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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

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PackingΒ 

When packing away a nursery is like packing away your heart, you may have lost a child. 

But I lost so much more than just a child. She was everything I’ve dreamt of, my entire life, and it was finally coming true. It is so unfair that she was taken from us, and that it was my bodies fault. I am so pissed at myself, so irate that I let her down, that I let her die, that my body is so fucked up that not only can I not get pregnant without science, I also can’t carry a baby without special medical intervention. 

After spending the day at the fair yesterday, seeing little tiny babies, pregnant mothers, toddlers in the kiddie derby…. everything came flooding back like a swift kick in my empty womb. As we were walking the merchant buildings I saw a booth with the smallest headstones. They’ve always been there, but before, I would walk by thinking they were samples, not actually engraveable stones. This time I stopped to inquire, and found that they are actually used… and infants are one thing they’re used for. WHY DO I HAVE TO CONSIDER THAT?! WHY DO I NEED TO LOOK AT HEADSTONES FOR MY BABY???? 

Then there is the complete and utter pissed off MOM in me that wants to break every cigarette in any pregnant woman’s hand… how can you take for granted something so precious by smoking while you’re pregnant? I’m sorry that the life you’re carrying has that little meaning to you, but it means an awful lot to me, and you’re just okay with poisoning your unborn child? Oh, but it’ll be okay, because you can just get pregnant with another if something happens, and you have two healthy kiddos that you carried to term, all while smoking, so what’s the harm?

I have never in my life felt more alone, more empty and more pissed off at myself. My daughter deserved to live, she deserved to grow up and make mistakes, get into trouble and have a full life. Me? I want to say I deserved to be her mommy, to hold her and kiss her boo-boos, take her to get her prom dress and help her get ready for her wedding… but now, I don’t believe it. I don’t believe I deserve that, because I let her down. Because, if I deserved any type of happiness before, I don’t feel I deserve it now. 

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When nothing makes sense

Today is my first day alone until Eric gets home from work. I’ve been trying to get as many appointments scheduled and questions answered as possible… All while allowing my tears to flow freely. I got in the shower and when I got dressed I decided to look once more at the “nursery” that never will be. 

Can you believe at 21 weeks we had just about EVERYTHING we needed for little Ava to arrive? Her sleepers and some clothes were hung up, her newborn to 3 month clothes organized and in their places. I hadn’t yet gone through the tote full of shoes/bibs/hats and blankets but that was next on my to do list. I was anxious to set up her crib soon and get the downstairs set up for her mamaroo and pack n play. 


I won’t have a need to go back in her room until we’re closer to moving this summer, until then it’ll remain the jumbled chaotic mess it is. I can’t say I regret putting things together or organizing, I just wish there would be a baby coming to use all of it. 
Right now my biggest struggle is for answers. I never got a definitive answer as to why this happened, just an assumption.  As stupid as this sounds, I don’t even know what doctors delivered my sweet Ava… Because when I was able to focus enough I wasn’t concerned about the doctor in my room, she wouldn’t be there for my surgery, so she wasn’t important at that time. Now, I feel irresponsible and wreckless because she wasn’t there when I woke up from surgery and now where do I look for answers? 

I’m also waiting to pick up Avas remains, which I can’t do until the doctor is tracked down and signs her death certificate. 

I just want to know why my body failed her and how am I supposed to feel good about ever being pregnant again? Why her and not me? I just don’t have the strength today πŸ’”

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Sand in the waves

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Today we went to Cedar Point. I got my adrenaline racing which was helpful and then we took a walk on the beach. The video above is very calming to me. Her name is swept away by the waves peacefully, swiftly. It isn’t a earth shattering moment, more of a whisper that she’s okay. 
We don’t believe in a religion, or in heaven and hell, but I have to reassure myself that anyone taken too young, before they were able to live their life, gets time in a place together. Ava Kathleen is with her Grandma and Grandpa Goff, with my brother and with her older siblings we lost in March. She’s with her cousins that were taken all too soon, my great uncle and my best friends mom, and everyone welcomed her with open arms. 
For now, it’s a day to day healing process. I’m strong because she was so weak. I live because she could not. And our marriage is stronger than ever before we’ve been through all of it together. 


Until next time 

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