{Today, I don't feel like a Mother.}

I am a Mother.
I have carried two beautiful babies.
I have loved and dreamed for two beautiful babies.

But today, I don't feel like a Mother.

My arms are empty, but they ache so badly.
I keep thinking about how things could be ... how things are for other people. They get pregnant and the thought that their baby may not survive never even enters into their minds. For me, it's an automatic thought. Why have I been so cursed? Five pregnancies, and no living, growing, breathing babies.

It'll will be 3 weeks on Monday since we lost our second baby. It feels like an eternity ago I was pregnant and so full of hope. It feels like I was reading some one else's story line. It doesn't even feel like that happened to me. I have become an expert actress-- I pretend all day that everything is fine, when in reality my heart is completely broken. People say I am so strong and so wise, but why do I feel so powerless and weak? Why do I feel like my life is out of control?

I listened to a podcast the other night talking about Self-Help that Harms. She talked about the power of positive thinking and affirmations and how if you put it out into the universe it will come to you. I did that. Every day I said "My body will accept this pregnancy and my baby will grow." Every day I was thankful for making it another day. Every day I thought my baby was growing. But the fact is, she died. No matter how hard I thought about it, or relaxed, or affirmed it in my mind-- she died. I feel so utterly stupid for believing that just because I thought things would be okay they would be. I feel like such a complete idiot.

This podcast talked about this after-effect I'm feeling. This sense of failure, that I did something wrong, or that I didn't do it right and I failed. This is a dangerous feeling-- I'm eating my emotions, my self-esteem is in the pits, and my thought process is so cloudy, I can't even make decisions without second and third guessing myself (and these decisions can be as easy as what I want to eat).

I know I can't do this alone-- I've made an appointment with the right person to get started with counseling. But with the holidays it's taken longer to get in.

I have to tell you this story though. The week after I was looking into foster-adoption, and I read through all this information about how many children need homes, what the process is, etc. I talked to DH about it briefly but he brushed it off (and since I haven't been able to talk to him about it-- I haven't even told him this story...). The following week, I was grabbing dinner and got a fortune cookie that said, "Your mind is full of new ideas, make use of them." I thought for a second about the whole adoption thing, but didn't think much of it. Right after, I went to the support group in my area for the first time, and this lady here had lost a baby and then adopted a little girl from foster care. She talked about how much she loves her and how she saved her and on and on. Then she says, "my little girl's name is Emma."

If you believe that sometimes people you've loved who are no longer on earth can send you signs or nudges down the right path, then you will not believe this. My great grandmother who I lost a few years ago... her name was Emma. I felt like meeting this lady and hearing her story was my grandmother showing me my path. And this feeling hasn't gone away in a week. I keep thinking about that and how my job will reimburse me up to $2,000 for adopting a child out of our state's system, and how this lady said she would help me, and how I could finally be a parent and still not give up hope for giving birth (my medical insurance covers most testing and ART).

It's been on my heart all week-- and yesterday especially. I can't help but think that He is trying to show me that a door has been closed, but another has been opened.

But, like I said, I don't trust my own judgement right now making decisions. :-\

{Unfair}

I was fine. I had been fine. I had moments of feeling guilty that I was so fine I was forgetting my dear baby. I had moments of pure sadness. But for the most part, I've been fine.

Today I was fine. Mondays are always hard because it was the start of my new week. I would have been 10 weeks today. I went to work, made it through the day, but it was the on the drive home that this overwhelming sense of sadness came over me and it hit me: my baby died.

It felt like I had just been told all over again.

I was looking forward to the holidays, because for a minute maybe things would feel normal. Now I'm feeling like the holidays won't be as normal as I thought. Holidays are always hard because she, now they, are missing. We were planning on telling our families about the baby at Christmas, and now, I get to sit and pretend everything is okay. When in reality, nothing is okay.

I keep trying to hang on to the fact that it could happen. I think about all of the women I know who are pregnant or recently had babies, and some of them have lost babies like me. They now have babies. It could happen for me. Then I remember it's been 5 times. 5 is such an overwhelming number. Pregnancy and my body have failed 5 times. 5 times I had hopes and dreams and just knew it was going to happen. 5 times I've been crushed beyond what I thought was even possible. 4 times I've survived, the 5th time is still yet to be determined.

This is so unfair.

{Grieving- Not As Easy As You Think}

I would pay a lot of money right now to be able grieve like my DH is.

Yesterday I was fine-- I felt fine, I  made it through the day fine. Today, different story.

This morning, the first thing I saw before waking up were the last two ultrasound pictures I have of my babies. I didn't dream about them last night, but that's what I saw before waking up. Now every time I close my eyes today, they are what I see. That last image on the screen before the "I'm so very sorry but..."

I have to go back to work tomorrow. I'm anxious about going back and being around my co-workers and the kids. Yes I'm physically capable now of doing my job, but emotionally I'm on a completely different planet. I'm hoping the busy-ness and almost robotic nature of this job will help me stayed focused. I remember for several weeks after returning to work in 2009 I was always on the verge of breaking down.

The most vivid memory of feeling this way was when one of my students, 5 years old, asked how my baby was. I was completely caught off-guard because not many of my students knew I was having a baby. I told her that my baby went to heaven and I wouldn't get to see her anymore. With the innocence of a 5 year old, she says to me, "well maybe we can go to heaven and get your baby back for you." I had to fight back the tears.

How I wish it were that easy.

I'm sure going back to work isn't going to be as bad as I'm making it to be in my head. But right now I don't have the emotional capacity to deal with... well, anything.

DH wanted me to go eat and watch football this afternoon and I just didn't feel like it. Of course this led to a fight because he just tells me to quit thinking about it.

How I wish it were that easy.

My body is going back to being not pregnant and I wish it would hurry up. It's painful and stressful to experience those same pregnancy symptoms I delighted in 2 weeks ago again. I gained over 10 lbs from the medications and I guess just general pregnancy weight and now weigh more than I ever have in my entire life. It's not a pretty number and it makes me hate my body even more. Thinking back to how optimistic and full of hope I was makes me feel foolish now. How dare I think that just because I was on medication and was "just relaxing" that I would be able to carry a healthy pregnancy. I squirm in my own skin when DH touches me. I can't even think about things and he is already counting down the time until we can try again.

Grief, you suck.

Today is the last day I'm allowed to just feel sorry for myself, all day. Tomorrow I have to go back to reality. I have to go back to the world where my babies don't exist to anyone but me. Tomorrow I will start eating right again, drinking plenty of water, and run after work. Tomorrow I will put on a happy face and go about my life as if nothing happened. But today, today I get to feel sorry for myself and not think about tomorrow.

{Grieving}

I read this quote today, and it's been on my heart all day.

So many things are on my heart about motherhood and some of them worry me.

But I must remember, it will find a way.

If I'm meant to give birth, the answer & solution will come.

If we're meant to adopt, we will land on that path.

I refuse to believe at this point that we are not meant to parent living children.

♥

Daya. Kaya. Mommy loves you. And misses you, a lot.

{Moving Forward- Empty Uterus, Empty Arms}

The last 24 hours or so, I've been thinking about what's next.

It took me a long time to get to this place after my first loss, because moving forward felt like forgetting or leaving my baby behind. I spent a great deal of time figuring out that moving forward wasn't diminishing the fact I loved and missed my baby every day. Moving forward was in a way honoring her existence by simply acknowledging she changed my life for the better despite not being here with me.

There is no denying that my life does not in any way, shape or form look like the life that I want. In fact, I'm so far from the life I want, it's depressing. Now, after losing my precious baby, I'm even more depressed. Professionally, reproductively, even a tad on the personal level, my life depresses me.

Now that my uterus and arms are painfully empty, I have to do something. I have to move forward and toward the life I want. I feel like my life is slipping away. The main problem is that I've made so many hurtles and obstacles for myself, I don't even know where to begin. I've made so many decisions in the last year or so thinking it would help me get to where I wanted to be, but it's done the opposite. My last career move is the prime example. I was teaching an age group I loved, in a center I loved, with a co-teacher I loved. The insurance was sub-par as far as covering infertility, so when the subject of moving came up, I thought it was my chance to find a better job with better insurance. Instead, I settled for an assistant job, making $2 less per hour, in an age group I don't particularly like. But the insurance. The insurance covers infertility treatments and tests... but I'm so unhappy at work that I have to make myself go to work every day. And each time they deposit my paycheck into my account, a part of me dies because I know I won't have enough money to pay my bills.

The obvious answer would be get a better job. But since we live in such a weird place, there are very few career opportunities for me here. Moving back home, I'd have tons, but there again comes the insurance problem. Moving also means long distance for DH and I again until he can find a job, which after almost a year and a half of looking, I have little faith a job will fall into this lap.

I want to move forward. I need to move forward. And I understand that moving forward does not mean that I do not love Daya or Kaya any less. They will always be my babies and I will always love them and honor them whenever I can. But moving forward isn't a simple next step for me right now and that's scary.

{Good-bye Sweet Baby}

I've been avoiding this blog for awhile. We left for a short trip to NC on Wednesday night and I felt funny. By Friday night, I was bleeding. Scared and 10 hours from home, I called the doctor who assured me there was nothing I did or nothing I could do. We set up a scan for Monday morning. I knew Saturday that something was not right. I no longer "felt pregnant".

Still, we cried and hoped that our sweet baby was okay. I hoped that we would see a strong, healthy 8 week old fetus on the screen and my fears would go away.

Yesterday morning I said good-bye. We were on the highway on our way to the doctor and I knew. I knew, just like with my daughter in 2009, that my baby has gotten its wings. I told my baby that I loved her and it was okay.

They got me in right away, and the ultrasound confirmed what I already knew. My baby was a perfectly formed 8 week fetus, with no heartbeat. Our sweet baby was gone.

The doctor immediately went into "best outcome possible" mode and scheduled the D&C right away giving us the best possible outcome for pathology. I feel weird that my baby was taken out of me and sent to a lab for tests. I almost feel guilty that I just sent her away like that. But I know deep down I didn't send my baby, because my baby is in heaven with her sister.

I decided on a name today. We've named her "Baby Kaya", which means "child of wisdom". My hope is that Baby Kaya's brief life gives us the gift of knowledge so that this never happens again. My hope is that the "good" to come from this precious gift I've been given is the answers to questions that haven't been answered so far on this journey.

I keep thinking about the book, "Heaven is for Real". I read it over the summer in about 3 hours. The entire time I had goosebumps. I hope and pray that Daya (my daughter I lost in 2009) has found Kaya and they are together. That they are happy and they take care of each other. I hope they both know how much I love and miss them and wish they could both be here with me. I hope they know how thankful I am for their lives and the gifts they've given me.

Physically, I'm fine. I've had little pain. Emotionally, I'm completely empty. I apologized to DH for not being a good wife or friend lately. I found this while looking at help with grief tonight and posted it on my facebook for my close friends to see:

"Dear Friend,
Please be patient with me; I need to grieve in my own way and in my own time. Please don't take away my grief or try to fix my pain. The best thing you can do is listen to me and let me cry on your shoulder. Don't be afraid to cry with me. Your tears will tell me how much you care. Please forgive me if I seem insensitive to your problems. I feel depleted and drained, like an empty vessel, with nothing left to give. Please let me express my feelings and talk about my memories. Please understand why I must turn a deaf ear to criticism or tired cliche'."

I've been down this road so many times, but honestly, I don't know what to expect. I feel like a professional griever. But this seems to different. For the first time in a long time I don't know where my journey is going next.