I wrote this over on Babble, because I wanted to. I didn’t want to rehash it here again, or write it twice, so it’s there. Maybe for an audience of women who don’t know that someone else feels the same way as them. I’ve been terrified to write it, quite honestly some of the comments/emails I’ve gotten lately have put a damper on me wanting to share the other (not so lovely) side of this pregnancy. But I wrote it anyway because it needed to be said. I’d love if you’d go over and read, but understand if you don’t. 

———————

It’s mostly at night. The nightmares that come with a pregnancy after loss haunt me unexpectedly, at random times. I’ll wake, gasping for air, still partially caught in the unconscious of sleep.

Perhaps the dream is of my water breaking. So I’ll lay very still, convinced if I don’t move, it won’t happen. Had I not gone back to the bathroom when I lost my twins, maybe I wouldn’t have lost them. I could have just held it in. As irrational as that is (and I know it) in the dark of the night it seems completely sane. So I don’t dare move. No matter how bad I have to pee, the terror of going through a loss all over again paralyzes me.

Until I finally am able to wake fully, and firmly tell myself that, water breaking or not, I’m going to have to get up at some point. I make myself throw my weight off the bed in an effort to shake the fear. Push it away. If it happens, I tell myself, it happens. Get over it.

Read the rest on Babble.

My Julian and Preston,

A year ago today, at 3:15, you were born into this world in what can only be described as one of the most painfully beautiful moments of my life. You both were so perfect, so tiny. I can’t even describe to you the amount of shock I felt at seeing you, hearing you, watching you move. When you see ultrasound pictures for so long, it’s hard to picture an actual baby inside your womb.

This morning I woke right before it happened. I had to pee of course, your brother tends to treat me as his personal trampoline. As I lay back down, I turned over determined to think of you but not to cry, and of course that didn’t happen. Your Daddy was woken up and flipped over in fear something was wrong, and I managed to choke out, “It was…” and he said, “Oh poo,” and just held me close. I told him, “I need to cry and then I’ll be ok.”

That was all I needed.

(more…)

Last year during this week, I was in the hospital praying that my twins could make it to 24 weeks. My water had broken, I was told there was a very small chance of them surviving, and we weren’t sure what would happen.

This year Sam, Bella, and I will be walking in the March of Dimes in memory of Preston, Julian, and all the other babies that didn’t get to come home, or did but only after long NICU stays, or babies born with complications because of prematurity.

They died May 3rd. The walk is May 4th. I will be exactly 24 weeks with our third son on May 4th.

Talk about chills when I realized all this.

I know 24 weeks is considered viability, but I also know how very small that chance is. And this past year I’ve met many families who got to that point and still didn’t get to take a baby home.

I’ve set up a page for fundraising with March of Dimes to donate all money given directly to them and their mission. I would love for you to consider donating to them in my son’s names. I’ve set a fairly lofty goal ($1,000 in 6 days) but yesterday we raised $335! That is amazing.

The money isn’t for me, we don’t get anything from this, and it’s tax deductible next year. Anything (I mean it) that you give is such a blessing. They take PayPal, credit cards, etc. Thank you so much to those of you who already have. It made yesterday a lot more special to Sam and I as we reflect on 12 months ago.

22 weeks came and went! Find my belly and ultrasound shots, along with our family life that week, here.

It’s 5:30 am. And for nearly the past year, Monday through Friday, I wake up as Sam gets ready for work. It’s a rare morning I’m able to get back to sleep, so while he showers I flip on my iPhone, read the news, check Twitter and Facebook, and scroll through my beloved Instagram.

It’s all to keep my mind busy. Letting it wander in the dark leads to anxiety and memories I don’t want to process yet again.

But lately – lately.

(more…)

I don’t know why this little spot has become so hard for me to write in lately. I sit and stare at this screen, thoughts racing of, “You’ve already said/written that. No one wants to hear it again. Move on. It’s been a year.” I am only able to write one day of the hospital story because the others are still overwhelming to process.

And yet…

One week from today is the day my water broke with the twins. The day my life changed forever, and yet there was still more of that to come.

I saw my therapist this past Friday and as we chatted about how I was doing and our little boy (now 22 weeks!), I struggled with this feeling that seems to underly all my emotions lately.

“I’m so tired of grieving.”

Instantly the guilt poured down on me. I explained (although she knew) that it wasn’t that I was tired of my sons or their story, but I was tired of the rest. The constant struggle to get past these thoughts and memories that still bring a lot of heartache. I wish somehow the grief process could be sped up – and I’ve wished that since I lost them. Like you just wake up one day and can think about what you lost without it smacking you in the face or causing you to have to re-process it all again.

There are days like that. More and more. It’s just soooooo slow and in the meantime there is a part of me that would like for this to be over.

(more…)