Thursday was S's night - in which we spent the hours between 10pm and 2am, wide awake, and most of it, with S crying and vehemently, exhaustedly fighting sleep.
Friday was E's night - in which we were up and eating every 40 minutes and then refusing to fall back asleep in his crib or anywhere except at the breast. Also crying loudly.
Saturday was a moment of reprieve and tonight has yet to be determined. Please, Jesus, have mercy.
Needless to say, we are tired. Exhausted really.
And yet, in the midst of all that exhaustion, my presiding emotion this weekend has been one of gratitude and thankfulness. Maybe not in each moment - what am I saying? Certainly not in each moment. But as I have held each baby, and snuggled them to wiggly, sneezy, sniffly sleep, I find myself grateful to have the opportunity to hold them, to snuggle with them, to comfort them and to love them each day as well as in those wee hours of the night. And so poignantly aware that that might not have been our story.
On October 17th of last year we found out that we were pregnant with E. S was almost 9 months old.
E was a surprise - we were not "trying" - but we were overjoyed. We knew we wanted to have our kids close together, and we knew it was healthier for me with my medical history if they were born while I was in my 20s. We had actually had a number of conversations about when we wanted to try for #2, but had decided that we would wait a few more months to try, because we knew that Jon would be changing jobs this summer, and we as a family would be going through some life changes as well. We thought we could plan "better" timing. We were wrong on that one, BTW. E's timing ended up being absolutely perfect - but that's another story. :)
We didn't tell many people - but I shared with a few friends because I was scared and very much wanted people to know, to be able to support us, to pray for us along the journey.
Just over a week later, on October 25th, as we were heading to bed, I began to have horrible cramps, and began to bleed heavily. The doctor told us there was nothing really we could do... most likely we were miscarrying. All we could do was wait and see. When we saw the emergency room doctor on the 26th, a year ago today, still bleeding, they did an ultrasound and found the fetal sac, but couldn't find the fetal pole or a heartbeat. Again, they told us there was a small chance that everything was okay, and we weren't as far along as we thought, but most likely we were miscarrying. To come back Monday to confirm the miscarriage.
Through it all, we prayed, and our friends prayed. I prayed specifically for God to be E's God - to give him strength and perseverance, to be his strength and provider - and to love our baby more than we did, whatever that meant.
On Monday, we saw the doctor, took copious vials of blood, and heard "wait" once again.
On Tuesday, we got our first piece of hopeful news. My HCG levels were still rising - they start to fall when you miscarry. But the nurse told us, for where the levels were, we should have been able to see something on the ultrasound - and so she warned us again, not to get our hopes up.
And so we waited. Trying not to hope too much, trying to prepare ourselves for the possibility that of losing this baby, but also trying desperately to hold on to hope.
A week later, we went back to the doctor for a follow-up ultrasound and blood-work, with hearts in our throats and braced for the worst. And for the first time, at six weeks and a few days, we saw E. And saw his heart beat. And I'm crying right now, even just writing those words. We saw his heart beat. He was too little even to be able to hear it yet, but we saw it on the ultrasound. He was alive. And his heart was beating, exactly as it should. I have a picture from that day, of E. He's teeny teeny tiny, but you can see the beginnings of his form, limbs and body.
I don't even have words to express what I felt then, and what I feel again now as I remember it.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.[psalm 139:14]We weren't in the clear yet - I still had an internal bleed that required strict limitations on what I could and couldn't do. Adios to any form of physical activity until week 12, when the bleed finally disappeared. It was scary, especially after a relatively uneventful pregnancy with S. And hard, because with the exception of a few friends and family members, no one knew. Life around us continued as normal, even while we stood on pins and needles.
But today, that feels like a distant memory. Today, I am celebrating again, the same as we did a year ago. I am so thankful that I get to hold that sweet little boy in my arms every day (and night, even the rough ones), even while I am poignantly aware that not every story traverses the path that E's has and grieve with and for those mothers and fathers whose arms are empty today.
Elijah, his name, means "My God is Yahweh" - and his middle name, Asher, means "blessed" or "happy." Today, as we remember both our early excitement and weeks of fearful waiting, we also testify. We have seen God be Yahweh, as E's strength, sustainer, and preserver - and ours. We know that it was not of our power or our prayers or our will that he is with us today - but a gift from God, by His power and strength. He has brought great joy and blessing into our lives, and we are so grateful to God for the blessing of E that He has given.
... even as we pray fervently for more sleep for all.
With gratitude,
KD
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