|Oct. 23, '11 at 4:03 am.|
|Wrinkly newborn feet.|
|Proud to be a "lil bro."|
And lots of it.
|How is that even comfy?|
|Mommy's favorite outfit.|
|Who is that handsome fella?|
Then we waited. And waited. And waited. It felt like lifetimes before someone finally uttered the words I was afraid to even think. Miscarriage.
Then came the tears. The desperate texts to my sisters and best friends. I needed support. I needed to acknowledge what had just happened. I needed to get out of that ER.
At home we carried on as normal. We had to. We had an 18 month old who didn't know any different. I made spaghetti for supper. Night time was the hardest. I remember the moments up until then. Then it becomes black. Blackness so deep with despair. My baby was gone. We wouldn't need that double stroller after all. All the baby stuff would stay boxed up in the basement.
I would never hold my baby. See his smile. Hear his cries and little voice. Feed him. Rock him. Change him. I would never say his name. I would never really know whether he was a boy or not. I was grieving a person I had never met, yet felt so very close to nonetheless.
My heart was broken.
Dave attempted to go to work the next day. But even he was sent home early. Daddies grieve, too. We grieved separately at first and then came together. We had lost our baby. Our baby was gone.
The following days were a blur. I tried to move on. I focused on my beautiful toddler. My Spencer. He really is the reason I made it through those days. Seeing his smiling face, knowing he still needed me, loved me, made things easier. I was still someone's Mommy.
|The little brother Spencer almost didn't have.|
I remember my doctor kept asking questions and making statements that didn't jive with a miscarriage. I wanted to say, "Hold up, didn't you read my chart? I miscarried." He kept asking about my pregnancy symptoms. My hCG levels from the ER blood work were high. Etc, etc, etc. I numbed my mind again, kept chanting to myself not to get my hopes up. I couldn't go through another loss. I couldn't believe even for a second that this baby could still be alive. I was preparing myself so I wouldn't have to experience the miscarriage all over again. The emotions were still too raw.
My husband was at the next ultrasound ten days later with the strictest instructions to ask a million questions because I knew once I saw my baby on that screen, I'd be mush again. The baby was fine. Better than fine. He was going to make it. Praise the Lord! Hallelujah! My baby was okay!
Now today a year later it's hard to believe the same baby that caused so much trouble in his first weeks gestation can be the same baby I gave birth to 9 months later. He is so easygoing. A complete angel. Definitely a blessing from God. My miracle baby.
Ashton today. A year later. Tomorrow he will be four months old. A true miracle.
|Eating his Lovey, Mr. Grumps.|