Miracle Baby

Today's the day I was supposed to have a baby. And as I sit here and think about how different my life almost was on this day I feel more sad and empty than ever. Lately it seems like everywhere I look I'm reminded of the baby that's not here to snuggle with me today.

A little over two years ago I wrote a post called "Miracle Baby". At the time, Charlotte was more of a miracle than I could ever imagine. But after three miscarriages (the last one being the most tragic happening at almost 13 weeks) in the last 12 months-struggling to keep a pregnancy, hoping, planing and praying for a baby that may or may not make it into this world, I realized just how much of a miracle my little Charlie is. Not just because she was born at 30 weeks, but because she survived inside me for that long. She beat the odds. She's one in a million billion! The sad reality is, after a lifetime of dreaming of a large family, I'll now have to try and accept that my chances of having children on my own will be nearly impossible. Since we've learned about this, thinking about the future has been daunting and life has become overwhelming. At times I've felt as though my world is falling apart. Admitting this is like swallowing a golf ball. And the sad truth is, there is just not enough ice cream, or Oreos, or flowers in the world to make me feel better.

I truly hope you won't mistake my heartache for me being ungrateful for the miracle that I have been given. I am so thankful everyday of my life for  Charlie- now more than ever! But I also feel that longing to grow my family is a righteous desire and it's confusing and it hurts to not be able to fulfill it.

I've got a not so rare (but rare enough that most people have never heard of it) blood clotting disorder called Hughes Syndrome (also known as sticky blood). I was excited when I got this diagnosis because it meant there was a treatment, it meant there was hope, and I thought for sure it would lead to having a healthy baby. Not long after receiving this news I got pregnant and began twice daily heparin injections. The blood thinners have two main jobs, increase blood flow to my placenta and prevent any clots that could form in between my placenta and uterus. This treatment increases chances of a healthy pregnancy to 80%. I never thought I would be part of the other 20%.  Like I mentioned earlier, my most recent was the worst, I was almost out of my first trimester and into the most exciting part of pregnancy when most people announce to the world they are expecting. I suppose this is what most people refer to as the "safe zone". Although I was very much aware that regardless of whether or not I made it past 14 weeks, there's absolutely nothing about my pregnancy that would be considered in that zone of safety.. To say this loss has been completely devastating would be an understatement. Not 36 hours before I saw this perfect little peanut moving around inside my tummy. Heart fluttering, arms waving about, legs dancing. I will always be sad for that baby that I will never get to hold. How could this suddenly change? It's so hard not to feel completely guilty. I feel guilty that I've let Jared down and even worse that I can't give Charlie a baby brother or sister when she loves babies so much. I feel like I've robbed her of her big sister title one too many times. It's so frustrating and even, at times, embarrassing that my body can't do something it was supposed to be made to do! And the fact that there is literally nothing I can do about it makes it all the more tragic. There is nothing anyone can say to make me feel better (unless you're going to offer to be my surrogate). Especially when doctors cannot give me answers to why this happened and when they tell me it will likely happen again.
I miss the days where a scraped knee was my biggest problem and a kiss from mom took away all the pain.

I was pregnant with Charlie pre-diagnosis so I wasn't on any medication to thin my blood. Not only was she born at 30 wks but she had stopped growing two weeks before and the umbilical cord that was supposed to be providing her with life was slowly detaching. Literally one more hour inside me and I might not have her to snuggle today. I don't even want to think about what that world would be like.. I've said it once before and I'll say it again (and again, and again), Charlie is a miracle. Not in the way that all babies are miracles, but a whole new meaning of miracle (like a- defy the odds, one of a kind, how is it possible that she's alive and healthy- miracle).

So, as much as I want to crawl into a hole and wallow in my tears, I'll pick myself up. Because I have to. For that sweet little girl of mine that says "peeeese" in the softest little voice with her head tilted to the side and a grin that spreads across her perfect face. For that girl who, when I was crying and so sad just sat with me and wiped my tears and gave me kisses and hugged me real tight. For her, I'll go on. I'll put on a brave face and fake the happiness a little harder. And for my husband, who has put up with a pregnant wife (in the first trimester no less) for far longer than any man should. For doing more loads of laundry and dishes than I can even count. For making me breakfast in bed and dinner that had been followed by a long day at work. Those two are my saving grace. My miracles in this world that has lately, had way too much heartache.