Counting Blessings Not Sorrows

I have been noticeably absent from this blog for awhile, mostly because I know myself well enough to know that I might slip and prematurely announce that Casey and I received the news the week after Thanksgiving that we were expecting our second child in early August, on our 5 year anniversary, no less.

I must admit that at first I was not entirely pleased with this news (Casey was excited from Day 1). We have always known that we wanted two children, but I had always thought that I wanted them to be 3 years apart (they would be just over two years apart) and that I wanted the timing of it to all work out so that I was on maternity leave during the summer again like I was with Riley. Daylight was long, late-night feedings didn't seem so bad because the sun was already creeping out, walks were plentiful, and trips to the pool were amazingly relaxing (especially with the occasional poolside beer). I craved extra time with just Riley so that he'd know for a certainty that he was our world before we threw someone new into the mix. I thought the dogs, particularly Winston, would be upset about the new addition and the further division of our time. I was afraid that there just would not be enough love (or enough time) to go around.

As the days, weeks and months passed by, however, my excitement grew and grew, and the ridiculous initial thoughts I had dwindled to non-existence. The kids would be close in age and become the best of friends, Riley has become obsessed with babies, it is obvious that the dogs love Riley (and vice versa), and the "timing" I was so concerned about seemed just plain silly and I am almost embarrassed to admit that I ever even cared. We have started the search for a larger house (and found one that we love!!!) and have looked at larger cars to accomodate two kids (and accompanying large car seats), two large dogs and a whole lot of gear.

Fast forward to yesterday - the 13-week prenatal check-up. For those of you who are parents, you will understand the significance of this check-up. It is the first one of the second trimester, the one that signals you are "in the clear" and that chances of a miscarriage are virtually non-existent from this point forward. I have been queasy for much of this pregnancy, have been terribly tired, have experienced no complications, had no signs that anything is wrong. It is the phase where you are actually excited to go to the doctor - your stomach has grown to the point where you feel like it's obvious to everyone that you're pregnant, you are excited to hear the sweet sound of the baby's heartbeat so you can finally rest assured that everything's OK, and you can leave the office knowing that you can share the news of your pregnancy with anyone and everyone without the fear of having to later tell them that you miscarried.

I woke up early, rubbed my ever-expanding belly to say hello to the baby like I do every morning, ate breakfast, forced down the prenatal vitamin that makes me feel horrible every day but that I will gladly take to give the baby a better chance at good health, got Riley out of bed and ready for school, handed him off to Casey who had been tasked with dropping him off at school so I could make it to my early doctor's appointment and headed out the door. Riley said good-bye about a hundred times and blew me so many kisses that I thought my heart would burst. All in all, a very good morning.

30 minutes later the doctor couldn't find the baby's heartbeat and an ultrasound confirmed that I had had another miscarriage. After that, a very difficult phone call to Casey to share the news and figure out what to do next. Four hours later, outpatient surgery to remove the baby from my body and our lives. Two hours after that, picking up Riley from school and putting back together the pieces of our lives. Now, a sleepless night, which I will allow myself only so that when day breaks, we can all resume life as normal.

But in these few sleepless hours of solitude, I will allow myself to grieve. Grieve about the guilt and the uncertainty. Guilt over whether this is somehow my fault. Did I do something wrong? Was it what I ate? That I didn't drink enough water? Was it the stresses I internalized? Was it the long hours at work during the riskiest phase of my pregnancy? Probably not, and the guilt is probably irrational, but I think it's the natural response to a miscarriage - when you are the one and only personal responsible for the health of the baby. Casey and I, unlike many couples, have been blessed with the easy ability to get pregnant. It seems that the problem is getting the baby to survive the first trimester.

And therein lies the uncertainty. We are now one for three in successful pregnancies. Not great odds. I now find myself wondering if these miscarriages were not a fluke, but signify that my body just isn't cut out for carrying babies successfully. Perhaps, without knowing it at the time, Riley was the miracle baby that we were never supposed to have but lucky enough to receive. The optimist in me would like to think that instead this was just my body's way of knowing that there was something wrong with the baby and doing something about it before the baby had to suffer. It also occurred to us today while Casey and I were talking through this with pictures of Riley that litter Casey's office in the background that but for the last miscarriage, we wouldn't even know Riley.

So although my heart hurts with our loss, I choose instead to focus on the fact that I have an incredible husband who I love with all my heart and every fiber of my being, an amazing and adorable son who is the highlight of my life, and two kind and devoted dogs that have taught me everything there is to know about unconditional love. And that's enough...