A few weeks ago I went to lunch with my husband and found myself gazing at this precious little family. There was mommy, daddy, what looked like a 2 year old baby girl, and a newborn. The mom was on her iPhone while the dad was holding the toddler. I couldn’t help but feel like this mama missed such a special moment between this daddy and daughter.

Maybe baby girl did this often but to this “baby less” mama I pray daily I get to witness such a special moment between my hubby and baby girl someday. Baby girl was sitting on daddy’s lap giving him eskemo kisses as she squeezed his cheeks with her chubby baby hands and kissed his mouth. She whispered in that sweet soft baby voice, “lubb you dada.” (As I can only imagine they’ve done to her many times) And yes, I was the creep watching in awe at such a beautiful moment as tears welled in my eyes.

 Via Counting Graces

After, I was looking dazed out the window watching the snow fall. My husband knew just what to say then because he squeezed my hand and said, “Our turns coming baby.”

I knew then it wasn’t just my husband reassuring me, it was God too.

You see, when I was a little girl I would wait by the window watching for the first snowfall of the year. The snow always felt like my little present. It was magic to me, still is magic to me. Only now I really see God’s hand in it all.

After I had Lylah the next day when we got home from the hospital it began snowing for the first time this winter. My baby girl sent me a present to reassure me she was with God.

A little over a month later I was struggling. I was having a rough day dealing with my loss. I missed my baby bump, I missed her nursery now empty, I missed what could have been, and more than anything else I missed her! And then out of nowhere we had a huge storm. Snow that trapped us in for three days. A storm that said it’s alright mama. Don’t be sad for me. I can picture my baby girl sitting on God’s lap watching over us and the snow just smiling.

The snow will always remind me of my Lylah Grace. It’ll always remind me of God’s hand in it all. It’ll remind me of the journey. My story. Why I’m here. And even more to be present. To find the joy again, and enjoy my present.

In honor of Sadie Sky Boutique and Words About Waverly’s link up “It’s the little things” I hope y’all will remember to slow down and be present.

Hello, goodbye

With wanting to try again, and getting excited all over again, and feeling hope again... I go back. I’m almost simultaneously brought back to that heart, gut wrenching morning when I knew it was all over. I remember the blood and seeing red through tunnel vision like it was the only thing I could see. I remember Jessie, our two year old yellow lab scratching and barking so loudly to get into the bathroom. I remember running to the bedroom screaming to Austin I was losing the baby. As he jumped out of bed in one swoop at my side he could see the blood covering the floor. It was over and I on some level already knew it. After being admitted to the hospital my nurse found Lylah’s heartbeat. I remember that sound. The sound of hope. The sound of my whole world. Not too long after that my doctor came in and said that was it. My water had broken at home and once that happens there is no stopping labor. I was already dilating quickly. I remember screaming that this couldn’t be happening. Saying I couldn’t do it. That I wouldn’t do it. Looking in Austin’s eyes pleading for him to tell me why I had to push. Why I had to give her up. It seemed like an awful joke to make me deliver my baby and have to turn around and bury her in the ground. At my gestational period {21 weeks} Lylah wouldn’t make it outside the womb. About three more weeks and we would have had a fighting chance. A 10% chance. A slight linger of hope. But there was no stopping this. I would have died for my baby. I almost did. I didn’t want it to be over. I didn’t want to push. I was trying to convince myself, my doctor, anyone that would listen that I could do it. That I could keep her inside and wait. We all knew I couldn’t do that. I had an epidural; the last thing my doctor wanted was for me to feel any more pain from delivery than I already had. She also needed to get Lylah out quickly, and with the amount of blood I had lost she thought I may need surgery after. So the epidural was necessary. Emotionally I don’t know that I could have done it without one. I hysterically sobbed while pushing my baby out knowing she wasn’t going to be alive. That at some point through my contractions her heart had stopped beating. My world had stopped. I remember looking over at Austin while he was gripping my hand and he nodded at me. Soft words from my doctor, telling me honey you have to push now. I felt calm come over me and I was ready to push… I know that was God. That was his hand too I was gripping piling all of my hurt, anger, and fear on him.

Then, my doctor delivered my placenta. She examined Lylah and my placenta for what seemed like forever. There wasn’t a single tiny thing wrong that she could find with either. My doctor sat on my bed and held our hands while we all three cried.

    

My pregnancy was far from perfect but I didn’t have complications. I had the worst nausea and ended up having to take medication to help. It got to the point where I couldn’t keep a single thing down. We discussed my entire pregnancy. She examined my sonograms. Everything was going great, my baby was healthy, my body was perfect. There wasn’t a single issue. Except the fact that my cervix can’t support the pressure of a baby. I later learned that incompetent cervix is rather rare, and the only way to diagnose it is to have a second or sometimes third trimester loss, which is due to premature birth. To learn this I had to lose my daughter. God gave us the one thing we had been praying for. And then took her Home. To learn that my body will fail me every single time without surgery was so hard.

I can recall her every feature. Her long legs, definitely her daddy’s. Her pretty little nose and mouth that looked like mine. Her daddy’s chin and dimples. Her blonde hair coming in. Her long fingers, just like her mama’s. And her big feet she hadn’t grown into quite yet. Just glancing at our beautiful Angel you could see so much of us. It was hard to understand how we created such a beautiful baby that was now an angel. But that’s what she was, an angel. We’d said hello and goodbye all at once and far too soon.

I often think about why we had to lose her. Why God gave us such a precious gift just to rip it away. Why we’ve been tried and tested so much already in our three year relationship. It's been a hard year for our family. Getting pregnant with Lylah was beyond amazing for us. It renewed our hope. Gave us so much happiness and joy. When you get pregnant you fall so madly in love with your spouse all over again, and with that baby bump you’re growing. And then when you have your baby the love you thought you knew is so insignificant to what you then feel. It is unlike anything you will ever experience in this life. The everyday miracle occurs and suddenly you’re overwhelmed with so many emotions. Then, for us, those feelings quickly turn to pain, sadness, anger, and confusion.

There are spurts where I am happily reminiscing my pregnancy, her features, planning the nursery, shopping, all of the wonderful things every couple encounters while pregnant. Those spurts are becoming more frequent, slowly but surely. The hard part is seeing friends with their babies, seeing people in their pregnancies. And not having our baby here. It’s hard seeing a mother push a stroller or carrying that baby in her belly. Seeing cute wobbly toddlers and hearing their soft voices. Knowing that would have been us is what is the most difficult for me. Having so much joy and anticipation for all of these things we now are not experiencing.

If you’ve been there then you know no one understands these feelings, can comprehend the emotional damage, how broken hearted you are with this kind of loss. This was your baby that you wished, hoped, and longed for… that never got to live the life you dreamed for them. The trauma is real, physically and emotionally. The pain you feel SO incredibly real. That little life you created, real. The love between your family you made together, very real. This is all real. And will never go away. But they say time heals all wounds. I KNOW this is true. I feel it sometimes, and then you’re reminded and wish for what was. The pain of that is real again.

 

But that is the point. And that’s why I’m here. In this place. I’m 1 in 4. 1 in 4 women will experience this loss. It’s like the widely unspoken hushed REAL truth of several pregnancies. My loss is just one. What about all the other babies out there? Whether it was an early miscarriage or a stillbirth, what about those parents and babies. Because that’s what they are, babies. They had heartbeats, they were alive, and they were someone’s whole world. And then in a single second they’re gone. How do you go on from there? Hopefully you find Hope in my story. Hopefully you feel something inside of you calling to you. That’s God I think. My hope is that you feel some linger of grace and find strength in my story. Because your’s isn’t over either. And if this isn’t you, I hope you learn just a little about what this is like. Maybe you’ll be able to help someone you know experiencing a loss like this. Maybe we all can learn something from a loss like this. We can learn God’s grace and feel hope again. That’s all I want. To give hope again. I know more than anything this next time around I won’t take a single second of it for granted. I’ll push myself to feel the joy each day. To celebrate it each day.