment manager had been kind enough to send over to us.

As I walked through the small apartment, I noticed every picture on the wall like I was seeing it for the first time. Almost all of them were of us or Claire. I realized just how much Mom loved us, how proud of us she was, what a big part of her life we really were. I realized just what we meant to her in that moment, in a way that I never had before. It was overwhelming. When Josh loaded the last of the boxes into our SUV, I asked him to give me a minute alone. I stood in the living room where my mother had lived and died, and I spoke to her. I told her how much I loved her and how I knew she loved me. I talked to her as tears streamed down my cheeks and landed on the the baby's head as he was still strapped to my chest. I wrapped my arms around him as I introduced my mother to my son and wept. I looked around and had the distinct feeling of being surrounded by my past as I held my future in my arms. It was the intersection of where I came from and where I was going. I was overcome. I knew that when I walked out that door, I would never be back. The rest of her things would be cleared out, someone else would move in, and it would be as though she was never there. It was hard to close that door behind me. But I did. I wiped the mascara from my cheeks with a baby wipe, and avoided all eye contact asI returned the key to the apartment manager.

The weeks that followed were soaked in tears, though my husband was probably the only one who saw them. There were plenty of tasks to keep me busy - accounts to close, transferring her remains, planning the memorial. But then something would happen. I would see a mother's day card and lose it. I would hear a song and be reduced to a sobbing mess. Sometimes, I would wake up in the middle of the night and realize there were tears streaming down my face. I didn't even know you could cry in your sleep. You can. I had terrible dreams of other loved ones dying, of my children dying. But one night, I had a very different kind of dream. I dreamed about my mom. In my dream, she showed up in my house. I was scared at first because I knew she was dead, but she reassured me that she was fine, that she was happy. And she looked it. She looked happier and healthier than she had in years. She looked like an enormous weight had been lifted from her heart and she was care-free and vibrant.  She expressed her love for us and her joy in seeing us, and we did the same. We had fun together and just enjoyed each other's company. And then I woke up. It was the first time I had felt any peace since her death.

I never saw my mother's body after her death. There were varying thoughts on the timeline and we were told she may have been dead for days or even a week or two before she was found. And then there was the autopsy. Her body had been through a lot since her death. After much soul-searching and a conversation with the medical examiner's office and the funeral home director, I decided that I preferred to remember her as she was. So she was transferred to the funeral home for cremation. A few days later, I arrived with a beautiful wooden urn. They transferred the ashes and brought the inurned remains to me. I held that box, and my eyes filled with tears. That was all I had now - that urn and her death certificate, a box and a piece of paper. I could not get out of that funeral home fast enough.

We had a small memorial service for her in June, so that my daughter and I could have some closure. Then, six weeks after her body was found, we finally had the autopsy results - renal failure due to diabetes and an enlarged heart. They believe she fell asleep watching tv and never woke up, no pain, just drifted off.

It has been almost nine months since I was told my mother was dead, and I have mostly accepted her death. In the early months, I would forget sometimes. I would reach for the phone to call her, or I would look at the calendar and think, "Wednesday is free this week. We should go visit Mom." That doesn't happen anymore. And I don't cry as often now as I did in those early months, but I still think about her a lot and I do still cry sometimes.

I thought I would miss her most for the big stuff - holidays, birthdays. But it turns out, it's in the every day moments. When I hold my baby boy up high and kiss his tummy until he squeals with laughter, I'll have a thought, "I wish Mom could see this." When I cook a good dinner for my family, I'll think, "I wish I could invite Mom over to eat with us. She would have liked this recipe." Or when one of the kids learns how to do something new, I wish I could call and tell her how amazing her grandbabies are.

This spring, we will take Mom's remains to El Paso to be buried in the family plot beside her mother, father, and brother. I know that's what she would want, but I'm also dreading leaving her there. It feels like having to say goodbye all over again. It feels very permanent, very real. But I think it is where she would want to be buried, and I want to honor that.

On Monday, March 3, 2014 at 1 pm, we will have a graveside service at Evergreen Cemetery, 12400 Montana, El Paso TX 79938.  Any family or friends who would like to say their goodbyes to my mother are welcome to join us.

You can also view her obituary here. Please note the date listed in the obituary for the Celebration of Life and burial has been changed. The service has been rescheduled and will now be on March 3, 2014 at 1pm.

The Birth Story

Carson Jay Carnett made his debut at 12:05 am on March 17th (St. Patrick's Day)! 

He was 20.5 inches long and weighed 8 lbs, 3 oz.

Carson is here! And he made quite an entrance...

I had an unplanned c-section with Claire and the recovery was brutal, so I was hoping for a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean) with Carson. I switched to an OB practice with very high VBAC success rates and even hired a doula (labor coach). I wasn't really planning on an all natural birth - I just wanted to get further along than I did last time before getting an epidural. I also wanted to labor at home as long as possible  because I didn't have the best experience in the hospital when Claire was born.

I started having painless Braxton Hicks contractions around 35 weeks. At 37 weeks, I had some bleeding and slightly painful contractions, so I had to spend a few hours at the hospital for observation. The doctor checked me for labor progress and found I was 2 cm dilated, 30% effaced, and baby was at -3 station. I was already closer to labor than the morning they induced me with Claire! But, I didn't make any more progress over the next few hours and the contractions stopped, so they sent me home. I was sure I would be in labor by the weekend.

Imagine my disappointment when I lugged my very pregnant belly to my OB appointment the following week. I reminded myself that Claire was 5 days late when we induced and decided that I would probably be late again. When the doctor checked my progress, though, I was 4 cm dilated, 70% effaced, and baby was at -1 station! All our friends said we wouldn't make it through the weekend, and they were right.

Claire's preschool was on Spring Break that week, so we planned some special activities to enjoy our final days as a family of 3. We had mommy and me manicures, visited the bounce house, and went to the zoo. I noticed that I was having LOTS of Braxton Hicks contractions all day at the zoo on Friday. They were coming more frequently than normal and were a bit stronger (but still not really painful). Josh started asking if we needed to call our family, since they live 6 hours away, and we needed to be sure someone would be here to watch Claire. I told him to wait. It couldn't be labor if it didn't hurt.

That night, I began to think I might actually be in early labor. The contractions became more regular (though still far apart) and they began to feel slightly painful. Still, I remembered how my contractions had just stopped on their own the week before and I wasn't ready to sound the alarm just yet. So we went to bed. I woke up a few times feeling contractions, but they were still mild and far apart.

On Saturday, I noticed the contractions getting a little stronger and closer together, so I worked on packing the hospital bag. We went to Target for a few last-minute necessities and went out to lunch with Claire. I could still talk through the contractions easily and I didn't feel they were close enough to start timing yet, so we just enjoyed our morning. By mid-afternoon, I had to start reminding myself to relax through the contractions. I sat on our back porch swing enjoying the beautiful spring weather, closed my eyes, breathed and relaxed through each contraction. As they got stronger, I started imagining I was at the beach (my happy place). I finally decided to start timing the contractions and was surprised to find they were 8-10 minutes apart, lasting about 40 seconds. It didn't feel like they were lasting that long and I had thought they were still about 20 minutes apart. After some debating with Josh, I finally agreed to call my dad so he could start the 6 hour drive to come take care of Claire when we went to the hospital. I honestly thought it would be the middle of the night or even the next day.

The contractions continued to get stronger, longer, and closer together. After dinner, I reached the point where I had to focus to breathe through each contraction, standing up and swaying until it ended. They were coming every 5-7 minutes by then, but I still thought it would be awhile before we headed to hospital. I remembered how painful the contractions were when I was induced with pitocin for Claire's birth, and these were no where near that painful, so I thought I still had plenty of time. I didn't even feel the need to call our doula yet.

Josh gave Claire a bath and put her to bed. My dad was on his way, so we figured she could just go to sleep and we would probably head to the hospital overnight, sometime after he arrived to stay with her. I was tired, so I decided to lay down and rest for a few minutes. As I lay in bed, another contraction came, then another. During the second contraction, I felt a "pop" and the second half of the contraction became much more painful. "I think my water just broke," I told Josh. Then I remembered stories I had read about how labor can move very quickly after the water breaks, so I directed him to start getting our things ready to go, just in case. I stood up, walked to the bathroom, and waited for the next contraction, which confirmed that my water had broken. I suddenly realized that contraction came only 3 minutes after the last one (and was much stronger). I watched the timer while Josh started loading the car. My contractions were 2-3 minutes apart and over a minute long!

When Josh came back upstairs, I told him I thought we needed to call someone. "Like the doula?" he asked. "I think it may too late for that. I think we need to call the doctor and let her know we're coming to the hospital! We need to get to the hospital!" I realized I was in transition (the part of labor that comes right before you start pushing). It was time to go. He called the doctor, who agreed it was time to go. My dad was still driving, so Josh got Claire in the car, put on a movie, and asked her to be really quiet for the car ride. I worked my way down the stairs and into the car between contractions. I was dreading that car ride and it was definitely the worst car ride of my life. Sitting, belted in while trying to work through those contractions was miserable. And then, half way through the 20 minute drive to the hospital, I felt the urge to push.

This natural instinct is not easy to ignore. When it's time to push, it's time to push. Fighting the urge made the contractions hurt much worse. So, with a few turns still between us and the hospital, I began bearing down lightly. I told Josh what I was feeling and I guess he noticed when I started bearing down a bit. He firmly told me not to push. I pretty much ignored him. Thankfully, we pulled up to the hospital door minutes later. "I'm not going to have the baby in the car! Yay!" I thought.

Josh got out and opened my door so I could get out. He actually seemed surprised that I refused to move. I told him I couldn't get out and walk into the hospital. The contractions were too strong and fast. He got a wheelchair, but apparently I continued my unreasonable refusal to hoist myself out of the car. He hit the intercom button at the hospital door, but no one answered. Thankfully, my husband was persistent (and probably a little concerned his wife would have the baby in the car after all). Eventually, someone answered and a nurse came to help. When she got to the car, she started asking questions. By that time, I had to stay focused on the labor. I couldn't answer her. I couldn't speak. I couldn't even open my eyes. I had to stay focused to stay on top of the pain. I only managed to sputter out that the baby was coming now. That effectively freaked out the nurse, so she called for back-up.

The three nurses now standing at my car door wanted me out of that car. But I couldn't move during contractions and wasn't about to let them try to move me during one either. I was clinging to the bar above my car door. I wasn't going anywhere until I was ready. I soon realized I wasn't going to feel "ready" to move anytime soon, but I was going to have to move anyway if I didn't want to deliver the baby in the hospital's circle drive. So I consented (and sort of helped) to move myself onto the wheelchair.

Claire, who seemed to be relatively unphased by all of this, was already out of the car with Josh. A very nice nurse offered to take her to the nurse's station until my dad arrived to take over. Meanwhile, they wheeled me up to Labor & Delivery. My eyes were still closed and all the movement and sounds around me felt like a dream. I heard someone say they didn't think I needed to go in triage because I seemed to be pretty far along in labor already. "Yes," I thought, "The babies head is about to fall out, so I am rather far along."

My doctor was in surgery, so they had some random doctor in the room when we arrived. They told me not to push until they checked me. The doctor needed to see how dilated I was first. "I'm a ten, trust me," I thought. But I couldn't spare the focus to speak the words aloud. And besides, I was still bearing down (just a little) during each contraction anyway. Random Doctor checked me while a nurse put in my i.v., which was kind of a mess due to the urgent circumstance - I had bruises for weeks from that i.v., but I barely even felt it in the moment. Random Doctor proclaimed that I was indeed 10 cm and, now that I was inside the hospital, I was free to push. Thanks for your permission, doc. Just then, my awesome OB arrived.

At that moment, I suddenly realized what I was about to do (um, push what out of where? Can we numb that up first?). It was the only time I really felt any reluctance to push. "I guess it's too late for an epidural?" I asked, only half joking. The doctor and nurses laughed. "The baby is going to be here before we could get an epidural in." Okay, I thought, time to commit. Besides, I came in already pushing, so I fully expected to have that baby out soon. Every time I heard stories about women who arrived at the hospital pushing, they always ended with something like "three pushes later, I was holding my baby." Surely I was only three easy pushes away from meeting my little guy.

But I wasn't. I was still two hours away from that moment. Pushing is hard work, and by the end of the first hour, I was exhausted. I started to wonder if it was going to work or if I would end up with another unplanned c-section for failure to descend. But my OB told me everything was going well and that I just needed to keep pushing. As tired as I was, it didn't take much to convince me to push because pushing didn't hurt. It was exhausting. It was hard. But it also came naturally. My body wanted to push and it helped me get through each contraction. If I didn't push, the contractions were excruciating. Plus, there was really only one way out of this predicament - get that sweet baby boy OUT!

Just in case I needed a little extra motivation, though, my little guy started kicking during the contractions and pushing. Those little kicks I had so eagerly enjoyed for the last several months were now so painful I was mentally begging him to stop. "He's pushing back!" laughed the OB and nurse. Yes, pushing back... ha ha ha (no mother in natural labor said, ever). That was enough for me. It was time to get him out. I pushed harder than I thought possible. And then I did it again and again and again. I felt the head. It hurt, but it was motivating. Another push and the head was out. I knew what came next. I had read about that feeling when the rest of the baby just slides out and I knew the hard work of birth was over. But that feeling didn't come, and suddenly all the nurses rushed to my doctor's side and began pushing and pulling on the baby and me. I have never felt pain like that in my life. It felt as though someone had reached inside of me and was tearing out my organs. I didn't understand what was happening. I didn't know if I should be still or keep pushing. I realized I was yelling out in pain. The doctor told me the baby was stuck. The horrible pain continued. Then, at last, that feeling I read about. The baby was out. They laid him on my chest. Surprise, joy, relief. He was here and he was perfect.

They took him to get cleaned up, diapered, and wrapped. I waited patiently to hold him again, relieved that all the unpleasantness for me was pretty much over. Wrong again. I needed stitches, lots of stitches for a third degree tear (fourth degree is the worst, so it was a pretty bad one). They numbed me up. I felt the sharp stick of the needle. More numbing. Felt it again. And again. I wondered how much longer it would be before I could stop worrying about what was going on down there and start enjoying my new baby boy. It felt like forever, but I eventually got to cuddle my little man.

My dad had arrived and was in the waiting room with Claire. They came in and met our newest member of the family. I had looked forward to introducing Claire to her baby brother, and her tired little smile was a precious sight. They went home to bed (I think it was almost 2 AM by then), and then it was quiet.

I thought about what had happened. I couldn't believe I had just had a natural childbirth. That didn't sound like something I would do. Then again, a year ago, I wasn't sure I would be able to do any of this. After so many losses, this really was a miracle. The doctor told me later that the medical term for how my boy got stuck is "shoulder dystocia". Apparently, it is an emergency situation that can result in nerve damage or even death because it often pinches off the umbillical cord. They will do anything to get the baby out when this happens - even break the baby's clavicle. Carson was stuck for a full two minutes, which the doctor said is a long time, but he was healthy and unharmed. His head was bruised, swollen, and misshapen, his shoulder was sore, but he had no serious problems from the shoulder dystocia.

As I laid there holding my healthy baby boy, I remembered the dream I had the night before my last miscarriage was confirmed. I always felt God sent me that dream to comfort me, to give me hope. It was a promise for the future of our family. And there I was, early Sunday morning, holding that sweet little promise in my arms. What an incredible gift.

The BIG Ultrasound

We had our 20 week ultrasound on Friday and ... it's a boy!!! We are thrilled to add a little blue to our house and can't wait to meet this precious baby at the end of March. We bought Claire a big blue balloon to tell her the news and she has warmed right up to the idea of having a baby brother. She even helped us pick out some little blue socks for him at the store.

I have always thought of this baby as a boy. During my last miscarriage, I had a dream that I had just delivered a baby and was laying in a hospital bed holding my newborn son. (I wrote about it in this post.) The dream was so vivid and I woke up with a real sense of peace about that loss. I felt like God was reassuring me, encouraging me that there would be joy at the end of that pain. Finding out that this baby is indeed a boy feels like confirmation of that promise, and I am filled with gratitude for what God is giving us.

The rest of the ultrasound went very well. Everything they were able to see looked healthy. At the end of the ultrasound, however, the tech said she would like us to come back in four weeks for a follow-up ultrasound. There was a "shadow" over the baby's heart and she wants to check in on it again to see if we can get better pictures. I admit I am a little concerned. I wonder if there is a problem with the heart, and I read online that "shadows" can be a soft marker for downs syndrome. But we did have the early trisomy screening and our numbers were very good, so I'm trying not to spend the next 4 weeks worrying. Instead, I'm going to focus on that dream of our baby boy, pray for a clean bill of health at the next ultrasound, and trust God to take care of our family.

Telling Claire

After our 14 week appointment, we decided it was time to tell Claire. I ordered a big sister shirt, gift wrapped it with a pretty pink ribbon, and grabbed some books about becoming a big sister.

After Claire's nap, Josh and I sat down with her to read one of the books. When we finished the book, we presented her with the gift (the big sister shirt) and explained that she was going to be a big sister. When we told her there was a baby growing in my tummy, she looked confused. She stared at my belly, then put her face right up against it.

"But I don't see a baby."

She wanted proof! So I pulled out the latest ultrasound pictures and showed her the baby. Her eyes lit up and she said, "Awww, it's so cute!" From that moment, she has fully embraced the idea of  being a big sister. Here's a picture of her in her new big sister shirt.

She talks about "our baby" and sometimes even calls it "my  baby", and I love that she sees this baby as her own. She asked for her own ultrasound picture of the baby, which she actually slept with for several days until we convinced her to move it to her bookcase. She tells random strangers at restaurants that there's a baby in my tummy. She whispers "secrets" to the baby in my belly (should I be concerned that they're already plotting together?). And when we go to the store, she's always asking to buy things for the baby. I tell her we should wait to find out if our baby is a girl or a boy before we buy things, so we haven't done much shopping yet. But this Friday, we're hoping to find out the gender, so there is definitely a onsie shopping spree in our future!

I'll update after Friday's ultrasound, but if anyone wants to guess whether we'll need pink or blue, feel free to comment and cast your vote!

Bucking Bronco

We've had two more ultrasounds since the last post - one at 10 weeks and one at 12 weeks. The baby looks great and has been VERY active during the ultrasounds. The doctor called the baby a "bucking bronco"  and the nurse told us a baby that active had to be a boy. Josh just smiled and said, "I don't know. That actually reminds me a lot of our daughter!" Of course, we would be thrilled with a boy or a girl, but it's fun to guess while we're waiting for the big 20 week ultrasound to (hopefully) show us whether we need pink or blue.

We still haven't told Claire the big news. I'm not really "showing" yet and, honestly, I'm still a little nervous to tell her. I know she'll be happy to become a big sister, so I'm not worried about her reaction. It's just that the stakes are a lot higher once she knows. Right now, if something goes wrong, it's just Josh and me who will be hurt and we can deal with that. But if something goes wrong after we tell Claire, it will be a whole new level of heartbreak.

Telling Claire also means that I will have to start talking about (and thinking about) the baby in more concrete terms. Right now, I usually say things like, "If this baby works out...". It's a bit of a protective mechanism, I guess. There's a part of me still waiting for the other shoe to drop. But once we tell Claire, we'll have to use more definite terms. Talking about the baby like it's just an "if", a "maybe", would be too confusing for a three year old. But it scares me to talk as though we're actually going to have this baby - like if I say it aloud, I'll jinx it. I know logically that's not how it works, but I'm willing to admit that, after the roller coaster we've been on the last 17 months, sometimes my emotions overrule my logic.

We have another doctor's appointment on Wednesday, so we'll probably tell her sometime after that. I do want to make sure we tell her before it gets too obvious, but I want to wait until after next week's appointment to make sure we still have a healthy heart beat in there.

We Graduated!

We had our nine week ultrasound on Monday and everything looked great. The baby measured perfectly and had a strong heartbeat, so the specialist has released me to begin care with my regular OB. We graduated from the fertility center! My first appointment is next Tuesday and I'm hoping we'll continue on to have a healthy new baby at the end of March.

I'm finally starting to feel a little excitement (instead of just fear) for this pregnancy. It feels so great to know there's a healthy baby in there, and while I'm not quite ready to start decorating the nursery, I'm starting to believe we just might get that baby we've been waiting for.

We decided to wait until the end of the first trimester to tell Claire about it, but I'm really looking forward to that conversation. She loves babies and she's started asking a lot of questions about families lately. She often asks Josh and me questions like "Who is your mommy?", "Who is your daddy?", "Who is your brother/sister?".

A few weeks ago, we were having one of those conversations at dinner and she suddenly dropped her fork on her plate, looked around with concern, and asked, "Where is my brother and sister?". We explained that she didn't have any brothers or sisters and she immediately insisted, "But I need a brother and sister!" (Glad I'm not feeling any pregnancy pressures from my kid!) It took awhile to convince her that not everyone has brothers and sisters and it's okay if you don't, but I really want the chance to change that for her. I know she would love to be a big sister and I really hope this baby is the little brother or sister she's going to grow up with. All I can do is pray, pray, pray!

The Ultrasound

We had the ultrasound this morning and it went very well! The baby measured exactly 7 weeks, with a strong heart rate (122 bpm). The doctor said that was perfect, but given my history, she wants us to come back in two weeks for a follow-up ultrasound. If everything looks good then, we'll be released to a regular OB!

While I was so happy things went well today, I have to admit that I don't feel as much relief as I thought I would. After everything that has happened, it's hard to believe we might finally get the healthy baby we've been waiting for. I really look forward to getting excited about this baby, but I'm still a little cautious for now.

I'm only 7 weeks along, but I'm hoping if we can make it to 12 weeks, I'll start breathing a little easier. For now, I'm trying to enjoy the fact that this is the furthest we've made it in a pregnancy since Claire. We're definitely on the right track.

Thanks for all the prayers and support!