Ghosts of Christmas (Eve) Past

Two years ago today, I was sitting on the couch watching PS I Love You (not the wisest choice, given my emotional state) ... the phone rang and it was my OB, telling me that our little Toot did in fact have Trisomy 18. I was alone at the time and started crying. I called Pat for him to come home from work, called my parents and then cried some more. Poor Bailey didn't know what to do. She brought me all her toys, then eventually climbed on the couch with me and just snuggled. I distinctly remember getting up and starting to clean the house, repeating to myself over and over "falling apart is not an option" ... Pat came home, my parents came over to give us a hug and the beginning of my new life started to set in. Denial, disbelief and waves of pure grief washed over me again and again and again. It is hard to believe that that day was two years ago. Looking back, I never imagined that I would survive; let alone come to love being pregnant and that I would fall in love with my baby girl despite a terminal diagnosis. I also never imagined that the grief could get worse. That the thought of losing my daughter was far less traumatic than actually holding her precious little self in my arms and then having to let her go ...

As I sit here now, with Brienna's little brother or sister growing inside me, I am sad, yet hopeful. I miss my daughter so much. I wish she were here to celebrate Christmas, to anticipate being a big sister. I wish with all my heart that she didn't have to be in Heaven. Yet at the same time, without having lost her, I wouldn't be who I am today. I wouldn't have learned what I'm made of. I wouldn't know that Pat and I have a marriage strong enough to handle the toughest of times. I wouldn't know that the love of your child is one of the most amazing loves in the entire world.

So Brienna, I have to thank you. For giving me the best gift of all time. For helping me realize what's truly important in life and for shaping me into the person I am today. I wish you were here, more than anything, but I know that you're with me all the time. That love truly is stronger than death and that someday, we'll be together again. Merry Christmas, baby girl ... I love you and I miss you so much.

Halloween

In my head I wonder about what you would be.

A tiger? A princess? The world's cutest monkey?

Your dad and I discuss it, he's the only one who knows.

What it's like to imagine but never get to know.

I ooh and I ahh at all the other kids,

but inside my heart is breaking for what shouldn't be, is.

It will never be the same for us, it really isn't fair.

You are up in Heaven, while I am stuck down here.

I miss you sweet Brienna,

I see you only in my dreams.

I love you baby girl.

And so tonight I whisper, Happy Halloween.

Hopeful

I am feeling hopeful. I worry that means the other shoe is going to drop, but I'm trying to stay positive. Things with this little munchkin are looking good. I had two ultrasounds this week: my last one with the RE (which I'm very sad about) and then one with my regular OB. It was the NT scan, and the nuchal fold measured 1.5 mm ... normal is less than 2.5mm. So I was relieved. We did the AFP 1 and won't know anything until after the AFP 2, but there is nothing to suggest anything bad. And it's kind of amazing. I'm starting to physically feel better and I cannot believe that I'm 12 weeks 3 days pregnant. I've only told a very few people and would love to keep things under wraps until 16ish weeks, but I'm not sure that's possible. We have a few family events coming up and me not drinking would lead to suspicion ... but we'll see. There is a part of me that feels like everything is going to be okay and then another part of me that is unsure how anything can ever be okay. Like something bad can always happen. And we're the people that it will happen to. But I'm trying not to think that way. It isn't good for me and it certainly isn't good for the munchkin :)

Too Good to be True?

I am pregnant. Again. I never got a period after the miscarriage and 6 weeks to the day when the miscarriage started, I took a pregnancy test. I'm not even sure why. I had felt a little nauseous at work one night and I knew I might be drinking a lot over the weekend. So after work on August 20, I stopped at Shaw's and bought a pregnancy test. I slept for a few hours, letting my urine concentrate and then peed on the stick. Of course I assembled it wrong so it showed nothing. I slept again for a few more hours, assembled the stick right and saw POSITIVE. I almost shit myself. My first reaction was to smile. Then I hopped in my car, drove to CVS and bought five more tests, all different brands just to be sure. They were all positive. I took pictures of them all. Pat came home a few hours later. We were heading up to Canton for a cousins night (my parents were away) and as we were getting ready, I said, "by the way, I found this out today" and showed Pat the stick. He was like okay, wow. And gave me a huge hug.

Monday rolled around and I called the RE's office, not even sure if I should since clearly infertility didn't appear to be the issue. She said to come in Wednesday for bloodwork. My beta was 6202. She scheduled me for more bloodwork and an ultrasound a week later and on September 1, we learned were 6w1d pregnant. We saw a heartbeat at 132 and Dr. P said based on dates, the ultrasound and my beta (22,000+), things looked good. We went back for another ultrasound this past Wednesday, September 8 and measured 7w, 4d with a heartrate of 150.

So we're pregnant. And I feel more attached to this pregnancy than I did with the one we miscarried. I wonder if when my beta was 50 that time, they knew I'd miscarry right away. I sure didn't, but I bet they did. My due date will be sometime in late April. We have another ultrasound in two weeks and I'm petrified I'll miscarry before then, but hopeful we won't. It feels surreal. It's scary, because I can see myself with a baby this time. I find myself daydreaming about a nursery, a jogging stroller, whether it's a boy or a girl. And when I catch myself, I try to stop because I'm afraid of getting my hopes up. Even though they already are ...

It's strange too, because at this point with Brienna, we didn't know anything was wrong. I would be about to have my first ultrasound, which would show she was small. I was elated at that point, I think. We were so excited to be parents and loved Toot so much ... it's almost scary how much you fall in love even though so much can go wrong. I pray every night that this time is different. That we do bring a baby home. The only person besides Pat and I that know is my crazy lady, Pat. And she has a good feeling about it. And I guess I do too. I know Pat does. So, let's hope I keep anxiety and fear at bay and try to enjoy being pregnant again. Despite the fact that I feel like crap. I've never been so constipated in my life and have heartburn on top of it. I'm exhausted and it's miserable. But I'll take it :)

Wondering

I am jealous. Pat told me today that his cousin is pregnant. Great for them, but breaks my heart. She is 24 and has been married less than a year. I want it to be me. When he told me, my first reaction was to cry. Then I thought, "will it ever be us?". But the thing is, it was us. Those first 17 weeks were awesome. We were happily pregnant, loving the fact that we could share this amazing news with everyone. We were so innocent, maybe even naive. I loved being pregnant. Those stupid "25 things you didn't know about me" on Facebook from a year ago? One of mine was I love being pregnant. Despite what I knew, despite the fact that I didn't know if Toot would live, I truly loved it. I had never felt more beautiful and I just loved having this little life inside me. I understood the miracle of it and knew how fortunate I was to be pregnant.

I want that experience again. Granted, it will never be the same. Ever. Even with this latest pregnancy, I didn't get attached or get excited. Despite the fact that I cautiously looked forward to Feb 4, 2011 (the due date), I knew too much about what could go wrong. And sure enough, it did. I hope beyond hope that we are able to get pregnant again. But I also know, I'll never be truly comfortable. I will always wonder about what might be going wrong, or if we'll actually end up with a baby that comes home with us.

The first time, I thought if we made it out of the first trimester, everything would be fine. We waited until we were 14 weeks along before we told anyone. Three weeks later, devastation (or so we thought at the time). The second time, I just held my breath and hoped and then was let down. If it happens again, I wonder if there will be a magic time when I feel okay about things. Somehow I doubt it. I will wonder if there is a lurking chromosomal abnormality that won't get picked up on ultrasound right away. I will wonder about placenta abruption and every other nightmare scenario. I'll wonder about premature birth and the after effects. Nothing will make me feel safe. And in truth, we're never safe. Even if we have a healthy baby, it means nothing. You can't take anything for granted, because you just never know ...

But I want the chance. I'll live with the fear and anxiety because I want to believe that we'll end up with a healthy baby. I want it to be me again. And I'm nervous that it never will ...

Will to Live

Pat is away this weekend and I am petrified that something is going to happen to him. Like crying, can't sleep, palpitations when I think about it petrified. I am pretty sure that he is my reason to live. If you told me today that I had to choose between him and having babies, I would choose him. Without hesitation. He is going to be away for four nights. He's going hiking/camping on a trip that I was originally supposed to go on but all the girls backed out and now it's just Pat and his friend John. It will be much less awkward for all involved without me there, but we'd been looking forward to it for awhile.

I was literally sobbing when he left this morning. I got home from work and we laid in bed for 25 minutes and all I could think was "what if this is the last time?" I can picture myself getting the phone call or a police officer coming to the door. I can picture myself at the cemetery having to say goodbye and it is miserable. It's crippling. I literally do not know how I would survive life without him. I wouldn't want to. And I know that sounds dramatic, but I just don't think I would. He is my best friend and the one person I love more than anyone else in this world. I miss him already and it's only been five hours.

My sister had sent me this quote last week because she said it reminded her of Pat and I. When I first read it, I thought it was cute. And now I read it and think it means he is going to die and these are his last words to me. "Promise me you'll always remember: You're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think." - Christopher Robbin to Winnie the Pooh.

I am hoping that this is all just irrational anxiety. It has to be, right? But how do I snap out of it? How do I stop and say, he will be fine. It feels like a black cloud is following us and it would just be our luck for something to happen. I just want him to come home to me safely. I want to lay next to him, breathe him in and tell him I love him. Over and over and over again. I need him because he is my everything.

Worry

I am overcome with anxiety. I have this distinct feeling that everything I love in life is going to vanish. Or that tragedy lurks in places I can't see ... that something bad is going to happen to everyone I love and I'll be left here to pick up the pieces of a life I don't want.

Pat leaves the house and I'm a wreck. What if something happens to him while he's in the car? What if he's mugged on his way to work? What if a mass murderer knocks on the door when I'm not home and kills him? I went for a run the other day and was petrified the whole time that I was going to run into someone that wanted to rape me. But that he would kill Bailey before he did it. I was practically sprinting, just to get home to safety.

I know I can't live like this, and believe me, I talk to my crazy lady about it. But I only take Ativan at night, because I don't want to be in a fog during the day. I am petrified it will make me less alert and miss the opportunity to stop said tragedy from occurring. Some people lead tragic lives. Part of me says we've had our fair share of tragedy, the other part of me says the black cloud is following me and I have to do everything in my power to avoid getting rained on.

My dad used to have a quote on our refrigerator, because I worried a lot growing up too. It said, "Worry is like a rocking chair. It gives you something to do, but gets you nowhere." And I know that's the case, but when the panic hits, it takes over and all my fears seem so real ...