January 29, 2012: Chutes and Ladders

Remember the game Chutes and Ladders? Today, while sitting in church at RCC, it occurred to me that I feel like my life has become quite similar to that game. When we started trying to have a baby, I thought it would be impossible; I simply had no faith in my body's ability to conceive. Although I certainly read up on fertility, I quickly tired of things like temping and charting, and I never posted on a message board. By the time I got pregnant four months later, Jeff and I weren't even actively trying anymore. In a way, I landed on that first lucky ladder and went straight from square 1 to square 38--so many things had gone unexpectedly right, and it hadn't seemed like much work or stress or pain--nothing like the conception process has been for so many women I know. With our positive sign on the pregnancy test, I began posting actively on pregnancy websites and sharing my excitement with other moms-to-be, and we started sharing our news with all of you.

And then January 11 happened, and everything changed. I slid down what felt like the longest chute on the board--that awful one that you hoped you'd always skip that took you from square 87 to square 24. There wasn't much joy in the fact that I could eat sushi or drink wine, because those things just reminded me of the ways in which I'd failed. I had to change my ticker on thebump.com to reflect the day we lost our Blueberry rather than the day s/he would join us in this world. I began looking for support on a miscarriage/loss message board rather than sharing joy on an "August 2012 moms" one.

Since that day, I've advanced a few squares. Square 25: we shared our loss with close friends and family who hadn't even known about our pregnancy and allowed ourselves to lean on them for love and support. Square 26: the procedure went well, as did our follow-up two weeks later when the doctor told us I'd healed perfectly and she has no worries for our future. I don't know what Square 27 will be, but I will wait for it hopefully and expectantly (as a good friend reminded me to recently).

And you know what? I don't think I want to take the ladders anymore. I learn much more by taking things one square at a time. 

January 23, 2012: Today's the day when...

I was supposed to share my exciting news with work in general. And tomorrow I was supposed to make the cutest cake to surprise my advisees with the fact that they'd be pseudo-aunts in a few months. And I should have been looking forward to an ultrasound where we'd get to see more. And I should have been well on my way to making my amazing Jeff an incredible dad.

But, somehow, I failed. I came up short. And today, more than any other day in the last week, it just really hurts. I miss our little Blueberry, and I'd like nothing more than to curl up in bed and cry for several hours straight (though that's not an option with evening plans already made). It seems like forever until we can try again, and trying again means I have to start trusting so much--trusting my body to ovulate and my heart to heal and my mind to be less anxious.

Some days I'm so angry because, had we not been surprised on December 15, this would have been off my mind until May. And now I live with it on my mind, and it runs my days, and it makes me a less focused teacher and a more difficult wife and a tearier friend.

I supposed there's no real point to this post. It's just a yucky day--the yuckiest one in a while--and I wish it would end.

January 13, 2012: Goodbye, Sweet Blueberry

As you do not know the path of the wind, or how the body is formed in a mother's womb, so you cannot understand the work of God, the Maker of all things. (Ecclesiastes 11:5)

Well, it's not the post I thought I'd be writing, but it's still the post I feel I have to make. We're trusting in our Father that one day we'll be back here, writing joyful news about a little one that's growing big and strong in my belly, but, until that day, it's important for us to share with you what this journey's been like for the past few days.

On January 11, we arrived at the doctor's office and immediately had a sonogram. From the moment the fetus appeared on the screen, I knew it wasn't moving the way it should be. As I gripped Jeff's hands tighter and tighter, we listened to the doctor say that she couldn't find the tiny flicker that should indicate a heartbeat, that the fetus was measuring smaller than expected, and, finally, that it was a miscarriage. She gave us some options and left the room, and then the tears began. Jeff held me for a long time before I knew I just wanted to be home, so we completed the required bloodwork and headed out. On the way home, we contacted the few people who had known about the pregnancy, and we started the armies of prayer warriors who know and love us well. By 4:00pm, we'd decided to proceed with a D&C on Friday afternoon; the choice was simple because God had already taken our little one to be with Him--we were just sending the tiny body to follow.

And then we made a choice. We chose to 1) grieve the loss of our Blueberry, and 2) find joy in the sorrow we were experiencing. We don't know God's plan for this moment, but we do know that, together, we can find laughter and hope.

We are so thankful for our family and friends who are showering us with love and prayers, who are crying with us and making sure that we eat and sleep and laugh in equal measure. Your emails, phone calls, and text messages have made the last two days bearable. Your flowers and visits and food have nourished far more than just our bodies. The fact that you cry with us for this giant (tiny) loss makes our burden so much easier to bear. We are so blessed by you.

We are blessed, too, by jobs and colleagues and bosses who are understanding and supportive. You have offered kind words and picked up the slack when we just needed to be together and not at work. Thank you.

I, personally, am so amazed by my husband, and I can truly say that tonight, as I type this, I love him more than I ever have. Until I met Jeff, a wonderful man took care of me all my life: my dad. Today, as Jeff held my hand at the hospital and wiped my years, as he made me lunch and picked up flowers, Combos, and Mike 'n' Ikes at the grocery store as sweet surprises, and as he constantly tried to take away as much physical and emotional pain as he could, I stood in awe of the love I see in him. He truly reflects his Father and my father in his care for me, and I couldn't be more blessed. Boo, I love you forever and infinity squared. Inch by inch, row by row, we will make a tiny garden grow--when the time is right.

As I sit on the sofa and type this, Rosie and Guillie curled at my feet, I am in no physical pain. Tears come and go, but I am not alone when they do. We only made it through today because of the One we trust above all others, and because of the love and support that was so tangible all day long.

It's not the adventure we expected, but it's an adventure all the same, so we hope you'll join us for the ride. 

January 7, 2012: We're Expecting!

It's been so hard to keep this a secret! We've been bursting with the news but forcing ourselves to wait until at least the first appointment (which is this Wednesday, January 11).

But, since you're just joining us now, we'll take a few steps back. First and foremost, to all of you we told we'd stopped / weren't trying, we weren't lying--we really did. But God certainly has a sense of humor when it comes to Tory's elaborate ovulation charts and in-depth fertility readings, because, as soon as she threw all that out the window, Blueberry made his/her debut.

In all honesty, the big reveal wasn't the elaborate, touching, witty moment Tory had been planning. Pretty much, she stuck a bow on a stick she'd peed on, scooted Jeff over on the bed, and nervously announced "Merry Christmas, Daddy?" For those of you who know Jeff in the morning, the approach wasn't the most successful one as a) without glasses  and b) without coffee, there was little initial reaction (other than from the three cats, who seemed incredibly annoyed that someone had disturbed their much-needed beauty rest).

But now we're here. Slowly but surely, the idea is becoming reality as we've started moving furniture out of the nursery-to-be, begun collecting second-hand infant items from generous and amazing friends, and started leaking the news to all of you. In the weeks and months to come, we're planning to use this site as a way of keeping you updated on our news, and we promise to even include a few photos of Tory's ever-expanding belly. (And Jeff's ever-expanding sympathy belly--but make sure you still tell him he's very pretty.)

We love you all so much. Thanks for joining us on this adventure!