And here we go again…

Well folks, I’ve been very open with our baby struggles for the last year. I’ve appreciated each and every person who reached out during that time. And some of you have made me cry (which is impressive because I HATE crying) with your own stories.

Most of you know at this point that Hubs and I have one perfect, beautiful, wild little boy. A year ago last month we had a miscarriage. I immediately got pregnant again.

And nine months ago we sent a son to Heaven. I hope it will be the most painful thing we go through in our marriage, but the reality is – it might not be…and that’s ok. We’ll figure out whatever gets thrown our way, just like we have everything else.

They told me afterwards, just give it time. They said your body will know when it’s right. But for the girl who evidently gets pregnant just looking at her husband – having to wait months, and facing disappointment was new. I trusted it would be fine, I had no issues conceiving in the past, and I very easily recognized that despite the fact my body theoretically SHOULD be ok….it wasn’t. I’d already been pregnant twice in less than a year, and what I went through in August was traumatic on mind, body, and soul. Christmas was coming, and I got to this point that I told my sister-in-law that this was it – if I wasn’t pregnant I had come to this place of peace and decided I was done. Done with the migraines. Done with the feeling bad. Done pushing for something that just maybe wasn’t supposed to be.

Then I got really pissed at Hubs. I mean really pissed.

I NEVER get pissed like that. What was I mad at? I was home steaming shrimp for a fried oyster party because I don’t like oysters, and he neglected to inform me of the following:

A) he wasn’t coming home prior to the party – aka he was already there having fun.

B) There were copious amounts of crab legs too (which I love…as I’m slaving over the shrimp to take to the party that I didn’t need to take.)

C) He never told me a time to be there and now he’s wondering why I’m late….

Admittedly, some of you can easily see why I would be upset. But for me…the girl who never gets mad, that always rolls with the punches – I WAS PISSED. Like, really, really, PISSED.

And it was then that my friend Britt knew I was pregnant again.

I drank several glasses of wine (WHOOPS!!), refused to speak to my husband, and eventually calmed down:)

The next morning I took a pregnancy test (wayyyy too early) and went, “OHHHH shit.”

Do you know what it’s like to host a Christmas party with fifty people crowded all over your house, you can’t drink, and you’re not willing to tell anyone you peed on a stick that morning?? No? Well, it sucks.

So here we go again…

When I was pregnant with Munchkin, I KNEW he was a boy. Immediately. Instinctively.

When I got pregnant the next time – Same.

When I got pregnant again – Same.

When I got pregnant this time, I told Hubs to watch out. This one’s a girl.

And so it is. In August, Hubs, Munchkin, and I will welcome a baby girl to the family.

These last few months have given me time to reflect. While getting pregnant has never been my problem, getting a baby here on earth has. And it’s left me feeling grateful for a lot of things.

Munchkin is a freaking miracle.

All babies are special. I know that. But knowing what I know now…how we got Munchkin here without issue, I’ll never know or understand.

I have a genetic blood clotting disorder. Without the miscarriages, without losing our son, I would never have known until something catastrophic happened.

And unfortunately, my family knows all too well what catastrophic means. My grandfather died at 31 from a massive aneurysm. He was “healthy as a horse”, or so everyone thought until my grandmother found him dead in their bed three days after Christmas. My dad was 5. My aunt was 3. Nanny was 6 weeks pregnant with my uncle. Talk about being up poop creek…. what Nanny went through I just can’t imagine.

My dad has only one memory of his father, playing with his Christmas train set he’d just gotten on the living room floor. His siblings have no memories.

What I have is genetically dominant, and I’m heterozygous for it – meaning I received a copy of the gene from one of my parents. Likely my dad, given the family history. My dad has never had an issue, but he’s on medicine to hopefully prevent it from happening to him, as am I.

What if I hadn’t found out? What if I had a massive aneurysm in my early thirties, just like my grandfather? What if I’d left my husband with a toddler and a baby, but no momma to raise these precious humans.

We can spend our lives “what if-ing” and it won’t do us much good. But what I can do is be thankful.

Be thankful for an OB that wasn’t satisfied with not having an explanation for what happened to our son. That went to the ends of the testing world to figure out what happened, and then put together a game plan for how to handle it.

I can be thankful for all the support we got from friends, family, and strangers. For the random acts of kindness, the check-ins, visits, and phone calls.

I can be thankful that in August we’ll have a wild little girl to keep us on our toes, and an angel boy in heaven to watch over us.

So for those that have followed along on our journey, loved us up close, and loved us from afar. For those dealing with their own battles that just don’t feel like they can talk about it. For the lucky ones that didn’t have to go through Hell to get a baby, but want to understand what it’s like for their loved ones….

This is where we are.

I recently read and saw Dylan Dreyer’s (a Today Show anchor) openness regarding her own battle with trying to add to their family, and she said this: joy is joy, pain is pain. She shared joy at learning another person was having a baby, and pain over her own family’s struggle. All at the same time.

So, while we know pain, we very clearly know joy. And right now we’re basking in it. At 22w, I feel good finally! Pistol is cooking as expected, we’ve had an uneventful pregnancy thus far (much like Munchkin’s, and nothing like the last two)! She’s kicking, and growing, and stomping on my bladder for shits and giggles – which I’m perfectly ok with:) So, thanks for keeping up with us, the positive vibes, prayers, and everything else. Y’all rock.

And finally, may we all be good humans, like Dylan Dreyer, and able to share joy even in times of pain.

– Stilettos