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Is this reality?

Today is our baby shower, did I really say OUR? As in, a shower celebrating OUR Baby Bean, OUR pregnancy, never did I think this day would come. To be honest, I almost didn't allow it to happen. I kept telling everyone I didn't want a shower because I was scared I'd jinx myself or something would happen, but here I am, unable to sleep much last night, taking a break from washing dishes to write a blog about the emotions I'm feeling.

First and foremost, I feel unsure, like this is surreal and it's not actually for me. I feel so crazy for even thinking that way but how could this possibly be for a baby in my body?

I'm anxious, of course. I have dreamt every night that my water will break at the shower. You'd think that would make me pack my hospital bag, but not so much 😬 I just feel so many different forms of anxiety and I'm a mess because of it.

Mostly, I am unconditionally grateful! For our families and friends that have come together to show how loved Emma and Ava are and how excited they are for our baby to be born and for us to journey into parenthood.

I have made it to 33 weeks, 4 weeks from "term" and 6 weeks from the time frame my doctors want to deliver. I am in shock that we're here, we've made it!

Thanks for listening to me endlessly ramble. I haven't decided what comes next, so I continue a life as a mom blog? Follow our breastfeeding/cloth diapering life in the future? End it with a birth announcement? 🤷🏼‍♀️ I guess we'll see!

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Nearing the end of life as we know it

For years I have pictured my life and played many scenarios in my head. I could never just say "when we're in our 50s and our kids are coming home for Christmas" without also thinking "when we're 50 and sitting on the beach alone for Christmas, because we never had kids." My life had been so in the air but in so many ways, still extremely stable, because of the man who chose to marry me, that I always considered all the options.

When we lost Ava, after finally beginning to grieve, I began to grieve the loss of my marriage also. I was so sure that Eric would leave and so would have to re think every life plan, without kids, and without my best friend. I cried to him often because I was terrified that it was bound to happen, and my heart couldn't take anymore loss. But, always the committed and stable man he is, he never wavered, and even pushed me forward when I was ready to quit.

I'm in the final stages of my pregnancy with Ava's little sister, Emma. It's funny how quickly Eric chooses names for our babies and how easily I agree to them, but I love our girls' names. I'm getting anxious about all of the normal things, like sleeping and feeding and germs… but I'm also anxious about the huge life change we're about to go through. When you lose a baby, you don't have time to think, you just act. You act in whatever way eases the pain for a moment, or sometimes, whatever way brings it all to the surface.

This time, we're bringing a baby home, and I worry about my marriage, still. I worry that we won't be on the same page, that the stress will get to us, that I pushed for babies and maybe Eric really didn't want them. I worry that I didn't play out the possible scenario of splitting time with our child(ren) and therefor missing things. I know we're strong and have made it through things many couples would never see the other side of, so I am hopeful, but being "just the two of us" for 8 years, adding another human is SCARY!

For now, I'm trying to focus on Emma. We have 8 weeks or less until she arrives, and my head is filled with her little face. I cannot wait to hold our baby and know she's coming home alive. It's funny, I have all these plans and different ideas for how I want to parent, but I feel like my brain will turn to mush the moment I'm holding OUR rainbow, and hearing her cry for me, for us, her PARENTS.

Thanks for listening to me babble all this time. I am in so many ways at a loss for coherent thoughts. I just can't believe this is our life. This is our life after beating infertility, after losing our baby… it hurts that this is life AFTER Ava, but in some ways, I feel like she has been here for every step of the process since she took her last breathe. 💜

Maybe I should consider a new blog title once Emma is home? 🤷🏼‍♀️

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When loss is all you know

We’re 29 1/2 weeks into this pregnancy and I am LOSING MY DAMN MIND! Who knew, after everything we have been through, and every tear we have shed, that the reality of bringing a baby home would be so terrifying!?! 

Let me explain, because I know I sound like a nut case. 

When I had Ava, everything happened so quickly, we had no warnings, there was nothing that could stop what was happening, and there was no “correct” course of action to cope. I felt every raw emotion and handled every day, or sometimes every minute, to the best of my ability, but I was able to be selfish. Looking back I’m not sure how I pushed to the “other side” or how I kept myself from becoming a bitter, awful person. 

Now, with Emma coming in 7-9 weeks (holy shit single digits) my mind is racing! What if I’m really not cut out for this? What if we mess it all up? What if she feels one day that she was our “make up” baby? How do I juggle the overpowering joy I feel to being our baby home, while dealing with the pain that we already brought a baby home, just in an urn?! 

It’s very painful for me, when I realize I missed all of this with Ava. I never saw her movements, felt her hiccups or felt her roll in my stomach. I never saw an ultrasound image of her hair; because it didn’t get the chance to grow and she never had a take home outfit planned for her. The items that were purchased or given to Ava have so easily been passed on to her sister, which hurts in some ways, and heals in others. 

This week I will pack my hospital bag. I will write down my birth plan, which is pretty simple, and I will continue to work on the nursery. I’m sure I will continue having days where grief overcomes me and I feel guilty for loving Emma so much already, but I am trying to give myself grace, as I haven’t lost any love for Ava. 

Below, I posted pictures of both my girls’ feet. Ava at 21w1d gestation and Emma at 29w2d gestation. I’d love to do a picture that is similar for Emma and hang them both up, I love their little toes ❀️

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When you look back at your lifeΒ 

It’s been a LONG LONG LONG 15-16 months! A miscarriage, the loss of our first daughter, a negative transfer and now 16 weeks pregnant with our second daughter! Baby girl is doing great so far! 

Now it’s time to start to clear out some of our clutter and move forward with life. Infertility is part of our story but not what defines us, and our journey to our 🌈 is such a dark but beautiful story! These pictures briefly sum up our journey… and the pain my body has been through physically for our babies. 


Now to get through at least 16 more weeks and bring our baby girl home 😍😍

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Pregnancy after Loss

Here we are, pregnant for the third time in 11 months, and just as terrified as I am excited. 

The craziest thing is I got my first results back on January 18th, Ava’s due date. I am due near her birthday, and I feel her vary much through this pregnancy. Our rainbow baby is coming and their older sister is watching closely over them, and us. 


Now to get through every little step without getting too much worry. Riiiight. 
Ultrasound Monday morning 1/30 😍

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What you need to know

Let me just start with stating the obvious, losing a child is HELL, and you do not wake up from that hell within weeks, months… ever. It is present in every part of your life, forever. Keep that in mind while reading this post. 


If you expect me to be happy, DONT! If you expect me to hold it together, STOP! If I decide to allow myself the freedom to express how hard of a time I may be having, LISTEN! Do not think I want your sympathy, I don’t.

 I promise you, anything I say about my daughter whether it is in person or on social media is in no way to whine, I am still her mother, and it is all about her. I am doing whatever I can to get by, that is sometimes crying at work, and other times explaining on facebook my feelings, and currently it’s pushing forward. 


If I’m quiet and staring off in the distance, you are not required to ask if I’m okay, I’m not. If you’d like to talk I am an open book, but if this makes you uncomfortable, please don’t ask. 

As the holidays creep up please remember, I should be preparing a nursery, dealing with swollen feet, feeling and seeing my daughter flip flop in my belly… and string ready to have a baby. Instead I am grieving what should have been and hoping for the chance at bringing a baby home, alive, one day. 
Lastly, if you don’t appreciate how I’m handling things. If you want me to “get over it” or think I should “look on the bright side” I DONT GIVE A FUCK! This is my battle, my reality and I am in no way trying to get your approval of how I’m grieving my daughter. I would appreciate if you kept your mouth shut, and left me be… I need no more negativity in my life. 

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When the kicks are gone

Baby movement, its a magical thing. When you go through infertility, that magic is amped up, as you’ve dreamed of it for so long. Avas first movements were fleeting, is this real, can I really feel the movement of the tiny life I am growing inside my body? Then you start putting it all together again, this is really your life, your pregnancy, your fairy tale come true. 

When I was pregnant with Ava, very early on, I didn’t want to announce it. I was scared I would lose her just like I had lost my babies in March, and it wasn’t something I was ready for. Then the bleeding happened and I knew it was over, but it wasn’t, she was still there fighting for life, and I was forever in awe of her strength. It was that night, the day after Memorial Day 2016, that I announced her impending arrival. I knew instinctively from that moment on that she was a little girl, and that was confirmed only 6 weeks later, when I was 13 weeks, we officially had our Ava. 

This is all movement, not in the sense of feeling her physically, but these moments of her life are movements that FOREVER changed my life. The movement of my child from an egg to an embryo, to a gestational sac, fetal pole with a flickering heartbeat, little gummy bear, perfect silhouette, stubborn princess, and finally a beautiful angel. 

When I was in the hospital, after giving birth and losing half of the blood from my body, fading in and out while being taken back for a d&c that I was “awake” for, but I don’t remember a moment of because I had lost so much blood… I woke up. I was in my hospital room, it was silent and dark, Eric was sleeping on the couch next to my bed and I felt it. I felt movement. Initially I was so positive I had just woken from the worst nightmare imaginable, because there is no way I can feel my child move inside me after what I had been through. Then, I looked over to the small basket that held my daughter, and it all flooded back, every conscious memory of the past 24 hours flooded my brain all at once and took my breathe away. 

It’s unfair, the movement I felt was my now empty womb retracting, what was left of my pregnancy was already reverting back to its former state, and was tricking me. This went on for a week or so, and I hated my body even more for it. I would scream at Eric for placing a hand near my stomach, I would wake up in the middle of the night, when Ava was most active, and swear I felt her. And then again, it would hit me. I’m no longer the mother of a living and growing child, but the mother of an angel. 

I have struggled with this title in and of itself since losing our baby. I have a hard time deciding what I believe, and I know I don’t believe 100% in the traditional heaven and hell scenario, that being said, I believe there has to be a utopia for innocent souls. For babies and children, for those who are pure and innocent, where their souls are content and they are eternally safe. And I believe Ava will always be a part of our family, from that place, in our hearts, with her siblings, forever, she will be our angel, watching over us. She has given me so much strength in the past few weeks, and so much clarity, there is no denying in my mind that she is present all the time. 

As we move forward, and I experience the movement of another child, I will always remember how quickly that movement changes, and will take in every change, flutter and kick as if it may be the last. I am certain our rainbow baby will be home with us soon, and their sisters movement will have paved their way πŸ’œ