My plan tonight is to write this, save it, then share it on January 31st. That is when I will be 14 weeks pregnant. That is when I'm hoping all our hopes for this baby will finally take root.
Waiting for hope is hard. I know it is out there. I know it will come. The anticipation builds. Now can we hope?
For those who know of our loss in September, you know how relieved we are to make it this far. I thought in the past that I had had three or four early miscarriages. Now that I've had two, well, I've had two, and my heartfelt apologies to those who I told otherwise. I thought I knew my body pretty well, but now I know more than I ever really cared to. Our first loss was when I was exactly 8 weeks pregnant. (I do want to write about this, but not now.) After four full term pregnancies resulting in four amazing children, this was a shock. A gut-wrenching, sobbing and swearing and screaming all at the same time shock.
We knew we wanted another baby. We knew we wanted to try to have a baby in the summer, to help my emotional health afterwards. There was only one month to make that work before we'd have to wait another year and try again. We went to work and were successful, but then we weren't.
For those who know of our loss in November, you know how grateful and blessed we are to still be pregnant. Our second loss was similar to our first in how I felt and my body's process. However, because it was so much earlier, the duration was short. The heartache less. The hope postponed, rather than crushed.
I accepted that, begrudgingly some days, but shifted my expectations all the same. We tried. It was probably too soon. We started to make summer plans.
Three weeks later we learned that I was still pregnant. We had conceived twins. While I lost one, there was another still hanging on in there. I saw its heart beating in December. I heard that confirmation again today. I was afraid to lie down on the table and listen. I yearned for more concrete evidence. But what if only the swishings of my organs came through the doppler? I was prepared to be miserable. I was prepared to be relieved. Being prepared for both is exhausting. I was ready to feel one way or the other.
When we first heard a faint heartbeat, I cried a little, and I laughed. That made the baby move. A twinge of fear came back. Maybe that really wasn't what we had just heard. Then our lovely midwife found the heartbeat again. Strong. I froze. The apprentice counted. There is definitely still a baby there, with a heartbeat, holding on. Pushing away the fears.
Making room for a longed for hope.