First Tri Thoughts


I’m here! I’ve just been really, really nauseated. I can’t say it’s as bad as my other pregnancies because eating does help, but only if I eat almost constantly and never let my stomach get empty. Ever.


Which really does a number on how I try to cope with inevitable weight gain.

Yes, even after all that’s happened, I still do think about the weight gain with this pregnancy.

So while I’m not throwing up, I do feel sick all day long. It’s awful. I’m miserable and trying to keep on top of school work and life – so I haven’t written here much for two reasons. One, I don’t have time. Two, being sick triggers a lot of depressive feelings in me, and I know everyone wants so badly to hear happy updates – [Read more…]

Not Consumed

Today I’m at home, it’s raining out and I’m writing in our school room, Charlie at my side. Bella is at her hourly care class so I had time to work and finish up some papers for school.

I’m really trying not to let myself be consumed by this pregnancy. Looking back on Kaden’s (and the twins) I see how the fear and panic of it all just ate away at me. Months and months on end.

I can’t do that this time.

That might seem a little strange from someone who has experienced 3 losses and 3 high risk pregnancies (and is no longer on Zoloft), but it’s the truth.

Look at what happened. I spent all.that.time in fear, almost paralyzed by it at some points. Desperate for a different outcome. I did everything and then some.

And he still died.

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I Am So Tired Of It.

I am so, so tired of being treated like an idiot around medical staff.

I’m tired of having to constantly fight to be treated like an individual. Not just another pregnant chick. I am tired of having to comply with policy in order not to make anyone mad, and then feeling like a complete wuss for not saying anything.

I’m tired of being treated like a freak when I do say something.

I’m frustrated that my plans, although not in any way unreasonable for my labor and delivery, have to be approved.

And then aren’t. Without any question. Just – “nope”. Because it’s not policy.

It’s my body. Heck, it’s MY child. And I find it very strange that I could have terminated this pregnancy with less question that the first few hours of what I’d like after he’s born. Heaven forbid that I’d like to have my rights and his protected at birth.

I wish I could just skip the hospital. That I didn’t have to go, and of course I do because I’m so high risk, and so many other things that I could never justify purposefully not going.

I feel the unworked through fear of last time, and the time before, of my labor and birth creeping in on me. I pray so hard that I can discern which to let go of and which to fight for, but I don’t know if I will until that moment. And then if in that moment I’ll just cave, to avoid confrontation or unpleasantness again. I don’t want to head into the hospital with a chip on my shoulder, but it’s there. I can’t get past that feeling that any moment I’m going to be overrun and taken advantage of.

I’m tired of feeling sorry for myself. I’m tired of being afraid of situations that haven’t happened, of people I haven’t met, of my own shortcomings.

I know I’m different than so many others who give birth here. I understand my requests make more work or cause others to step out of a comfort zone. I don’t understand why this is constantly presented back to me as such a problem. Everyone has to comply? Everyone has to have their labor and delivery by the book and follow all procedure or they are made to feel like they’re living on the edge? Why is it a request that seems fairly normal is sent back to me with the message “dangerous” constantly?

Why am I still so afraid of this? I did something last May that was considered crazy. I did take my own life in my hands. I chose a path very much un-traveled, and although it wasn’t known to me at the time, I look back with such gratitude now that we stuck to those decisions.

So why am I still so afraid? What do I think will happen?

I know. I know it and I can hardly bring myself to write it. I’m so afraid that a decision I push for will be the wrong one. It will be my fault this time. And I’ll have to go through this pain and loss all over again. Because of me. My wishes. Not following policy and I lose again.

I’m so afraid of that.

11 months. 19 weeks and 4 days.

11 months ago Preston and Julian were born at 3am. I was 19 weeks and 4 days pregnant.

I am 19 weeks and 4 days pregnant today with our third son.

It’s hard to put into words, out loud or here, what emotions wash over me. I’ve thought about this day a lot. Part of me is proud to have made it this far with this little boy, proud my body is able to get past the point of the stages of loss from the twins.

There’s still the fear of losing him, yet I’m more and more thankful for each day that passes instead of simply terrified.

I honestly didn’t think I’d make it even to this point. I figured at 11 months I’d be grieving another loss again, and here I am. Still pregnant.

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Tired of Being Afraid

I’ve hesitated writing this on here for so long because I’m so sick of hearing my own fear and worry that I could honestly scream. But when I push it down, tell myself no one wants to hear it, that I’ll only get back loads of advice and “Just give it all to Jesus!” or the worst “Stress is bad for the baby!” – it consumes me even more. I know that to let it out publicly (to a therapist, friend, or here) means that part of me fights back against that lie of “no one cares.”

Tomorrow I am 16 weeks. And there isn’t a day, isn’t an hour that goes by that I’m not fearful of losing this baby. It’s hard to focus on anything else when everything revolves around it so much. Twice weekly Dr. appointments. Bella asking. Sam checking in. My clothes. My appearance in the mirror. All the pills. Being sick.

I can’t get away from it and instead of being like, “BABY! YAY!”…

I feel like a time bomb simply waiting to go off again and life to once more implode. Where I am left trying to make sense of everything that just shattered around me while going on. Where I’m shaken to the very core, left trying to find God and peace and the reason why in the mess of humanity I can’t seem to get away from.

I can’t control this pregnancy. I can’t control my feelings. I pray, I read the Bible, I write, I go to therapy, I talk it out, cry it out, yell it out. I am trying to put together the pieces of my life without my sons while tentatively pondering a life with this much wanted baby. But overshadowing it all is this sense of out of control that looms over me – the knowledge that indeed, at any moment this could all end again.

I hate this.

Last night I laid in bed reading Scriptures about anxiety and fear. Anything. All those nice words about giving it to Jesus don’t mean a thing when YOU SIMPLY CAN’T. I can’t figure out how to give this to Jesus because it’s my body. My baby. My life. My fear. My worries. My reality. I’m the one laying in the bed at the hospital. I’m the one injecting myself with needles everyday. I’m the one taking the pills. I’m the one who is sick. It’s me. I can’t figure out a way to hand it all to Jesus because it seems like it’s just constantly being handed back to me.

Only – it’s really not. It’s me. Mentally taking it back again and again. “Sorry Lord, I know I asked you to handle this but really, I can do a better job. Obviously I’m doing great down here so if you could just give all my fears and worry back – that would be great.” FAIL.

And? It’s really not my body. My baby. My life. My story. It’s all His. His works, His hand on my life and my testimony. The worry and fear are real, I have a right to feel them. It isn’t wrong to be fearful. What is wrong is what I am letting it do – consume me. Consume my days. My fear and anxiety

I hardly can type this.

They have become my idols.

I turn to them more than God. I let them enter my mind and my heart and my appointments and my days more than I let Jesus. I’m so comfortable in this place that it’s the easiest place to go. “Oh? You have another pill to take? Well, let’s find out what we can worry about with that. You feel the baby move? Let’s picture it dead. You’re peeing a lot? How about we remember your water breaking?”

On and on and on and on until I want to scream and shake myself hard saying, “STOP STOP STOP.”

And so last night, just for once, I let some of it go. As best I could. I’m human, it won’t be immediate. It may not be total. Ever. But I can’t live in the fear and trauma anymore. I know, I know so well, that if I do end up losing this baby I will regret those thoughts Forever. I will forever regret that I didn’t allow myself a lot of joy and to simply be pregnant.

I don’t know how to hand it to God other than simply to repeat over and over when the fears come, “Surely God is my salvation; I will trust and not be afraid. The LORD, the LORD, is my strength and my song; he has become my salvation.” – Isaiah 12:2

It’s not a simple act to give your fears to God. It isn’t a trite saying. It’s hard. Sometimes I feel like everyone else has got this down but little old anxiety ridden me. But then I open up on here, on Twitter, in my life, and see it isn’t. We all struggle with this. So many areas of our lives are simply consumed by our need to control and the fear of not dwelling on it, of not being two steps ahead mentally of a situation that terrifies us.

I’m challenging myself and each of you struggling: find your verse. Find your mantra. Say it over and over until you feel a little bit less heavy. Tell yourself it is ok for 5 minutes, for an hour, for a day, to let those thoughts go. To push them away for a while. Start small, then ask Jesus to help make the joy and ease of not living in fear a bit longer each time.

And don’t stay silent. Reach out. Tell someone. Talk about it. You might be tired of being afraid too – but so many of us are right there with you. Don’t let these things not from God consume you and take up space where He needs to be. Longs to be.