Yes, it's "another" girl. No, we aren't disappointed. REALLY PEOPLE?

Apparently, when you find out you're having a second child the same sex as the first child, it's a free for all for people to comment on how 'that's too bad,' and ask 'will you be trying for a third to get that [opposite sex child]?', and say 'tsk, tsk, I feel sorry for you/your husband [depending on if you are having two boys or two girls]'.  (Minor aside and biology lesson for people who bring up the "is Chris disappointed?" line: it's his sperm that are determining this, so...) I know people with two boys get the same response and they are equally frustrated.

It's a bit shameful to reflect upon, but when I was pregnant with Carys, I talked about how I had hoped she would be a boy before I found out she was a she.  I admit it, and I regret it now. I had my reasons, as shallow as they might be: I wanted any girls I had to have a big brother (something I'd ALWAYS wanted growing up), and I wanted a boy because of my history with loss.  In an oft-used analogy, I'd been on the boy train with Caleb, and that train got derailed so suddenly and unexpectedly that there were still fantasies of the life I would have had with a boy swimming in my head: the nursery I would have designed, the little plaid shirts, the post-bath faux-hawks.  I somehow felt like the spirit of the boy we'd lost would come back in the next, living boy and that I'd be able to get right back on that train and continue the journey I'd been on previously. 

Of course, life doesn't work like that, and we didn't have a boy. We had a girl. And when I found out while pregnant that we were indeed having a girl, I quickly adjusted to the idea and never looked back.  In reality, having a girl was probably the best thing that could have happened: she was a completely separate child from Caleb and not a replacement or reincarnation.  It was unfair to the baby I was carrying to expect it to be a new Caleb, and it probably would have taken a while to get over that idea had it indeed been a boy. I could never imagine Carys not being Carys: she was exactly what we needed, the exact perfect first baby for us, the best child I could ever have hoped for, boy or girl. And she's a rough-and-tumble little girl who is obsessed with golf, loves mud, dirt, dinos, zombies, farts, and motorcycles AND love babies, dresses, nail polish, and helping me cook, so (not to brag) (totally bragging) but we completely got the best of both worlds.

[Super Side Note: this is why those "#allboy and #allgirl tags all over Instagram drive me nuts, even though I know they're meant innocently. Loving to play in the dirt isn't "all boy" - it's "all toddler."  Climbing and running and jumping and being daring isn't reserved for just little boys. Dressing up or playing with a doll isn't something just little girls do - I know plenty of little boys who enjoy a good tiara now and then. I don't want Carys to ever stop enjoying the things she loves because she thinks they're for boys, and on the flip side would never want to insinuate a boy shouldn't love something typically considered girly.]

Though I thought I had a sex preference with Carys, with Baby Squish, I truly did not care. There are incredible things to be had either way. So when I found out it was a girl, I was ecstatic. I was (and am) absolutely in love with the idea of sisters, and think that the bond between two sisters can be like nothing else in the world.  My sisters are some of my best friends, and my mom has the same bond with her sisters.  And, you know, BONUS: I'd get to re-use all Carys's clothes. And damnit, she has cute clothes!  Plus, I love saying "my girls" and "the girls."  I truly could not be more excited to have welcomed our second little girl into the world. Although it'd be JUST LOVELY if the comments expressing disappointment on Chris's and sometimes my behalf would stop, since, you know, we're not disappointed. A family is not a perfect family only if it contains two parents and at least one child of each gender.

Will we ever have a third (or fourth or tenth)? I have no idea. I mean, holy cow, let me see how I do with two first. I might fall apart completely; who knows? Two might be my limit.  But if I can handle two like I picture myself handling two (please let me handle two?!?!), then I could see trying to convince Chris to go for a third. Right now he's good with two, but maybe with enough, ahem, spirited debate I could get another one out of him. But right now? Two is perfect.

If we do go for three, I cannot even begin to imagine the comments that would happen should we find out that we were having another girl.  I don't know yet if I'll have a preference, though I'm sure there would be some external pressure for a boy.  But I wouldn't be having a third child to try for a boy, I'd be having a third child to have a third child.  Novel idea, right??  If it was a girl, my first thought, I think, would be OMG THREE SISTERS HOW FUN!  There might be a twinge of disappointment in realizing that I'd never get to raise a boy and that the door would be closed on that opportunity since I sincerely doubt we'd ever have four kids.  So I would be sad at first about that, perhaps.  And that's okay, I think - it's okay to mourn the closing of any door, as long as you don't do it at the expense of the other door behind you that DID open.  It's complicated for me, I think, because I buried a son, but have never raised one.  A re-do there, with a chance to finish what I once started, would be nice.  But importantly, I understand now that it doesn't matter - your kid is going to be absolutely perfect either way and you'll love them completely. So if we decide to have a third, wayyyyyy into the future, we wouldn't be trying to have a boy; it'd be to have a third kid regardless of the sex. It's a 50/50 shot, after all.

But yeah. Don't feel the need to express sympathy that we have two amazing, gorgeous girls and are thrilled beyond belief with our family. We're pretty fricking happy. (Note: no one has done that on this blog, since blog readers are a sophisticated bunch, right? It's only happened in real life, to my face - which is almost worse!)

One day...

One day you're going to look at the beautiful snow globe on your dresser and be able to read the name inscribed on it. And you'll ask.

"Who's Caleb, mommy?"

And I will have to find a way to tell you about the baby that came before you, the brother you should have known, and why I'm sad sometimes.  It will be hard and sad and it's a conversation no one should ever have to experience.

I could hide it from you, but he's a part of our family and a big part of who I am today. And perhaps in knowing his story, you'll know how even more special you are to us.

Two years ago today, your big (though very little) brother was born, and I had no idea where my life would go from there. Today I have you, my beautiful, sweet little girl, but two years ago I had another baby, a beautiful, sweet little boy, who will always be with us.

Birth and Death

Sadly, Chris's grandmother died last night.  In an odd series of events, the cause went from being a stroke to a brain tumor to not a brain tumor but some other type of mass in the brain to gout (gout??!?!). So in other words, I have no idea what happened and she could have been run over by a rampaging llama for all I know.  It's very sad, but her husband passed away less than a year ago and she was in her late 80's, so not entirely unexpected.  She was a beautiful woman with a sharp sense of humor who loved to knock her husband down a peg (he was still a ladykiller at 90 and knew it), play cards (and beat the piss out of the "old people" at the home), and drink (it was never too early - we'd get there at 10am and she'd offer us a cocktail).  We'll definitely miss her and I'm so sad she missed the baby by literally weeks.

We have to travel 45 minutes for the funeral and surrounding family events, and being 9 months pregnant has certainly put a twist on the usual mourning thoughts, like:

1. What is the protocol if your water breaks in the middle of a funeral?
2. If I went into labor there, would I have time to drive back to my hospital here in town or would I be forced to deliver at a hospital there? 
3. Where can I strategically place myself during the funeral so I can pee at least two or three times without bringing more attention to myself than the smuggling-a-basketball-in-my-dress look will already be attracting?
4. Driving for 45 minutes = ouch, my poor poor vagina and ribs.
5. Maybe Chris can take all bumpy back roads on the way home since that's supposed to help encourage labor and at that point (Monday) I'll be full term.
6. Is it really bad that I'm thinking all this stuff instead of concentrating on, you know, the whole death thing? Is there some evolutionary standard that makes it so you can't think of anything but BABY. BABY. OMG BABY. BABY COMING SOON. MUST THINK OF BABY!? Because everything comes back to this damn baby lately. Ok. Lately? More like for the past 32 weeks. Since I first peed on the stick.
7. Man, there is going to be a LOT of drinking at this family gathering and I won't be able to partake. 
8. OMG, don't forget to refill your Tums stash in your purse otherwise it could get interesting. And embarrasing. And there's no dog there to blame it on.

I'm looking forward to seeing all Chris's family again since I haven't seen them since his grandfather passed away, but I do wish it was happier circumstances. They're a fun bunch in less depressing situations.  I do like picturing his grandma and grandpa together again, since I'm sure John (grandpa) got sick of chasing all the hot young angels in short dresses around (that's what I see at Halloween and I'm pretty sure that's based on biblical truth) and missed Kathie (grandma) a lot. And she probably missed having someone around to roll her eyes at and to share a drink with at 9am (we think grandma was probably pickled).

Rest in peace, grandma Kathie. And thank you for not going on the same day that the baby was born so that I didn't have to wonder the rest of my life if she was actually your reincarnated being! (See: everything goes back to the baby. Sigh.)

One Year

It's frankly impossible to believe that one year ago today I delivered Caleb. Impossible in every way - how did I survive a full year after my baby died? How has it been that long? How hasn't it already been a lifetime?

It's hard to be sad when there's this little girl bouncing off the (uterine) wall and making me smile with each movement (but, uh, if you could just scoot off that sciatic nerve it'd be great, honey!).  But it still hits me like a ton of bricks: what I was doing this time last year (at this exact hour, I was laying in a recovery room on the opposite side of the maternity ward from all the happy families). What I was feeling. How different I am now.  Then, I never thought I'd get to where I am now.  But I'm here, and I'm grateful to be here. I wish it had been a different path. Oh, how I wish. But I'm here.

Happy birthday, tiny man. I miss you.

Sex. But not the fun kind. Just the genital kind.

This is a post I wrote immediately after finding out that we were having a little girl, so eight weeks ago.  Up front, because of the content, I want to make it entirely clear that given days and weeks to process the information, my feelings have done a complete 180, and I am way beyond excited about our baby girl. However, my feelings in the instant we found out were very conflicted and very confusing, and I want to share them with you in the hopes that anyone else who has been through this - or is on their way to going through this - can find solace and comfort.

________________________________________________________

This is a hard post to write, and one that is likely to get me in trouble with some of the baby loss community.  I thought a long time about writing this post before I decided to do it. I know from talking to a few others that these emotions aren't unique to me and others have experienced them - but that they felt terrible and guilty for it.  So I wanted to write about it and get it out there in case others had this taboo experience. And I want to clarify before I put anything else down on paper (er, virtual paper) that I love this baby more than anything, even cookie dough ice cream [I'm not even sure I love Chris that much] [okay I do], and I am beyond excited that it's a girl.  The sweet little baby dresses and feminine nursery prints that are quickly stacking up in the soon-to-be nursery can attest to that.

But the truth is, I cried when I found out. Several times. Hard. Like snotty nose hard.

When I found out Caleb was a boy right after he was born, it was an extra rub of salt in the wound (I talk about this in the birth story a bit). Growing up, I'd always wanted an older brother and because of that I'd hoped to have a boy first, and I had secretly suspected that Chris wanted a boy, too. (Doesn't every man? Since, like, God?) And after he was born, it was hard not to imagine what life with a little boy would have been like.  I fell hard for those visions of snips and snails and puppy dog tails. A baby boy nursery was completely finished in my mind. Blue and green cloth diapers, rough and tumble, maybe a toddler fauxhawk, sending my kindergartner off to practice in a giant hockey uniform, as a high schooler watching out for his little sister.  It was a vision that I wanted to fulfill so badly I could taste it.

I had this irrational thought that if this was a boy, it would be like we never lost our first. I was completely aware that this wasn't a replacement child or the same child, but in some way it would be like it was the same spirit.  My pregnancy would have just lasted 15 months, like an elephant or something.  The baby would just have been delayed in arriving. I realize that doesn't mesh with me saying that I was aware it wasn't the same child, but somehow both truths existed at the same time. I'm magic, yo.

Finding out this was a girl was really hard. I won't say devastating, because it wasn't. I know what devastating is.  I've lived through devastating.  But in that moment, it was like Caleb died all over again.  It wasn't that I didn't want a girl - I did. Badly, even. I have a great relationship with my mom and want that with a daughter. But I wanted to fulfill those original visions, dammit.  And I really wanted my daughter to have an older brother to lead the way, something I always wanted when I was growing up.  It was like I was finally back on the train that had derailed so quickly and suddenly and devastatingly when Caleb died, only to find out that it was going to a different final destination.

And of course it is. Because this is a different baby.  A different baby that isn't our first baby. And that's okay. But I'm scared. What if Caleb was our one boy and those dreams of baby fauxhawks are never fulfilled? What if our daughter never gets to have a brother and misses out on the great fun that I had with my brother (even if he WAS younger than me and not older). What if our only boy died? That's a really, really hard thought to accept. I always wanted at least one of each.  That's such a naive thought, I know now. Dream of healthy and living babies, not of a perfect family with one boy and one girl.

This baby girl, I already feel like I failed her. She was always going to be here - she just is arriving sooner rather than later - but she was supposed to have an older brother to watch out for her, here, on this earth, not from wherever he is now.  A brother to tease her, teach her how to pee standing up, and intimidate future boyfriends. She was supposed to have experienced parents, ones who have already been around the block and know the drill.  A mom that nursed before, a mom that used cloth diapers before, a mom that knows the difference between fussy and colicky. She wasn't supposed to carry the burden of being a "rainbow" baby (a term the baby loss community uses to describe a baby that comes after a loss) or have a mom that might not ever be able to fully explain just how this pregnancy saved her in ways that will never be understood.

She's not even born yet, and I feel like she's missing out on so much by being the rainbow baby. 

But I'm head over heels in love with this little girl. That's another reason why it's so hard.  Because I'm already worried about her for the rest of her life. Girls have to put up with a lot of shit in their lives (come on, we're STILL making $.75 to the dollar a man makes??), and I don't want that for her. Not to mention that since children automatically like what their parents hate, she'll probably idolize Sarah Palin and love pink glitter.  She'll likely come out of the womb waving a sparkle wand wearing a tiara demanding that I enter her in the next glitz beauty pageant, like right now, MOM. I mean, we already saw in an ultrasound picture that she was rockin' a crown. I'm scared about seeing her sexy pictures on Facebook or whatever social networking site is the big thing in 15 years and telling her that she is NOT going out of the house in that outfit, over my dead body and I definitely definitely DEFINITELY do not want to see her on "16 and Pregnant," or any MTV show for that matter. Unless it's called "Nice Girls with Good Grades who Don't Have Sex and Dress Appropriately."

Please God let the Amish way of life become SUPER DUPER stylish in exactly 13 years. And then last for at least 10 years. I'm totally willing to learn to churn butter.

THUS ENDS ANY ATTEMPT AT DOWNPLAYING THIS WITH JOKES AND NOW I GET SERIOUS AND SAD AND START CRYING AGAIN.

I can add another reason I cried so hard upon finding out (once I was in the safety of my car, alone) that I wasn't able to piece together until a few days later, after I'd written the bulk of this post. And it might be the most Freud-ian reason, and the most difficult. My cousin who hung herself was a girl, and I found out this baby was a girl just days afterward.  What if that was my daughter?  We were having suicide facts thrown at us left and right, and the one that stuck out at me was that girls are far more likely to attempt suicide than boys are.  There isn't a history of mental illness or severe depression in my family that I know of, but I had a few hard years there myself. Case in point: I'm pretty sure I cried myself to sleep every day from sixth to eighth grade. Much of that had to do with my specific class full of really mean girls (ugh, what if there are mean girls at my daughter's school?? What if my daughter IS a mean girl?). My mom, who was a teacher at my grade school, is good friends with one of my junior high teachers, and I've often heard from her that my class was indeed particularly vicious, and it wasn't just my tormented memory making it worse than it truly was. (Catholic school girls? Not just for sex fantasies; also great for destroying self-esteem!) However, high school (also Catholic; this time all-girls) was much better, and while I'm sure I had the typical "I wish I'd never been born!" thoughts during the rough times,  I was never suicidal.  But I didn't think my cousin was either.  So psycho-analyze that little depressing jaunt into my mind: it definitely contributed to the sadness.

END SERIOUS STUFF.

But yeah. Amish. Anything you can do to help a sister out there would be great. If we all started wearing it, maybe we can start a fad!

__________________________________________________________

Again, note that this was written weeks ago, when we first found out. Although my feelings have changed, I feel like it's important to let others who might be on this same journey know that you're not alone in what you might be feeling.  Given even just a day to process the information, I was already feeling much better. Now, so far removed from it, I can say that the bulk of these feelings have completely vanished and have been taken over entirely by pure joy and unadulterated excitement [and I've started practicing how to tell her she canNOT get her belly button pierced at 14].  I've purchased some pink thing's, ya'll. And I HATE pink. But some of those tiny pink baby clothes are irresistible. That said, most of what I've purchased is still gender neutral or at least not PINK, because she's my kid and I can put her in blue if I want to - I'm the one who has to look at what she's wearing all day and it might as well be my favorite colors getting splattered with poop. I should also mention that Chris is also enthralled with her already - and has actually given me crap about having blue and green in her nursery and wardrobe. He's very sweet and protective of her in a way I'm not sure he would be if it was a boy and I can't wait to see her wrap him around her little finger.

We cannot wait to meet our baby girl.*

*IN 18 WEEKS, KIDDO, DON'T GO GETTING ANY IDEAS ABOUT TRYING TO MEET YOUR AWESOME PARENTS ANY EARLIER THAN THAT. 

18w6d Milestone

Hot damn, made it past the first loss milestone.  Rock on, Rainbow baby. Rock on, transabdominal cerclage.  Next up: 19w4d, when I'll be more pregnant than I ever have been.  Eeek.

Blame Game

Today I am 18 weeks and 3 days pregnant.  Last year, on April 5, I was also 18 weeks and 3 days pregnant.  Late that night, I felt a sensation like a water balloon popping and a gush of blood. I was sure my water had broken. First thing in the morning, I went to the midwife's office. The baby's heart was beating away, loud and clear.  She gave me a fern test, which tests for amniotic fluid. It came back negative. My big anatomy ultrasound was scheduled for 20 weeks exactly; she decided to move it up a week - three days from then.

Two days later, my water broke for sure. This time it was clear, and I immediately went to the ER.

Five days after that, Caleb was born.

I'd had very minor spotting at the beginning of the pregnancy, but around 15 or 16 weeks it picked up, and there was bleeding to some degree nearly every day.  I learned later that bleeding like that can be a very typical symptom of cervical changes. I also learned later that the fern test isn't accurate when accompanied by blood and the blood can obscure the amniotic fluid, giving a false negative.

I question everything.  I blame myself, but I trusted my caregivers. I thought they would take care of me and my baby.

Why didn't the midwife tell me, after I'd gone in several times for bleeding, that I wasn't a candidate for midwifery care anymore?  Why didn't I get an ultrasound to look for the source of that bleeding? Why didn't she know that the presence of blood could give a false negative on a ferning test? Why didn't she order an ultrasound immediately upon my coming in with the concern that my water had broken?  In retrospect, waiting three days was completely insane. But I trusted her when she said everything was okay.  Why didn't she consult with one of the doctors at that point?  The midwife practice I was seeing was in a hospital, and shared office space, staff, and the L&D area with both the regular OBs and the high-risk doctors. Why didn't I insist on a second opinion??

I'm convinced that my water broke that first time, and that it broke a second time two days later (the bag can reseal, temporarily or permanently, after breaking).

If I'd gotten an ultrasound at 15 weeks when I started bleeding, would they have discovered that my cervix was shortening?  Would I have gotten a cerclage at that point? Would that have saved Caleb?

If she'd used ultrasound to check on my fluid levels instead of using a ferning test, would she have discovered that my water had broken 48 hours before it broke "for real"? Would I have been admitted to the hospital at that point, given antibiotics earlier, gone on bedrest earlier (when they broke "for real", they put me in the hospital for three days with IV antibiotics and saline solution).  Would the bag of waters have resealed and stayed resealed?  Would that have saved Caleb?

We'll never know if different care would have changed the outcome.  Maybe it would have been the same and he would have died no matter what we did.  But maybe he would have had a chance if I'd been more knowledgeable; if she'd have been more aggressive.

I still believe in the standard of care that most midwives provide for low-risk, uncomplicated pregnancies and births.  I do believe that when I started bleeding at 15 weeks, the midwife should have bowed out of my care.  I do believe that when I was sure my water broke at 18 weeks, she should have bowed out of my care.  I don't blame midwives in general.  I'm not even sure I blame her specifically. I should have spoken up. I should have insisted on an ultrasound. I should have asked for a second opinion. I didn't.  At the least, we share blame. At the most, as his mother, the blame falls on me for not protecting him.

The what-ifs in do nothing but frustrate and sadden me, so I try not to think about them too much.

But please. Be an advocate for yourself and your baby. If something doesn't feel right or you don't feel like the care you are receiving is enough, speak up. Your baby's life may depend on it.

Already, 2011?

2011. It is supposed to be the GOOD year. It is supposed to be the year of happy endings and amazing firsts.

So why did it start out by giving my family a big "Fuck you"?

My 13 year year old cousin died today. She hung herself. Her 12-year-old brother, my godson, found her.

I can't even process this. It's too fucked up to even think about. She is - was - actually my cousin's daughter, but in my family we're all so close we never really differentiated. There's not a big gap between the youngest cousin and her - only a year or so, if that - so everyone was just "the cousins." I talked to her mom today to see if she wanted me to come get my godson, and it was absolutely the most heartbreaking thing I've ever done. The raw grief...I've lost a child, but this was completely different. I could hear her heart breaking over and over.

Fuck this. Seriously.

Emotional Limbo

I'm not sure where this post belongs, on this blog or on my loss blog.  But I think here, because while it has more to do with Caleb and my feelings about him, it also is about this pregnancy, and I promised no baby talk on my other blog.   So far I've been told that, "This is awesome! Since you're pregnant again, everything's better, right?" Um, no. This does not in any way take away the pain that was caused by losing our first baby.  That'd be a mighty big order for a baby who is thus far the size of a plum. That'd be a mighty big order for a newborn, for a toddler, a high-schooler, an adult. No one should have to carry that burden. This baby is a different baby.  This baby is a baby who would have been here someday and is just arriving a couple years earlier than I would have liked. This isn't our oldest or only baby.  This is Caleb's little brother or sister - a separate, different baby. One that doesn't replace our first baby.  One that doesn't mitigate the pain I felt the moment I realized I was going to lose Caleb, an instant in time that I remember as clearly as I do this morning's breakfast. 

I've also been puzzled by people's reactions. So many people are responding like this is our first pregnancy. I honestly don't know what I expected, but maybe an acknowledgment that this is a scary road? Or maybe like my cousin, who said, "Congrats!! I'm so happy for you, and you already have an angel in your corner!" I'm probably asking too much of people, though. They don't know what to say, or whether to say anything, or what it's like.  If I wasn't in this position, I'd probably respond the wrong way too. And actually I take that back. It's not the wrong way. No one (ok, the person who said it was all better, but other than that) has said anything wrong. It's just that so few people have said what I at times need to hear, which is just a recognition of what I've already gone through. And a totally irrational thought? I hate hearing that because I had morning sickness with this pregnancy or because I'm not bleeding with this pregnancy that it's a better pregnancy. It makes me feel so immensely guilty that I failed Caleb last time because I wasn't able to throw up or keep him safe and makes me feel like they're saying Caleb was doomed from the start.

It's a terrifying, scary, bumpy road that you're sure is going to come crashing down on you any moment. I know every pregnant women is nervous about losing her baby, but for most of them, that fear greatly diminishes in the second trimester. That fear is going to increase for me, and it's a fear I know very few people can relate to. I'm so, so glad I have friends like Maggie and Jen and a few others who aren't "out" yet so I won't mention, but they are all on this same road with me and understand literally every single emotion that this journey brings with it.

And my hope for 2011 is that we all have healthy babies. And my other hope for 2011 is that Courtney and the other families (all my TTCAL ladies) who are trying so hard to get a ride on this scary road are able to jump on (I take that back...claw their way on. I *wish* it were as easy as just jumping on).

Here's to a new year, hopefully filled with happier endings than 2010.

Let's try this again.

I'm keeping this blog secret for a while, so if you know me at my other blog or in real life, please don't say anything...especially on Facebook!

I just - like less than an hour ago - found out I'm pregnant. Again. I discovered I was pregnant previously in December of 2009, and went into premature labor and lost our son Caleb in April 2010.  After that loss, I was diagnosed with likely incompetent cervix and underwent surgery to correct it permanently (called a trans-abdominal cerclage).  While it means I'll have to have a c-section for this baby (who WILL be coming home!...right?), I'm totally down with that if it means that in nine months I get to complain about my lack of sleep due to a squealing newborn.

I'm exactly 4 weeks pregnant today and our due date is July 11, 2011. I would love the next nine months to fly by. Last time, it was pretty slow from the time I found out until about nine weeks, and then from then until 20 weeks it went quickly. I hope it's the same way this time, with a different ending, obviously. 

So I don't have any symptoms right now. Nothing to write home about, anyway. Unless you regularly write home about gas or diarrhea or other unmentionable bodily functions.  Which I hope you don't. 

My pregnancy with Caleb was similarly boring at the beginning. While I didn't have a lot of symptoms - very mild nausea, tiredness, some cramping and stretching in the interior lady parts - I did have bleeding off and on from six weeks until...well, until he was born just halfway into my pregnancy.  Hopefully this kiddo's path sharply diverges from that one and takes the road less bloody. 

I'm terrified. I'm way too knowledgeable about everything that can go wrong this time around, from chemical pregnancies to molar pregnancies to early losses to 2nd trimester losses to still birth to infant loss to infections to placental abruption to dear god just so many damn things.  I approach this pregnancy with a healthy dose of reality and temperance and reality. I don't know when I'll let myself believe it or get excited about it.  I do know that I'm about to duct tape my hands down to keep myself from knocking on every piece of wood I see.  I'm going to turn into a superstitious crazy lady...and not because of the hormones.  When I bought the pregnancy tests, I also bought a box of tampons and a bottle of wine to offset it and let the universe know that I wasn't jinxing anything, I swear!

So. I'll end this post like I ended my first post about Caleb's pregnancy.  A picture of the test. I'm 14 days post ovulation and missed my period by two days. The line, it's light. That worries me. However, breathing worries me. Typing this worries me. Eating a s'more today worries me. I may be better off counting what doesn't worry me for the next 36 weeks.

I'll be confirming with a digital test tomorrow morning. Please, please let this one work.

As my pregnant after loss mamas have taught me: Today I am pregnant, and today I love my baby.