30 weeks

30 weeks.  It sounds so old to me.  Now, when I hear of babies born at 30 weeks, I shrug my shoulders.  I'm not sure what is different about that first digit being a 3 versus a 2, but it seems to make all the difference in the world.  I'm officially 3/4 of the way through a NORMAL pregnancy, less than 2 months from full term.  Craziness.  I'm feeling very excited to be at this point.

Hannah's room is coming along.  We've got the walls painted now, which is huge!  Her crib is all set up with the hand made 3 tier ruffled bed skirt (tutorial here) and butterfly mobile.  It's nice to be physically able to make things for the room this time around.  And to feel like I can put more of myself into her room than I was able to with Warren and Dean.  I'll be posting pictures once we get a mattress because, well, cribs look funny without them...they're kind of important.  So, assuming we can figure out exactly which one we want, the pictures should be coming very soon :)

Approaching the 30 week mark for me also meant a spike in evening contractions.  I'm not at the point of calling the doctor yet since they are better throughout the day, but there is definitely a change in intensity with the evening hours.  I know some of that is related to being more active and getting Hannah's nursery ready vs lying on the couch in a constant state of miserable nausea. (So thankful that nausea is COMPLETELY gone)  But it's enough to cause me an initial fear of preterm labor being an issue.  Of course, I already established just having a 3- at the beginning of my gestation makes me feel so much more comfortable, but how wonderful would it be to have no NICU time and be able to take Hannah home with me right away?  I'm not even sure I know the answer to that question as it's so foreign to me.  But I'm clinging to that and the hope that we'll make it at least 5 more weeks to give us the best chance of coming home together.  That thought brings a smile to my face

All in a name

Our first three children's names were relatively easy, all names we talked about while dating or in the early stages of our marriage.  We knew Reagan would be our first daughter.  And we liked Warren and Dean equally, so it worked out extremely well that they were twins so we didn't have to choose.  But that was as far as we got in our planning process before reality set in, things got difficult, and we never knew if we would have any children, much less more than 3.  So, we never really discussed it again.

While silently facing infertility, our pastor did a sermon series on 1 Samuel.  I so wish I had downloaded it so I could go back and listen.  Anyway, 1 Samuel opens with the story of Hannah.  Hannah, suffering for many many years with infertility, watching her husband's other wife conceive and deliver child after child, tormenting her and rubbing it in her face.  I felt tormented, I felt like people were rubbing their fertility in my face as I got yet another baby shower invitation or saw another pregnancy/birth announcement come my way.  But the truth of the matter is, no one was doing that.  No one was actually making me feel like less of a woman.  No one, that is, except for myself.  But not the case with Hannah.  She faced this sense of failure in a very real way each and every day, being provoked constantly until she was weeping and unable to eat.  She wept to the Lord, cried out to Him.  And she pledged to give Him her son if she could only conceive.  I know a little of how that feels, though I didn't give my daughter by choice.  And I certainly wouldn't have if I had the option.  Regardless, it was the first time I listened to a sermon specifically on infertility, the first time I really felt like my struggles, the heartache involved in not being able to conceive, was addressed by anyone.  The first time I realized how much God cares for me and this struggle that no one else would talk about.  I remembered Hannah and how she continually took her petition to the Lord, how she trusted Him with her son Samuel, the faith required in that act.

Fast forward several years, 3 pregnancies and 4 kids later, and the scar and pain of infertility is still there.  There's still a part of me that struggles to wrap my head around the why.  And I know I haven't handled it with the grace and faith Hannah did.  But I find her and her story worthy of naming my second daughter after, and I can only pray my daughter will have the same faith, with trust in the Lord wholeheartedly as well.  And so we've decided on the name of this little one I am carrying..

Hannah Grace Savant

Warren and Dean have learned her name and seem to understand as much as possible that she is their little sister, just as Reagan is their big sister.  Both girls are included when they sing Jesus Loves Me, or when they talk about who loves them or who they love.  It melts my heart to see them stepping into their new role as big brothers.  I'm excited to meet little Hannah, hopefully not until November, but we'll take her any time she comes.  I'm ready to see if she looks like me, if she looks like her brothers or her daddy, or if she looks like her big sister.

3rd trimester

It's official.  I've surpassed all previous pregnancy milestones and duration.  I'm in the 3rd trimester.  Honestly, I thought it would feel more different than it does.  It's feels remarkably similar to the end of the 2nd trimester.  Maybe that is simply because once we got to the half way point, all indication was we would reach this point.  It's not a big surprise, though my heart still had it's doubts.  But medically, things were stable enough that it was fully expected that I would not deliver until the 3rd trimester.

It's exciting to have something normal.  (well, normal-ish given the frequency of my contractions)  To be doing things like scheduling my cesarean for mid November, to be applying lotion to my ever stretching itchy skin, to see new numbers on the scale never seen before.  And yet, it makes me realize how much I missed out on.  Funny how that works, how my mind can take such a blessing and make it about something else.  To take what God has given me and continue to compare it to what everyone else has.  Something is wrong with that.  It's not all the time, or even most of the time, but I hate that I couldn't reach this point with Reagan, Warren and Dean.  That my body seemed to fail time and time again as I couldn't provide them the best environment they needed to grow.  Though I know in my head that God watched over them, that He protected them, that His plan is good, it doesn't make it easy to know in my heart that I didn't fail my children.  All 3 of them.

But, things are moving forward.  We're cleaning out and painting another nursery, we've assembled another crib, and we're working really hard to teach toddler boys the meaning of the word "gentle."  I'll take some advice/expertise on that if anyone has some :).  Overall we are excited and ready to become a family of 6 as we wait for November to come!

26 weeks

I am now 26 weeks pregnant.  AND upright.  Wow.  Now, that is big.  I remember taking our maternity pictures at this point with the boys, standing briefly between contractions around the hospital, trying to keep a glowing smile on my face while wanting to cry out in pain.  I remember getting back to my room and being so exhausted from my wheelchair ride and time spent standing, getting an extra shot of terb that night and wondering if we had just made a huge mistake.  I love each and every picture we have, and I'm so grateful that our photographer was able to capture those moments and help create a background that looked nothing like the outside of a hospital I wasn't allowed to leave, creating some semblance of normalcy.  We were reassured several times that those few minutes would not have impacted the timing of our labor, so I have to trust in that.  Regardless, this time around, at 26 weeks, I'm sitting upright on my couch at home.  I'm taking my boys to the pool and swimming with them.  I'm getting things all ready in the nursery, making a mobile and bedskirt, helping put together a crib, deciding on the wall color.  I get more than my allotted 30 minutes of sitting time.  It's really quite wonderful to have something so "normal," something so many women take for granted.  God has been so gracious to us with this pregnancy, with this sweet little girl growing inside of me.  And, minus the whole morning sickness for the first 20 weeks part, I'm starting to see how people might actually enjoy being pregnant, being in awe and wonder at what is happening instead of living in constant fear.  I am trying to get over to that side, trying and struggling and failing, but God is working.

We are now 6 days away from when the boys were born, 6 days away from the moment our OB said very calmly that I had done everything I could, and he was going to take them "tonight."  So much terror in that moment as my mind flooded with all the things I should have done or things we should have tried or ways I had, once again, failed my children.  As I approach what will be the last of these milestones, the last moment to remind me of what went wrong in previous pregnancies, the last trigger for flashbacks and nightmares, I am thankful for these little reassuring kicks and understanding doctors and the prayers of our friends/family who are lifting us all up.  And I'm so ready for the moment when all I have ahead of me is something new!  

24 weeks and contractions

We have now hit 24 weeks.  This was a HUGE milestone with the boys.  The nurses celebrated with us, the doctors celebrated with us.  It felt like a little party was going on all day.  Viability.  Of course this little bubble was burst when our neonatologist came in and gave us the scary statistics on quality of life and disabilities if survival even happened.  Nevertheless, we had officially made it to our first goal.  With this child, even though there hasn't been months of complications, even though we were never once told she wouldn't make it, there's a little piece of me that just celebrates getting to the 24 week mark.  And it's a milestone that didn't have all the usual anxiety surrounding it.

So, I excitedly anticipated this 24 week point in pregnancy without the baggage that surrounds most of my other milestone points in pregnancy.  That made me all the more thrown when I started having more contractions.  I knew to expect them at 21 weeks with the stress of that moment and what it meant for my previous pregnancies.  But at 24?  No stress contractions should have occurred.  Yet I found myself downloading a contraction counter again and, sure enough, every 8 minutes.  Hmm...  I called the doctor.  When I finally got a return call, it was with instructions to rest and drink some water.  Awesome.  Very feasible with two two-year-olds at home.  Sure kids, get some dinner, put on your bibs, and play quietly while Mommy rests.  I was told to call in 2 hours with an update.  Two hours later I was still rocking Warren who, for some reason this week, has decided to start hysterical screaming after being in his crib for 5 minutes.  I didn't even bother to call.  What would I report...I haven't done anything you asked me to and I don't have a clue how frequently my contractions are coming?  That seems useless.  When I called before, it was during the end of naptime after I had been doing exactly what you prescribed and when I was able to monitor things.  Sigh...

As the night when on, contractions got closer together but not more intense, so I considered that to be a good sign and decided to forgo the trip to labor and delivery.  With Warren and Dean, I started getting contractions like this weeks before my first trip to the hospital.  Irritable uterus, they said.  I think that started around 17 weeks with them, so 24 this time around seems about right.  Regardless, a whole night resting, drinking lots of water, and peeing seemed to do the trick and I'm back down to my usual amount of contractions this morning.  Plus Andrew took the boys to the park after being gone for a few days so I can stay and rest.  Such a quiet morning.  I forgot how peaceful it is to drink my morning coffee while sitting down without little boy temper tantrums.  Add to it, Baby Girl seems to be enjoying the moment of calm and is kicking away.  I have to say, there is nothing better than little baby kicks as a gentle reminder that God is sustaining her (and me) in a way that I know is far bigger than me or my doctors.

Less than 3 weeks and I'll officially be the most pregnant I've ever been :)

22 weeks

There is something really special about hitting the 22 week mark.  A moment I never experienced with Reagan, a first for a little girl in our family.  And she's still healthy, another first for this moment.  I'm not lying in a hospital bed, I'm not hooked up to monitors, I'm not heavily medicated for strong, unrelenting contractions.  At this point with Reagan, we were saying goodbye and coming home empty handed.  At this point with Warren and Dean, we were praying I'd hang on for another 2 weeks so they'd have a chance of survival.  And the 3rd pregnancy?  Nothing.  Everything looks great.  At our check up on Tuesday, the specialist was confident that even if my contractions got worse, there was no way I'd deliver before 28 weeks.  Know what that means??  The 3rd trimester!  I've never experienced the third trimester.  I've delivered 3 babies in only 4 total trimesters.  Hmmm...  We are prayerfully optimistic that baby girl will make her appearance at some point much closer to term.

So...bring on the stretch marks, heartburn, and back aches that come with growing uncomfortably huge!

21.5 weeks

Today is the day.  The day that marks the point in pregnancy when we learned Reagan was gone.  The point in the pregnancy when I was given the news that my cervix was shortened and they couldn't guarantee labor could be stopped so I should prepare for the worst with Warren and Dean.  In one instance, God proved bigger than what the doctors could see and He saved my precious boys.  In the other, He took our daughter home too early.  In both, we were stripped of all our comforts and forced to rely on Him completely.

I'm at that point again.  And I'm terrified.  This child doesn't like to move much at all, she's calm.  Later in life, that will be an immeasurable blessing.  But right now?  It's terrifying.  I haven't felt her in the last 24 hours.  Nothing.  And I dropped weight while on vacation, which doesn't seem normal at all.  It's feeling all too familiar.  And I'm feeling like I'm on the verge of breaking down and retreating into my little hole.  Except for these two boys...and for reading them books, singing songs together, and watching them cook in their new little kitchen.  I've got some music playing softly in the background, and every minute or two one of them will start dancing.  I love seeing their innocence, the complete blissful ignorance toward the heart wrenching pain their mommy is feeling this morning.  I will hate the day when the world takes that from them.

We're heading out to an appointment in another hour, waiting to see our second little girl on the ultrasound screen.  And praying that all is well, that it's simply the stress of the day causing my symptoms (or lack of them).  Trying to trust in the Lord's plan for our life and in His goodness when it is just so hard and when our life looks nothing like what we pictured or planned.  It's all a bit overwhelming.

Half way

So, we've passed the half-way point.  Given that I'm, hopefully, going to have a cesarean around the 38-39 week mark, I actually would have passed that point over a week ago.  Regardless, I have mixed emotions about it.  This moment marks the last post I wrote while pregnant with Reagan, the first post I wrote while in labor with my boys.  And this time around?  Healthy.  No signs of any complications, no swelling, no bleeding, and all indication that the cerclage is doing it's job.  Maybe, once I'm past the next month, I can begin to relax.  Maybe.

In the mean time, we've started to plan out the nursery.  I was able to finish the baby blanket, crocheted in pink, grey, and yellow, to hang over the rocking chair.  I'm ordering fabric samples for the ruffled bed skirt.  We're planning how to rearrange furniture.  And, in the next few weeks, we'll order a crib.  I hesitate to get this far into the process, unsure of the future, doubting my body's ability and God's goodness.  But I am trying to walk in faith, trusting God to provide, to keep Baby Savant safe through delivery.  To allow us the sense of normalcy we so long for after 3 children born far too early.

A sneak peak of the start of an attempt to be crafty...

Missing

There is something just so difficult about family trips.  It's been there with weddings, with Christmases, and with reunions.  Someone is missing.  Our daughter.  Reagan isn't here to play with her brothers in the stream, to enjoy the taste of ice cream after playing in the park, to dance to the music in the house.  It feels so wrong.  A piece of me is always missing.

We're at the point in our lives now where things are busy, hectic, and distracted.  Though I have moments throughout the week where my heart aches at thinking of how much Reagan would enjoy doing whatever it is we're doing together as a family, it's not quite so in your face.  It's more of a subtle ache, the hole I've grown used to.  I'm not quite sure how to handle this new wave of emotion and loss I seem to be feeling this week.

We're 20 weeks pregnant.  The next 2 weeks will be so hard.  Waiting to see if these constant contractions are going to send me into labor, if I'll wind up in the hospital again.  Ultimately waiting for our appointment at 21+4 to see if our second daughter is still thriving.  If everything still checks out.  The waiting is awful.  The nightmares are awful.  The flashbacks are awful.  I'm not really sure how else to describe it, another word to put in there.  I'm terrified.  And waiting for the bad news to hit.  And not sure how to trust God with any of this when I still can't wrap my head around what's happened over these past several years.  So, please pray for us as we wait and try to trust.

Fear

We're having another little girl.  I've had a few days to let that sink in.  We suspected girl from the very beginning.  Everything about this pregnancy felt exactly like Reagan's: unrelenting morning sickness, fatigue, the way I was carrying.  I had a few doubts simply because when I gave birth to boys, there were 2 of them, and I had complications from the beginning.  So maybe that was why that pregnancy felt vastly different.

Anyway, I had fears and dreams before our big reveal that I was going to have another boy.  Not that I wouldn't love another little boy, I would.  And I would cherish every second I got to spend being his mother.  But because my heart still longs so much to do little girl things.  All the things we dreamed of doing with Reagan.  All the hair bows and dresses, tea parties and dolls, pink and purple.  I long to have a child wear Reagan's little things, use her blankets.  Though I know the first time I pull each of those items out it will reopen a wound, cause me to grieve all over again, I hate seeing them hang unused in the closet.  All that to say, I knew I would have another moment of grieving if I was carrying a boy...not because of disappointment over having a boy but because of continued hurt over not having our daughter.  I mentally prepared for blue balloons to come flying out of my box.  I mentally prepared for pink balloons to come flying out of my sister's box.

There was such joy and peace when I first saw my fate: pink.  We celebrated this baby girl and all she means to us.  I'm in a much different place than when I was pregnant with the boys.  Goodness knows I've aged at least 15 years since then!  I know God was incredibly wise to give me boys so close to Reagan's death, knew that I couldn't have handled a girl then.  But I really am excited to have this precious little one home with us, to add some pink into our lives, to teach the boys how to play gentle and how to care for their baby sister.  I am genuinely excited for our daughter and what that will look like for our family.  It doesn't take away the pain, not even a little bit, and will probably bring forth more feelings I've buried deep, but I am okay with that.

So...why fear?  Where does this fear come to play?  Well, it's with being pregnant with another girl.  Not having her, not caring for her, but that my body will fail again.  I'm at 18 weeks.  I have a lot of scary milestones coming up in the next 2 months.  I was just going along, not too nervous (probably because I was still so sick all day) until after we learned I was carrying a girl.  Nothing changed biologically, there was no increased risk at that point over the day before, but I suddenly find myself interpreting everything.  I want to go into the doctor all the time.  I find myself coming up with reasons in my head why things might not be okay.  I went swimming today, maybe now there's an infection.  Warren stepped on me, maybe he squashed her.  Dean kicked me, maybe I'll start bleeding.  Add to that, contractions have started in this past week.  Ugh, the contractions.  I recognize these are not contractions that are causing any sort of labor, Braxton Hicks or irritable uterus or whatever you want to call it.  But it's there, and it's scary.  Carrying a girl, trusting that God will provide, it's scary.  In the back of my mind there's this terrible thought: I can't do it.  My body isn't compatible with girls.  We never really learned what happened with Reagan...what if it happens again.  I feel like I'm holding my breath, waiting to get past 21 weeks and 4 days.  The last day I ever saw Reagan.  The day I went into labor with the boys and doctors didn't think we'd make it through the night.

And yet, I know this is a different pregnancy.  I know God is bigger than this.  I know His plan is good.  I know now, as I sit and write this while being kicked inside, that God has performed miracles before, and He will again.  Trusting in that in my heart is the hard part.  But we're getting there, one day at a time.

It's a girl!!

This weekend we had the joy of doing a gender reveal with my sister.  How often do sisters get to find out what they're having at the exact same time?  Despite some confusing counting, we both flipped the lids off the box to reveal what we're carrying at the same time.

I learned that Katy and I both hate crafting.  We're not that bad at it, but it doesn't come naturally and causes much frustration.  I love pinning little crafty things, love the idea of handmade tissue paper balls and making the boxes my own, but in actuality...I'd much rather someone else do them.  I have no patience for all things crafty.  That being said, we did a pretty good job I think of getting it all put together, if I do say so myself.  Here's some shots of the party:

Our ultrasound pictures, signed in blue/pink by our dear family based on their guesses

Katy and I.  You'd never know she was 4 weeks ahead of me!  Sigh to baby bumps the 3rd time around.  But totally worth all the changes!

Blue/Pink punch, popcorn, and dip.  Props to Katy for making the streamers

These tissue paper pom poms: harder than they look.

Beautiful flowers

The expectant parents!

Pre balloon release.  These things are huge.  Nearly 45 feet of wrapping paper.  But cutting out letters is a great activity for surgery recovery, just FYI.

It was so special to have ALL of our family there, on all sides.  How often can that happen?  We really appreciate everyone making the trip so we could reveal together.  A little more fun than the text we sent out after our ultrasound with the boys.  So, after Warren and Dean woke up, we headed outside for the results.  I think everyone will have already seen these, but here are some pictures capturing the moment.

And there you have it. Our exciting party, exciting news as we plan to welcome a little girl this fall and my sis prepares for her new baby boy. 

Cerclage

There's been an ongoing struggle for me through this pregnancy: cerclage or no cerclage.  We discussed with our great docs to possibility before the transfer even happened and had it in our head that would be our plan.  But our specialist said we could also follow the cervix length regularly and wait to see.  Maybe everything went bad last pregnancy simply because it was twins (and at times, triplets with that clot hanging out in there) and my body wasn't ready for all the stretching.  Maybe.  Did we want to chance it?  The cerclage itself wasn't without risk, so which direction should we go?  Ultimately, we were given a 40% chance of needing an emergency cerclage placed later in pregnancy.  That seemed high to me, especially given the success rate of "emergent cerclages" at less than 50%.  Eek.  So, in the end, we opted to go for it.

There is something utterly terrifying about being wide awake in the OR, particularly if you are the one on the table.  Last time I was wide awake in the OR too, but was having 2 babies pulled out of me so somehow that was different, more tolerable.  This time I was nervous, incredibly so, as I was sitting on the OR table waiting for my spinal.  The numbing injection burned, then came the epidural.  Ouch.  I don't remember it hurting that much last time.  Oh wait, says anesthesiologist, that's not going into your spine, I seem to be hitting bone. Eek.  Take 2.  More numbing injections, another epidural, and searing pain shooting down my leg into my toes.  My left leg is all tingly and burning.  Here's the problem, my right leg is fine.  I can move it, I can lift it.  My pelvis, also fine.  Hmm...  Anesthesiologist says Oh wait one more time.  It's not working.  Seriously??  By this point I have tears streaming down my face, for 2 totally different reasons.  First, those spinals HURT.  To have it pierced twice was just too much for me.  Second, I'm not terrified for baby.  We were told the spinal was a better option because there was no risk to baby.  Now, I'm facing general anesthesia, which causes crazy reactions in my body, which I don't metabolize well at all, and which is delivered to baby.  Suddenly the risk seems like too much.  And just as I'm thinking that, I drift off to sleep.

I wake up 2 hours later in recover, convulsing and shaking, oxygen monitors signaling loudly that I'm not breathing.  It takes a team I'm only vaguely familiar of to calm things down.  I hate anesthesia.  But, because I can wiggle my toes so quickly (as the spinal never completely worked) I am quickly taken to a private room to wait it out.  It's nearly 4 hours later before left leg starts working and I can head home.  I now have a raging spinal headache.  Of course.

Fast forward 2 days, and that whole ordeal is worth it.  We get to have another ultrasound of baby, get to watch him/her kicking and scratching and moving all around.  The cerclage is in a great place, the cervix is closed, the baby is healthy.  That is ultimately the goal, and it's accomplished.  All medical efforts have been done to ensure this baby makes it to the 3rd trimester.  But here's the thing, ultimately, it doesn't matter what we do.  (of course it does to some extent, God gives us brains to think with and has enabled for these medical advances.  Such an excuse to just sit by and do nothing...).  Anyway, it doesn't matter what the odds, for or against, because our God is in control.  I know full well how frail my body it, how weak.  Yet, God is strong enough for all of us, and He can carry this child.  Such a comfort.

And, more exciting news, we get to find out TOMORROW what we are having.  Yay!  Pictures and official announcement to come very soon!

US #2

4/17

Ok, so I had my first unscheduled emergency ultrasound yesterday.  Sigh.  I'm being haunted by symptoms of pregnancies past - spotting, cramping, pain.  The nurse has reassured me that these are all extremely common with IVF because of all the medications.  But for me, it brings me back to my previous pregnancies, to the trauma and terror I associate with those.  I may be "one of those women" but I don't have a healthy or normal pregnancy to compare this to.

All that to say, Baby Savant looked great.  Heart beat was strong, you could start to make out more than just blob on the ultrasound.  And my sweet doc is bringing me in one more time before releasing me to my OB and MFM specialist.

Otherwise, nausea is being somewhat controlled by my new meds.  But I've quit praying that I would be healed of this horrific nausea because I just cannot handle not having it.  Weird?  Absolutely.  But I had a 24 hour period with essentially no nausea (which corresponded with my new pain symptoms) after over 48 hour of unrelenting, can't get out of bed nausea.  I freaked.  That scared me just as much as the cramping pain I was having.  I didn't realize until then how much comfort the nausea brought.  Though I'd rather have LESS nausea, NO nausea was not good for my heart.  And revealed all the more how much I doubt.  I don't trust that God will answer my prayers, I'm surprised when He does.  And I still don't trust God with my child, at least not yet.  I pray I will get there, but I just feel let down in the past.  Which is ridiculous as I watch my 2 little miracles shovel pasta and peas in their mouths with their hands, passing their water cup back and forth.  It's a disgusting yet beautiful process to watch them eat.  God did that.  Doctors didn't, doctors didn't think they would make it,  Yet here they are, and in-my-face, everyday reminder of God's goodness.

1st US

4/7/15

Woo hoo!!  These are the only words I can think of to describe the relief that there is only 1 baby growing in my belly.  We've always known the risk of identical twins is much higher in IVF than in the regular population and with as sick as I've been, that was definitely a fear.  Praise the Lord there is one baby with a nice, strong heart beat.  AND...no blood clot!  YES!  That's right, for the first time ever I've had a 1st trimester ultrasound without a scary clot.  Reagan's disappeared quickly, the boys' haunted me throughout the pregnancy, and this little guy has nothing.  Such a relief, a HUGE blessing and answer to prayer.  We are so excited.

So, what does that mean?  It means, right now, I have to wait 2 full weeks before another ultrasound.  Really?  TWO weeks?  I've never waited that long.  And yet, I am filled with comfort in knowing, beyond doubt, that I am in fact very pregnant.  The bulging belly, heartburn, and fatigue are nice gentle reminders.  The overwhelming and horrific nausea is the in-my-face reminder.  I have never felt so horrible in my life.  And yet, I know that God is using that to reassure my fleeting heart and doubting mind that this child is growing strong.

So...here's a pic of the little guy/girl/blob.

6 weeks, 4 days

I have now officially made it the longest in a pregnancy without requiring an emergency ultrasound due to bleeding.  First when we lost Reagan's twin, and with the boys because of severe pain and spotting.  We have passed the first of our many hurdles.  And I'm feeling good.  Okay, that's a complete lie.  I feel like crap.  All I want to do is lie on the bathroom floor with a cold rag.  Ugh.., nausea and "morning" aka all day sickness has hit with full force.  Interesting how I don't remember much of the nausea with the boys.  I remember it for sure with Reagan, but maybe the stress of everything else with the boys made me forget all about the nausea.  How does one care for the kiddos while wanting to die all day?  Hmm...haven't mastered that one just yet.  And yet, in these days as we wait for the 8 week ultrasound, it's a huge blessing to feel so awful.  There is no doubt in my mind that I am definitely pregnant.  A little less intense nausea would be nice, but I'm sure if that was the case I would be struggling with doubts and freaking out that I wasn't feeling sick enough.  So, I'm just going to be grateful for the horribleness that is "morning" sickness, grateful we've made it this far without any complications, and grateful I serve a God who doesn't give me what this doubting heart deserves.

Positive :)

3/15/15

We found out on Andrew's birthday that we are, in fact, expect again.  YAY!  Another positive test, another little life.  We are in a state of shock, as all odds told us this one would have to fail.  We hoped, we prayed, but there was always this little nagging voice in the back of my head reminding me that it just wasn't likely.  And yet, God proved once again that He is bigger than all our stats and all the medical odds.  Honestly I just shouldn't look at them anymore.

We had some moments of excitement, we celebrated with a dinner out and the purchasing of an adorable gender-neutral newborn sleeper, and then the fears started taking over.  What if I miscarry?  What if my body fails again?  What if I start hemorrhaging while I'm out with the boys?  What if I have to go on bed rest?  Who will care for our children?  What if this one dies too?  What if he/she is born too early again?  And on and on AND ON my mind raced.  I feel like we have these weeks to count down to...if we can just get past 6 weeks, past 8 weeks, past 11 weeks...then I can relax.  Except there seems to be another milestone always right around the corner.  Maybe once I get to 27 weeks?  Then I can relax?  Though I'm sure I'll have something else to worry about then.  It's really sad.  And it shows me several things.  First, this could potentially be a long and miserable pregnancy even if there are really no problems.  I can create that all by myself.  And second, I really do not trust God with my babies.  If I did, I would rest in His glory and peace.  But I don't.  I feel like I can't.  Which is ridiculous.

All that to say, we are super excited, super nervous, and absolutely terrified about these coming months.  Which one wins depends on the day.  Please pray for us as we wait.

Happy Birthday Andrew!  Here was his last present of the day.  Subtle, but the best way I could include all our kiddos.

Transfer #3

Written 3/5/15

I'm sitting here with Dean on my lap watching Warren pushing chairs around the kitchen.  In the last 5 minutes there have been no less than 4 temper tantrums.  We sometimes average slightly less than 1 a minute.  Sigh.  But I love it.  Love the craziness of these boys.  Love how Dean puts 100% into everything he does.  Love how Warren follows him around and gives me a little smirk before he does something wrong.  (Ok, confession...as I am writing that sentence about Warren, Dean walks up and bites me.  We have time-out.  Warren poops.  I change his diaper.  See...craziness!)

Today, we are taking a step toward increasing the chaos of our lives.  I am simultaneous terrified and excited beyond words.  I am ready for another baby in our lives, ready for the sleepless nights and crying.  (or as ready as anyone can really be)  What causes the terror is the idea of pregnancy.  Let's face it, my track record is poor to say the least.  Pregnancy has never been easy, from getting pregnant to staying pregnant.  After saying goodbye to Reagan, we said we wanted to give all our children a chance.  (eek...that was 12 embryo at that time).  After the boys, watching them in the NICU, I wasn't so sure.  We're taking steps to prevent as many complications as possible, but honestly it's completely out of our hands.  And maybe that scares me the most...knowing that I don't have control.  It was a wonderful, freeing thought with Warren and Dean.  To know that the doctors didn't have to be right, to know that God was bigger than them and all the statistics.  And today, we're faced with slim statistics again (with regards to the transfer being successful at all) and my instinct is to take back complete control, to try to figure out what I can say or do to make it work on our end.  I diminish God and His power when I have thoughts that maybe if I pray more or study scripture more or say/think the right things then He will bless me with this child.  Because, then it's not really at all about God and all about me thinking I might, what, trick Him?  It's ridiculous, to write it all out.  But as I was not sleeping last night, these were the thoughts going through my head.

In just a few hours, I'll take my dose of Valium and, in a slightly dazed state, I will see my 5th child for the first time.  I'll meet the child who maybe shared a spot next to Dean.  (Wow, this is all so weird).  And I'll have to trust,wholeheartedly and with everything I have, that God is in control of this child's life, that He has a plan, and that His plan is better than mine.

Not sure if I'll ever post this, as we have kept our news of transfer quiet this time.  But I wanted to document my thoughts in the moments I am having them.  We are praying for a successful transfer and for peace as we wait.  If you're reading this, then we already know one way or another.  If you're not seeing posts announcing pregnancy with a cute picture of some sort, well, then you know.  Reagan will be playing with another sibling in heaven.  Oh, trusting is so incredibly hard...

Maternity pictures!!

Last Friday, we got special permission from our doctor to go down to the hospital grounds for pictures. It was one of those times I was so thankful to be at Presby, which is so much more visually appealing than CMC.  So I get ready gradually over the afternoon, sitting up for a few minutes at a time to put on my face and do the hair. And God blessed us with a cool evening so I could wear my maternity clothes from Reagan, which felt more special than something borrowed frantically (though thanks to everyone who lent me clothes, and my mother-in-law who went shirt shopping for me!) I did have a second outfit picked out but was much too exhausted to make it thru another round.

We were also blessed with a wonderful photographer, Rebecca Perkins, who not only offered to help make our photography dreams come true, but offered to drive 4+ hours round trip to reach us once we wound up in the hospital! We couldn't be more thankful for her efforts. And no one would even know we were in a hospital!  Here's a few from our preview...love them!  

Nothing's easy...

So...just learned that, in addition to everything else going on, I have gestational diabetes. Great. My body was just not made for this. I often wonder if that's why I had so many complications that prevented us from conceiving naturally. And then I think about our 10 little freezer babies and how we had planned to have them all, and I just want to cry. I don't know if I could endure this again, much less 10 more times!  So maybe the diabetes explains why the boys are so big, which I was once excited about. Not anymore...I'm just so thankful they continue to do well despite their hostile environment. 

But things are moving forward. We've been blessed by friends and family with showers and now have finally started on the nursery.  Well, our moms have, anyway. But I've seen pictures and it looks good! The paint sample we had from when we were deciding colors for Reagan remains and was transformed into a butterfly in honor of her.

The walls are yellow, the chair is ordered,and the clothes are hung. We have a general plan for everything else and will work on that once I get home in a few weeks (still hoping to go home by July 4 in celebration of 28 weeks!). And we have maternity pictures scheduled for tomorrow. I got special permission to go on the hospital grounds (grass!) in my wheelchair for the occasion. I was concerned very briefly we were doing them too early in the pregnancy, as I'll only be 26 weeks, but then Mary-Catherine informed me that I was becoming torpedo shaped. So, better now than when I reach that gross pregnancy stage where I will no longer allow photos to be taken (and we keep praying I reach that stage!)

26 weeks tomorrow, such a miracle! One month of hospital living down, hopefully just 2 more weeks to go!

Torpedo? Maybe in another week!

Going crazy

So, my original thought was: I've been on bedrest for 15 weeks, what difference does it make to me if I'm at home or in the hospital??  Let me just tell you, BIG difference. Yes, I would spend the day passing time much the same way. And there were weeks at home when I wouldn't see anyone besides Andrew outside of my weekly appointment. But I had a routine, and it involved bedresting in 3 different locations. I'd start in the bed, eat my breakfast there, read to the boys, etc. Then I'd move to the game room, eat my snack, watch whatever was on the DVR, read a book. Then downstairs. Lunch on the couch, sometimes sitting outside to eat, back to the couch to work on projects for the boys while watching my way thru Grey's Anatomy from the beginning. Gets monotonous, days passed by slowly, but I had some flexibility on my modified bedrest time.

Key word in that? Modified. I now get 30 minutes seated each day and can get up to use the bathroom. I spend the per 23.5 hours in the hospital bed, on my side, oftentimes just staring at the wall. I swear the walls are moving closer to me. Little by little. When I am having bad days, lots of contractions and pain, I don't mind the tiny room, the fact that I hear my neighbors flush their toilets, the beeping of IVs and all hospital noises. I am thankful to be in a place where meds can be adjusted, tests can be run, etc to give my boys the best chance. But I've had 2 good days in a row now. And the thought of staying here another 4 weeks makes me want to pull my hair out. The stress of all this is going to make me super attractive...wrinkled, grey balding hair, pregnancy fluff.  Andrew brought up some newborn outfits for the boys to put in the room to remind me why. And every time I see them (thanks Auntie MC!) I remember why. It's not about me or what I'm going thru. It's about our little boys and the life they will have. 

We'll be 24 weeks tomorrow!  Doctors keep telling us that is huge, though I'd like to make it another 10. I got my final steroid dose today to help the little guys lungs develop. And hopefully when they're still cooking at 28 weeks we'll do another dose. But they are looking so good on ultrasound and moving all the time. Here's the latest pictures for you non-facebookers.  They get really hard to have good shots of now that they're wedged in there so tight.