Rachel Week!

Written by Rachel

It's Rachel Week!  It's kind of like Shark Week, but 100 times less cool and exciting (is there anything cooler than Shark Week?? I think not)...so no, I guess it's nothing like Shark Week.  But I'll at least make it more interesting than Watching Paint Dry Week :).  So for all 2 of my readers, I will try to catch up a little to where I am today (even though I know I will still be way behind...let's be honest, I won't even get close), and maybe I'll even try to throw in some 'getting to know me' stuff so people who actually don't know me can get to know me a little more personally (although I don't know how much more personal you can get than hearing about someone's experience during labor and delivery, getting manhandled by doctors, etc.)  I always like to learn about the bloggers themselves so I know who I'm reading about...it helps me relate to them better.  So, here goes!

My first post of the week is a journal entry I wrote about 4 months after I lost Maddox and Sampson.  I'm not even going to edit it and make it sound more professional, so ignore how amateur my writing is...I was just trying to throw my thoughts out in a hurry, and I'm pretty sure it was late at night, which is a recipe for poor grammar and elementary school depth :)  But you'll get the general idea of my feelings around that time period.

March 11, 2013

                 I would be in my 36^th week with Maddox and Sampson right now.  With twins, getting to 36 weeks is really the goal because anything past that is really just bonus time.  So March 7^th was kind of their due date.  It’s strange thinking that if they were still here, they would probably be joining our family any day now.  I was looking at Harper (my little girl) the other morning and thinking how grown up she looks and how much she is already ready for a sibling (or two!).  She is almost 22 months, just 2 months away from being 2 years old.  I can’t believe it!  People weren’t lying when they said how fast time flies with your kids.  Harper is still my little baby, but she is getting so big!  It gave me a little pang of guilt thinking how ready she is for a brother or sister and that she could have had 2 little baby brothers right now.  Now the earliest she would get one is when she is over 2 ½ years old.  Seems so far away.  How perfect it would have been to have Maddox and Sampson with us right now.  Harper can pretty much do her own thing during the day.  She plays with her toys, reads her books, feeds herself (and her clothes and the floor), and we can carry on little conversations and communicate with each other pretty well.  She is a great talker, and I can pretty much understand what it is she is asking or telling or showing me.  She is a smart little cookie.  She runs around and pulls herself up on all the furniture and gets down without falling.  She isn’t so dependent on me for every single thing during the day, so having my 2 babies right now would have been absolutely perfect.  I know Harper would have loved them to pieces.  She would have wanted to help with everything.  It makes my heart ache just thinking about what could have been at this exact moment.

                We went to our neighbor and good friends' house, Paul and Alli's, the other night, and while all the guys ran to a store, Alli and I stayed back at her house and just chatted.  We hadn’t talked about Maddox and Sampson for a while, probably since back in November.  But I think she was following a prompting to ask me how I was doing because I’ve been thinking about my boys a lot over the past little while since they could have been born any day now.  She asked how I’ve been doing lately, and I don’t know why, but tears just welled up in my eyes and I told her that they would probably be born right about now.  She started crying with me and said how sorry she felt for me, how she’s been meaning to ask me how I’ve been for a while but hasn’t known how to bring it up.  She said she’s been thinking of me a lot lately.  We talked and cried for a few minutes together about it.  I felt bad just letting the waterworks loose, but I couldn’t help it.  It meant a lot to me that she still thought about my boys and me and cared about how I was feeling.  It makes it real to me again when someone talks about it, because sometimes it still feels like it was just a dream and my boys were gone in the blink of an eye.  Of course I know it was real…I still think about Maddox and Sampson every day and think about what I would be doing if they were still here.  I think about them the most when I am with Harper and I feel the guilt and sadness realizing what she could be experiencing with them.  I feel guilty thinking that I somehow robbed her having her baby brothers right now, even though I know I couldn’t have done anything differently and that it is just part of Heavenly Father’s plan.  I think I will always have this guilt and heavy burden on my shoulders until we are able to have another baby.  I will still wish I had Maddox and Sampson, but I think that will ease the pain a little bit.  Harper just keeps getting older and bigger and it feels like the time is shooting past us, and there is nothing I can do to slow it down.

               My doctor said to wait at least 6 months before trying to get pregnant again, but even these 4 months since I lost my sweet boys has seemed like an eternity.  It eats me up inside.  I am just finishing up my last round of birth control before needing to go get a refill, but I don’t think I will get it.  I just feel like I can’t wait much longer, and if I get pregnant soon, then it’s meant to be, and it might take a couple months anyway.  At least, I hope that it will only take a couple months max to get pregnant again.  That is one of my fears…that it will take longer and that Harper will just get older without having a close buddy to grow up with.  I pray every day that Heavenly Father will bless us with a new little angel in our family soon for Harper.  The thought consumes my heart every day.  I just have to have the faith that Heavenly Father knows what is best for me and that He is mindful of the heaviness and emptiness in my heart.  

              I think I will start making plans to do some sort of memorial, maybe just with Harper, Matt and me on April 4^th, on Maddox and Sampson’s technical due date.  Maybe send some blue balloons up in the sky with little messages to Maddox and Sampson telling them how much we love and miss them.  We never did any sort of memorial, and I think I need something like this.  And I think it would be good for Harper because she is still too young to understand what even happened.   But I want her to know about and never forget her 2 little angel brothers.  I sure do love and miss my boys.

The following are all pictures taken around this time...

Dirty slides at bounce houses rock

Harper with her Count Licorice Dad

I know, I know...Yikes.  I need makeup

I joined a basketball league to keep me distracted

My baby wasn't a baby anymore!

Sarah's Story

Today we are so pleased to have a guest post by Sarah.  Her adoption story is incredible!  Miracles really do happen.  

Our adoption was an unplanned, unexpected whirlwind of love, joy, and happiness! My husband and I had struggled with infertility for 6 years before becoming pregnant with our youngest Riley. We had always considered adoption but at the time Mason came into our lives we were not actively pursuing it (because, with the help of a fertility doctor, I was pregnant). I was 8 months pregnant when we met Maoai (Mason's birthmom). She had just moved in with my father-in-law and mother-in-law and we were so excited to meet her. 

Maoai had come here from Samoa a short while earlier and considers my mother-in-law (who is also Samoan) her "Auntie". While visiting with Maoai, we found out that she had given birth to a little boy 3 months earlier and he was staying with another family. She told us that she wanted him to have a better life than what she knew she could offer him. We instantly felt love for this little baby of Maoai's that we had never met. The next day we met Maoai and some family members again for lunch. We enjoyed visiting with her and learning about her life. Later that afternoon, my father-in-law called and said, "Maoai wants you to have her baby!". My husband and I looked at each other with shock and we both knew that it was meant to be! We were beyond excited and emotional! 

The next day, January 7, 2013, we went and picked up our little Mason! The love that we felt the moment she placed him in our arms is indescribable! We became a family of 4 on February 26, 2013 when Riley was born! Mason and Riley are 5 1/2 moths apart and the BEST of friends! The boys will be in the same grade in school and could not look any different!  We see Maoai all the time and she is part of our family. We have enjoyed having her at all of our family parties and she has been there for all of Mason's big life events so far (his 1st birthday, the day our adoption was final, etc.)! 

We have so much love and respect for Maoai and the decision she made for Mason. We will forever be connected to her and we are so grateful that she chose to entrust us with this precious little life! We hope to be able to add to our family through adoption. Adoption has been such a HUGE blessing in our lives!

Shameless Plug :)

Written by Alli

DRUMROLL PLEASE............. Our Adoption Blog is now live!  We are actively searching for our next little one.  Here's where I need your help.  This is very important.  So important, I'm going to bold and highlight.  Please share with everyone you know so we can get the word out. As anyone who has adopted knows, it is almost always due to someone knowing someone that their baby finds their way to them.  We couldn't be more excited for Baby #2 and for Carter to get a sibling.    www.paulandalliadopt2.blogspot.com.

Paul, Alli & Carter are Hoping to Adopt!

Gifts

Written by Alli

I'm taking a different route this post.  One of the hardest things for me as an adoptive mom is coming up with perfect gifts for Carter's birth mom.  I thought it might be helpful to share what I've given for anyone looking for a perfect gift. :)

1.  Gift Basket from Bath and Body Works full of lotion, body spray, feet scrub, and socks. - We gave this to E the first time we met her.  We definitely didn't want to show up empty handed and everyone likes to smell nice.

2.  Minky Blanket - When Carter was born, we brought E flowers and a blanket from Minky Couture.  This is the softest blanket ever made and we figured she would need something to curl up with.

3.  Personalized Necklace - We gave E a necklace similar to this at placement along with personal letters.  She loves it and wears it every day.  The woman who runs the Etsy shop was amazing.  She had everything ready to go and overnighted the necklace to me after we had Carter's birth date on it, so we would have it in time for placement.  

4.  Instagram Book - We made these adorable little books from Prinstagram for Valentine's Day.  One delicious little book just full of our adorable little Carter.

5.  We sent this picture one month "Just Because".  It was fairly easy to make.  We just used a stamp pad, put Carter's hand's and feet on the ink and stamped the paper.  

6.  For Carter's one year birthday, we sent E a book of all our emails from the first time she contacted us until Carter's one year birthday.  It is one of my most prized possessions.  You can make yours here:  Memeoirs

7.  For Valentine's Day this year, we sent her a mug similar to this.  You can purchase it from Etsy here, but I figured it wouldn't be that hard to make, so I just did it myself.  I can be crafty sometimes. :)

8.  For Birth Mother's Day this year, we made a book from Shutterfly about, "A Day in the Life of Carter".  I took pictures all day of Carter, from waking up to going to bed and put them in a book.  I included everything from eating to playing to napping to bathing.  It was around 40 pages when it was finished and was a great way for E to see exactly what Carter does all day.  

These are just some of the gifts.  If you have any other gift ideas, please leave them in the comments.  There can never be enough help thinking up gift ideas.  

Guilt

Written by Rachel

When something difficult happens in life, during the struggle to put on a smile and 'just keep swimming', those darn negative thoughts still often manage to slither their way in and hold you hostage, despite our best efforts to thwart them.  After we lost our twins, I was given advice, pamphlets, and books about what to expect in the grieving process.  I definitely was sad.  Sad for a long time.  It was a deep internal sadness.  I never did get angry.  That was one step I managed to skip right over.  I wasn't mad at anyone that they were gone.  I just missed them horribly.  The biggest hurdle for me in my grieving process was (and still is) the guilt.

Two weeks after I delivered Maddox and Sampson, I had my follow-up appointment with my doctor. I had a giant pit in my stomach as I entered the same halls I had walked down just a couple weeks earlier when I innocently thought I was going to see my healthy little boys snuggled together in an ultrasound, listening to the rhythm of their heartbeats.  The same halls I had walked through to check-in to deliver my now-stillborn babies.  I sat in the same office, saw the same office staff.  I'm pretty sure I tried to avoid eye contact with everyone there.  I honestly felt a physical sickness being in the same place I had just lost my boys.

My doctor had scheduled me as his last patient.  I remember sitting down in a chair across from him and immediately breaking down.  I don't remember everything that was said at the appointment...we went over preliminary results from the autopsies (which didn't reveal much), maybe talked about my physical recovery.  But I remember when tears welled up in my eyes and I asked him if I had scheduled my ultrasound just a week earlier, would we have been able to see something, see signs of distress...would there have been something I could have done to save them?  I was definitely ugly crying.  My doctor knew I was torturing myself.  He told me that I didn't do anything wrong.  There was nothing that I could have done differently.  Sometimes these things just happen.  I hadn't failed as a mother.  I hadn't just ignored signs of trouble.  There hadn't been any...none that I noticed, anyway. I remember feeling what felt like a giant kick just the Sunday before my twins were gone, a movement that struck a nerve and I had to bend over because it made my whole body tingle.  It didn't hurt, it was just one of those weird feelings like when you smack your funny bone.  I remember even exclaiming to my family who was around when it happened that the boys were making their presence known and that they had done that same thing just a day or two earlier.  This may not be true, but I have since often wondered if those strong kicks were their last desperate struggles to survive.  I really don't know if it was, and there's a good chance it wasn't, but it sits in the back of my mind sometimes.  By the time I left the doctor's office, the waiting room lights were off, people had gone home for the day, and I slowly walked out of the clinic, again passing the very doors I had entered with my boys and come out without them (the clinic was right across the hall from the delivery rooms in the hospital, so everything had happened right there).  It was a very lonely walk back to my car.

But the guilt was only beginning.  I am actually over that specific guilt.  The guilt that really engulfed me and that I still struggle with is that, now that my boys were gone, my little girl didn't have her close siblings anymore.  Now she didn't have anyone to grow up with like I had with my sister so close in age.  She was just by herself.  And for some reason, that broke my heart.  I know that tons of families have kids with a far wider gap between and are just fine, and even prefer it that way, but for me, I felt like I had robbed my little girl of a special relationship (or relationships).  Her brothers were gone.  Every day I was home and would see my little kiddo eating at the table, or reading a book alone to herself, or playing with her toys by herself (which she was awesome at...she was a very grown up girl for her age and was/is very independent) it made me ache inside for her, for my boys.  I felt so guilty seeing her alone.  I wished she had someone to play with (of course we played with her and read to her, but I wanted so badly for her to have the interaction with other kids...it just wasn't the same).  She played so well with other kids and absolutely loved being around them (she would even yell out 'kids!' when she'd hear children laughing and playing outside and would always be on the lookout for 'kids' when we'd visit my parent's house, shouting 'kids! kids!' as she looked around for where the sound was coming from outside).  Normally I would think that's adorable and I do love how she loves being around people, but now because she didn't have her brothers or any other kids around the house, it would just sting me with guilt.  She still has that same excitement when she's around other little people her age, even the older kids.  She always screams with happiness when a friend comes over or when I tell her we will be going somewhere with her friends.  I love seeing her around them.  She is just drawn to them.  And it is bitter sweet.  I love it, and it depresses me.  It's a double-edged sword.

I felt guilty for my girl.  I felt guilty for wishing that I could have had just one more child before this had happened so at least she wouldn't be by herself.  I felt guilty for feeling guilty.  I know a lot of people that struggle to even have one child, so I would feel guilty for my strong desire for more kids and my shallow wish that they were close in age.  I felt guilty that my boys were gone.  Guilt ate me up inside.  I still struggle with it.

In the delivery room, after the twins were born and after I had gone in for surgery because of the complications, my nurse told me that (with the preface 'your doctor won't tell you this, but...'), with all she's seen over her years of nursing experience, because of the trauma my body went through, she would wait at least 2 years to even start trying to have more kids.  I about died.  No way.  2 years was way too long.  When I had my follow-up with my doctor, I mentioned that and he said to just wait at least 6 months so that my body could recover.  That was still hard for me to swallow, but it seemed more reasonable than 2 years.  I still thought that 6 months seemed like a lifetime when I desired so strongly to grow my family and get a sibling for my little girl.  Looking back now, 6 months seems like nothing.  I wish it ONLY took 6 months before we could start to grow our family again.  I wish for even a year!  If I had only known the difficulties that were still ahead...

The guilt still remains.  Some days I'm better at warding off those negative feelings, and it feels amazing when I am just living in the moment and appreciating how blessed I am to have such a spirited, stubborn, and hilarious little girl in our lives.  Other days I allow the guilt to creep back in and it's been a tough, continuous battle.  The back and forths of life are crazy sometimes!  And there have been many more since and I'm sure many more to come.  But, c'est la vie!

My Angel's Story (Guest Post by Natalie)

Author’s note: Each year I post my angel's story on my weekly blog. Here's what I posted this past April:

Four years have passed by. FOUR YEARS!!! Part of me wants to run outside and scream, “NO!” The other part has quietly come to grips with the fact that four years ago my beautiful, beautiful baby boy died.

I hate that he died.

I hate that I can’t get over it. No matter how many months, days or years pass I will still miss him. I will still wish I could have brought him home from the hospital. I will still close my eyes and picture his still body, feel the brush of his soft chubby cheeks against mine and stroke his sweet tiny hands and fingers.

I remember wishing more than anything that his chest would start to rise and fall. And whispering softly to him that I was so sorry he didn’t make it. So sorry that somehow I couldn’t help get him here safely.

Losing a child has changed me forever.

He would have been four this past April. Maybe he’d be learning his ABCs and coloring with crayons. I bet he’d love chasing bubbles and digging in the dirt. He’d probably run when I tried to give him kisses and giggle when I tickled his tummy.

I love him. I miss him. And I can’t wait to hold him again.

Here’s his story:

I was tired, I was huge and I was ready to have my baby boy. But not ready for the way it would all turn out. I would have happily carried him weeks beyond my due date if it meant he had a chance of being born alive.

Honestly? I wasn’t quite ready for a third child. I always wanted my kids close in age, but my two boys, ages 3 and 1, were a lot to handle. I was okay with waiting a while. But both my husband and I had strong impressions that we needed to try for another baby.

Despite those impressions, I was still extremely nervous about how I could be a good mom to three boys under the age of 3. Each day I grew, not only in circumference, but also in my confidence in being able to raise three tiny sprits.

On April 21, 2010 I had my 37-week check-up. Luca’s movement had been slowing down significantly for a while now and I was worried. I discussed my concerns with my doctor and we listened to his heartbeat, which appeared to be strong. So, my doctor and I decided that maybe little Luca was running out of room in my overcrowded womb. 

The beginning of my pregnancy was a piece of cake. I felt better than I had with my other pregnancies and had virtually no morning sickness. But the end was pretty bad. I kept having sharp pains in my side and my muscles were aching.

Fearing the worst

My mother-in-law kept my other two boys while I went to my appointment so I decided to lie down and take a nap until she brought them home. That’s when I started panicking because I couldn’t remember the last time I felt Luca move.

I know what some of you are thinking? Why didn’t you rush to the hospital??? Knowing what I know now, my advice to any pregnant woman who is the least bit concerned about her baby, would be, GET TO THE HOSPTIAL, NOW. Speed if you have to. What are they going to do? Tell you your baby’s fine and send you home? Hopefully. Laugh in your face about your unnecessary worries? Never. In all reality, even if I had been in labor and delivery when Luca’s heart stopped beating, they still wouldn’t have been able to save him. There wasn’t anything I could have done. I realize that now. But there are other reasons why babies stop moving. In my opinion it’s just better to get it checked out as soon as possible.

I literally worried all night about my Luca’s movement. I think the strong feelings and confirmations I had received that I was supposed to have another baby kept me waiting for his little legs to kick or his fists to punch. Luca’s pregnancy was my only pregnancy I haven’t run into problems conceiving. I thought that was a sure sign that this truly was meant to be. It was meant to be, just not in the way I hoped or expected.

I waited, and waited for him to move. Finally at about 2:30 a.m. I couldn’t take it any longer. I got up and sat in the bathtub for a long time. Travis came in and convinced me to go to the hospital. My mom came over to sit with my boys so we could run up to the hospital. When I got there, they hooked me up to a monitor and we found the baby’s heartbeat. Well, at least we thought we did — turns out the sound of my own heartbeat was reverberating back. We didn’t know that for sure until they hooked me up to a basic ultra sound machine and zoomed in on the heart. I knew immediately that my son had died. I looked at my husband and he knew it too. We had seen a number of live, beating hearts in ultrasounds. This one was still.

But the nurses said nothing. They tried to remain calm as they called my doctor and asked him to come in. He arrived at about 4 a.m. to confirm my baby’s death. We all cried — nurses included. He told me I could go home and come back later to deliver my baby or he could induce me right away.

The thought of leaving the hospital knowing that I was carrying my dead child made me cringe. I knew that having a stillborn was going to be the worst thing I had ever experienced. Delaying it wouldn’t change anything. They wheeled me into a corner room and posted a grieving sign on the door.

Shortly thereafter we started calling family members to let them know they were going to have to come in sometime that day to simultaneously tell Luca “hello” and “goodbye.”

Sharing the Heart-Breaking News

My poor mother. She was the first to hear of his death. And she had to take the news while watching over my other two little ones in my quiet, lonely home. I can’t imagine how alone she must have felt. She texted me a while after I called to tell her he had died, asking what she should tell my other boys when they woke up. That literally broke my heart. What did I want her to tell them?

We didn’t want to tell him that their brother was “sleeping” or that he was “gone.” We decided to tell them the truth. That he had died. They were sad, but their grief was expressed differently than an adult. They didn’t cry much but they did throw more tantrums and asked to be held a lot more.

Telling people and hearing their reactions was one of the hardest things for me. I could handle the pain that I was going to have to bear, but having to inflict some of that pain on others made me so sad. It still makes me sad.

Our family members started gathering at the hospital and at our home waiting for the time when they would meet Luca. I knew we would only ever have a few short hours with him and so I prepared to face my nightmare with a smile on my face. This was the only time I was going to hold my baby. The only time I could take pictures of his beautiful face. I wasn’t going to let my grief overcome my ability to make the moments meaningful.

I don’t know if it’s all in my head, but I don’t think I had the full power of my epidural during his delivery. It was by far my most painful delivery. Not only emotionally, but physically. Maybe that’s because I didn’t have the anticipation of meeting my healthy baby to pull me through. With each painful push, I knew I was a step closer to meeting a baby I wouldn’t take home. I’ll never forget the shock in my doctor and nurses voices and faces as Luca was born. They all gasped in unison. He had suffered a cord accident that was visible the moment he was delivered. The cord was wrapped around his neck several times and it contained a true knot. Umbilical cord knots are extremely rare and knots resulting in a baby’s death are even more rare. Although I will never be grateful for what happened to my son, there is something I am extremely grateful for: The fact that we found out why he died.

He was born at 5:13 p.m. and weighed 5 pounds 13 ounces. He was beautiful with curly reddish brown hair and rosy red cheeks. We each took turns holding him and taking pictures. Utah Share came and casted molds of his hands and feet. Pat Wimpee came and took dozens of priceless photos of him and our family. I don’t know what I’d do without those photos. I think I would forget the details of his face. The wrinkles of his toes. The size of his tiny fingers. At times I stared at his little body, waiting for his chest to rise or his eyes to open. He literally was perfect.

We had Luca in our hospital room for five short hours. My legs were still numb from my epidural, so I was forced to watch everyone’s encounters with him from the comfort of my hospital bed. That was really hard for me. I wanted to hug and comfort everyone and yet I was stuck on the sidelines. I am sure that those who came to the hospital to meet him will forever be changed. There was such a special spirit in the room. It was a terribly sad, yet wonderfully peaceful experience.

The next several days were a blur. I left the hospital on a Friday morning. That afternoon I sat in the mortuary office preparing a funeral. We had a very small service on Monday, just four days after I delivered. Thank heavens for pain medications. Without those my traditional delivery pains coupled with the pain of my milk coming in, would have been unbearable. I buried my baby and part of my heart on April 26, 2010.

How am I dealing with his death?

I believe, as my religion teaches, that I will raise little Luca someday. Sometimes that thought brings great comfort, other times it is little solace for a grieving mother who longs to hold her angel infant now. Although he is in a better place, free from sorrow and sin, I wanted the challenge of raising him in this crazy world. Wanted to see him wrestle with his older brothers or hear him giggle as the three of them cooked up mischief. I hate that we don’t get to have him now.

I have experienced all of the traditional grief stages at least once. I have felt depressed, angry, honored, jealous, comforted, tired, rude, bitter, overwhelmed, out of control, anxious, stressed and unmotivated. There have been times I have sat on my couch, not wanting to do anything. Then other times that I feel an urgency to give back to others in honor of my son’s memory. I have yet to find a happy medium.

Yet despite the sorrow and darkness I have felt, there are a few things that have relieved my sorrows.

What do I do when the grief is too much to bear?

I take long soaks in the bathtub where I blast Pandora on my radio and cry until my eyes are strawberry red.

I watch movies like Tangled and sob when I see Rapunzel reunited with her parents. I wish I only had to wait 18 years to meet my “lost” baby.

I take my boys fishing. Fresh air and the beauty of nature clear my head and remind me of my place in the world.

  

I lay by my other boys while they are sleeping. I put my hand on their chest to feel their heart beating and their lungs filling with air. That reminds me of the beautiful boys I do get to raise on Earth. I can’t let myself take them for granted.

I start finding something I can do for others. I know it sounds cheesy, but serving others has been my saving grace. I have sewn and crocheted dozens of gowns and beanies to give to other families whose babies die. I understand the need to be still and internalize my grief and emotions, but sometimes it’s overwhelming. I have to find a productive way to patch over my grief until my emotions settle and I’m able to digest them.

Finally, I write through my heartache. Writing has always been a way for me to work through life’s problems. I imagine I’ll write through this problem my entire life. I post about losing Luca a lot on my weekly blog. You can read more about him at www.boogersonthewall.com

As I said earlier, losing Luca has changed me forever. I love him. I miss him. And I can’t wait to hold him again.

Kristen's Story

We found out I was pregnant on our 9^th wedding anniversary. I had a feeling before we took the test.  Despite the signs, however, it had been so many years of failing to conceive that I just simply couldn’t believe this was real. I wanted to live with the hope a few days longer without having to look at another (inevitably) negative pregnancy test; it took courage to finally take it.  

I remember watching the two pink lines immediately appear in the test window. As my husband peered in and saw my huge smile and tear-drenched face, we didn’t have to say anything. All that we had gone through on our journey radiated between our eyes.  We collapsed on the bed laughing, crying, and praying. That moment, we felt Heavenly Father’s spirit everywhere. The road had been long, but after a universe of tears and loss and triumphs we finally found ourselves in that moment. I knew it was a little girl. I had felt her with me for days.

My husband started googling pregnancy information. He did so through his tears of happiness. And I remember thinking how strange it was for us of all people to be googling something like that. We talked about me quitting work and fantasized about other plans too. We spent that day, and the entire pregnancy for that matter, in a state of bliss, shock, nervousness, and anticipation. Most of all gratitude. Gratitude above all things. 

We wanted a family as soon as we were married. We were both working and going to college, however, so we waited a few years to get started. Once I was on my way to graduate school, we figured that it was a good time to begin. When it had been 18 unsuccessful months of trying, we saw a fertility specialist. He said that since we had no health issues, we should just keep at it. Six months later, we were thrilled to discover we were finally pregnant. Those two years of infertility were tough. And yet the difficulty of those years would pale in comparison to the heartaches we would soon know after.

The pregnancy progressed wonderfully, and we found out we were having a boy. I was so proud of my growing baby bump. I was so happy to be pregnant.

At 27 weeks, I had an odd day in which I noticed that I wasn’t feeling the baby move. There was nothing else different, so I went to sleep and told myself I’d call the doctor in the morning. The doctor asked me to come to the hospital for a non-stress test the next day. I remember driving to the hospital feeling calm and confident, thinking, “wouldn’t it be crazy if were to deliver him early and we got to meet him today?” The thought that something could be more seriously wrong never even occurred to me.

The first nurse could not find a heartbeat. Her face looked troubled. My stomach started to hurt. She said, “It must be this old machine.” As she went to get another machine, and a doctor, I knew something was wrong. When my husband arrived, he took one look at my stricken face as I mouthed “they can’t find the heartbeat” and he looked as if his heart had just shattered on the floor. There was a lot of painful silence, an eternity of different people moving that wand around my stomach, all to no avail. Only silence. A doctor came into the room to confirm that our son had passed away. I was almost 8 months pregnant. I remember the doctor saying that this had happened to his sister and she had gone on to have other healthy babies, so we should try to have faith. I remember his words brought no comfort. I didn’t want to move on and have more babies—I wanted this baby!

Everything became one nightmarish blur. In one shattering moment, I was made into a completely new and utterly broken woman. Losing your child, your first child, especially one you have waited so long for, is akin to having your head and heart and soul and the floor underneath you ripped away all at once. It was the last thing in the world we ever expected. 

I’ll never forget the calm way in which the doctor explained I would have to give birth even though my son had already passed away. That sounded surreal: I would have to do THAT? My heart was pounding, my eyes ran out of tears. I developed a fever and infection, and was delirious from the emotional and physical pain. Our son was delivered about 12 hours later, weighing almost 3 lbs. and looking like a perfect angel. Seeing him was one of the best and worst moments of my life—I couldn’t believe my body had created something so beautiful! I remember that a drop of blood came out from his nose and I wiped it away gently—one of the few precious acts of motherhood I was able to perform for him. We were never able to discover the reason why he had passed.

The next few weeks became a blur of visitors, flowers and meals, funeral services, grief, and most of all, utter and complete disbelief. Those weeks turned to months and we just sort of floated along in a traumatized, grief-stricken, and numb state. We visited the temple and my husband felt my son’s spirit there, giving him peace. And me? I got angry. I went back to graduate school, disappeared into my work, and became bitter. My resentment was the only thing pushing me forward. I stopped caring for my health and simultaneously tried (desperately) to become pregnant again. I wanted to replace the pain with another pregnancy. I started to lose my faith in God, feeling like I had had my greatest dream given to me just to be cruelly ripped away. We had so much love to share with a child! It just wasn’t fair. Nothing made sense.

The worst part was we were not able to conceive again. My resentment grew. Now I see that I was running away from the grief by simply trying to get pregnant again. Even had we succeeded, the grief would have remained. There is no “replacing” a baby. Because I had developed internal scarring from the stillbirth, pregnancy became a bridge we could not cross. I was lost. We were lost. We had each other and in that sense we were happy. But we were afraid of people with kids, especially pregnant women, because it reminded us of our pain. And yet, we held on to some hope in the best way we could. Hope is a stubborn thing and a small part of us never let it go.

After a few of these limbo years, it suddenly dawned on us that we needed to let go of our past and simply fight to become parents. We got a strong feeling we should pursue adoption. It wasn’t just being pregnant again but simply being parents that mattered to us. And now I see this path was the road we were meant to take all along.

Invigorated by having a specific goal, we met with an adoption agency, took classes, saved money, prepared for a home study, and told everyone we could that we were looking for a birthmother. However, the whole process felt surreal because I couldn’t quite picture that an actual baby would be the outcome of all we were doing. I imagined we would wait for a birthmother for years. We made a profile on the agency website and poured everything into writing it (I put my English degrees to work!). And wouldn’t you know, our letter just so happened to immediately catch someone’s eye…

K found herself in a rocky relationship and (unexpectedly) expecting. She later told me that she always knew she was “carrying someone else’s baby” and adoption seemed to be a fairly clear, though not easy, choice for her to make. She contacted the agency and met with a few other couples. She said things didn’t quite feel right with the others. We got the call about meeting her and her ex (the birthdad) seven weeks after we applied for adoption! Our luck was changing. We left the meeting feeling excited, but not wanting to get our hopes up too much. But I loved K the first moment I met her.

One day later we got the call. We walked back into the agency and there was K with a baby tub filled with toys and other baby items, and there was a letter, and we knew she was about to ask us to be the parents of her baby. No words can describe the joy we felt.

We were a part of the rest of K’s pregnancy and we were there at the hospital when our son Atticus came into this world. I remember thinking that he looked too perfect to be true. He was so healthy, so ALIVE. Words cannot express the happiness we felt when, after many years of loss and infertility, grief and confusion, our son was lovingly placed in our arms. I felt pure joy, but I also felt guilty. I knew a bit about what our birthmom must be going through, and there is no worse pain than losing a child. And because I knew her pain, and because of the magnitude of the gift she was giving, I love her in the kind of way that very few people can understand. I will love her to the end of time. We left that hospital with a miracle in our arms. We were able to heal because of this incredible person, and we owe her EVERYTHING. We remain close with my son’s birthmother and she has been a very important part of our lives over the years as Atticus has grown.

 Motherhood softened me. No longer did I feel bitter. We were very proud parents and shared our adoption story with everyone we could. It felt like Atticus was meant to be part of our family all along. Our lives became busy with all things baby. We loved our son even MORE because he was adopted and because we had gone through so much to get to him. We spoiled him with love and attention, well, the whole family did, and they were happy years. Atticus did not replace our first son. He simply allowed us to see the sun again.

It had been six years since losing our first child and despite trying to conceive that entire time, we had finally let go of the pregnancy dream. And thankfully, that no longer hurt. Once in a while we thought about IVF or maybe even adopting again. We still, of course, wanted another baby and we wanted Atticus to have a sibling. But, that was another goal to pursue in the future as opposed to a bridge we couldn’t cross (which is what a natural pregnancy was to us). Funny how the deepest part of me always knew there was a little girl still to come. Funny how miracles come when you least expect them. A little girl was coming, a girl like the violets, like the spring flowers that manage to push through the frosty earth and surprise us all with the reminder that life continues on in the most difficult of circumstances. And it always will.

We both had a lot of fear. Fear that something would go wrong. And so, we prepared ourselves for the worst. We didn’t shop for baby clothes or have a baby shower. We felt deep appreciation and joy to be pregnant again at long last, but we also felt a need to protect our hearts should we lose this baby. I spent the pregnancy anxious and afraid, needing to listen to our fetal heartrate monitor constantly. I had nightmares about something going wrong. And yet each and every day, my faith slowly increased. My overwhelming fear started to turn into hope. I finally started talking about our full story with others and began to work through the grief from our past.

My husband and I knew all too well how fragile life can be. He was amazingly supportive during the pregnancy, especially because of the complex emotions involved. I couldn’t have made it through without him. The paradox of living a precarious dream was the most stressful, wonderful, weird, prolonged, joyful time in my life. But the pregnancy did indeed progress and my daughter was healthy and strong throughout. Any time I started to feel the fear, she somehow seemed to kick at that precise moment, almost as if she were saying, “I’m here mom. I’m strong and I’m not going anywhere!”

I was induced at 37 weeks (typical after one has had a stillbirth). My labor was short and intense. My husband and I kept it together pretty well up until our daughter started to go into distress and NICU equipment was brought into the delivery room. This was strange equipment I had never seen before, and it hit me how different everything was from when we delivered our first child. Once all the baby monitoring and measuring equipment was brought in, I started to get upset and it’s hard to explain why. I began weeping and saying over and over to my husband that I was scared “it” would happen again. But the wiser, stronger part of me, the part that could still hear my daughter’s perfect heartbeat on the monitor and the part of me in tune with Heavenly Father’s peaceful spirit knew everything would be okay. And it was.

After a painful labor, the doctor finally put a very slippery, white and red covered little baby in my arms and I remember feeling that this couldn’t be real, that she really was alive and we had made her from our love. She was a miracle! Her beauty and angelic perfection took my breath away. My husband and I could do little but stroke her face and cry tears of joy. She was this mysterious being that had lived in me as a theory, as a dream, and suddenly that dream had come true. We named our daughter Zoe Violet and she is now a bubbly, healthy, beautiful 6-month-old. Atticus loves his sister more than words can describe and we’ve all never been so happy.

Life doesn’t always work out perfectly as planned. The grieving process is complex, and there are no shortcuts. Life has shown me both tragedy and miracles, and I’ve learned a lot from them. I’ve learned I love my husband and he loves me and that allowed us to make it through stronger than ever. I’ve learned to have faith. And I’ve learned above all things that we are all very lucky to have found each other.

Rainbow Baby (Guest post by Danielle)

Seventeen weeks into my fourth pregnancy at a routine doctor's appointment I found out the baby I carried no longer had a heartbeat. We went to the hospital to deliver her and entered a grief cycle to mourn her loss. Several months later I was once again anxiously anticipating a new baby.  I was once again seventeen weeks pregnant when my stunned doctor broke terrible news to me.  Lightening had struck in the same place twice.  My worst fears had come true again.  The son I loved was lost and I would not get to keep him either.

Last September I gave birth to a perfect, healthy, wiggly little baby girl.  During the three preceding years I cried a lot of tears, processed, grieved, lost a lot of sleep, experienced panic attacks and wondered if I would ever get to have another baby of my own.  Most of all I wondered how in the world I could live if I couldn't ever have another baby.  The mere thought made it hard to breathe.

I experienced a lot in the 37 years before I gave birth to my rainbow baby, but it feels like I never truly lived or loved before I had her. I never knew love like this before.  Although I had always loved my family as best I could, I am now capable of a much deeper love for all of them.

The first time they laid my baby on my chest was the best moment of my entire life.  I cried happy tears of wonder as she looked up at me and I looked down at her and the nightmare was finally over.  She was here.

Every day I marvel at her perfection.

I marvel at her perfect feet. 

Her beautiful hands. The way her pinky turns in the same way as her big sister's and her brother who was born sleeping 15 months before she was born. The way I feel special when she wraps all of her fingers around one of mine.

How she lays her head on my shoulder.

Her beautiful sad face that is enough to break your heart.

The way her arms and legs flail excitedly when I come to pick her up.

When I tickle her, the way she laughs.

The way her dad loves her like only a dad can and throws her in the air and turns her upside down and makes my stomach turn.

The bond she has with each of our other children.  How she can bring out the good in each of them in ways I've never seen.  Who wants to take the baby?  We all want to take the baby.

How it is my job, my duty, and mostly my honor and privilege to bathe her and dress her and feed her and change her and keep her happy and safe.

How my body somehow miraculously produces all the food she needs to grow.

The way she lights up a room.  How she smiles at her own reflection in the mirror.

Her big beautiful blue sparkling eyes.  The way her red hair sticks straight up. Her cheeks.

The way she healed me.

Above all else, I am in awe, when I watch her sleep, of how her little chest rises and falls with the air she breathes.  She is alive.  I never appreciated life the way I do now.  And for that, I wouldn't change a thing.  I wouldn't give up one tear or sleepless night or helpless panicky moment because now I see what I never could have seen before.  I see her for what she is.  She is my miracle.

Jacob's Story (Guest post by Melanie)

I found out I was pregnant with my third child on October 10, 2013.  I already had two boys, Jayden who is nine and Joshua who is five years old.  We struggled with secondary infertility for almost four years before finally getting pregnant in October.  Both of my boys were so excited for another baby.  They came with us to my first doctor appointment and were able to hear our baby's heartbeat and see our baby on the ultrasound.  Our baby was so healthy, and in the words of my doctor, was "perfect". 

I started to feel some slight baby movements around week 16.  Not very often but I knew for sure it was my baby.  Around 19 weeks, I realized that I hadn't felt very much movement but tried to remind myself that it was still too early to feel movements everyday and tried not to worry.  I think deep down a part of me knew, or maybe I was just be prepared for what was to come.

Tuesday January 21, 2014 was my 20 week ultrasound.  We were all very excited to see our baby again and to find out if we were having a boy or a girl.  I was hoping for a girl, but just wanted a healthy baby and deep down I knew it was a boy.  We pulled our kids out of school so they could again attend the ultrasound.  As we were heading out the door, I turned to my husband and blurted out "will you be relieved if this baby is dead?"  I don't know where that thought came from, and my husband later told me that he was quite offended by it.

My in-laws were going to meet us for the ultrasound but were running late.  They took us back to the ultrasound room and started prepping me.  The tech teased with my boys that the gel she was putting on my tummy was the same gel used in their hair that morning.  Within seconds of my baby's image being up on the screen, the tech said "I don't have good news, do you want your boys in here?" My heart broke and my world stopped. My husband ushered my boys out of the room, to his parents who were walking down the hall. as I screamed and cried.  My baby was gone.  My baby that I waited and prayed for, was gone. Time seemed to stand still as I tried to comprehend what was happening.  My doctor came in to confirm this horrible news; my baby's image was again up before me and she pointed out where his heart was, his still heart.  The same heart that I heard beating just a few weeks ago. She was unable to determine the gender of the baby at this time.  She talked with us about our options.  I decided to be induced that day. 

With my in-laws staying with my boys, my husband and I checked into the hospital at noon to be induced.  The reality of my loss didn't hit me until we were talking with the hospitals social worker about setting up a burial for our baby.  I had to plan my baby's burial before I ever even held my baby. 

Labor took longer than I expected.  At some point during the process, I told my husband that I knew that the baby was a boy and that his name was to be Jacob Michael. He agreed that that felt right. 

Jacob Michael silently slipped from my body on Wednesday January 22, 2014 at 1:53 am. (a tender connection is that all my boys were born on a Wednesday)  His tiny perfect body only weighed 3 oz.  

I had complications with my placenta not detaching and had to have an epidural to have a D&C so I didn't see my baby for a few hours.  My friend from the Share Parents Group took his body to take molds of his hands and feet, to dress him and to take pictures.  She finally brought him to him.  I will be honest, I was scared to see him and was unprepared for how his body looked.  And he was so cold.  I was very concerned about holding him close and wrapping him up to warm his body.  My baby shouldn't be cold.  My husband and I took turns holding Jacob, telling him how much we loved him. Around 8 that morning, my in-laws brought our boys to meet their baby brother.  My husband and father-in-law gave Jacob a beautiful blessing.   We spent an hour as a family of five before I knew it was time to say goodbye.  I held Jacob one last time, telling him how sorry I was, how much I loved him and that he will always be my little angel. As the nurse carried him out of the room, we all bawled. My heart broke, not only for my loss, but for my boys who were mourning the loss of their baby brother.  The image of my boys crying is forever seared in my memory.

We held a simple yet special burial for Jacob on Friday January 24. It felt very surreal to be burying my baby.  We were preparing for his birth to change our lives, but instead our lives our forever changed by his death.

It has now been almost four months since we lost Jacob. A part of me died that cold January day, and I have had to learn to live again every day. Some days are easier than others.  Some moments are easier than others. I have been blessed with many sacred moments and have felt Jacob's spirit near several times. But I miss him every minute.  My heart hurts so much.

His would-be due date is fast approaching: June 13.  I should be setting up a crib and washing baby clothes; instead I decorate and visit my baby's grave. I should be attending doctor appointments, watching my unborn child grow; instead I attend counseling and a grieving parents group.  I should be prepping my boys for life with a newborn; instead we talk about death and heaven.

I feel humbled that Jacob chose me to be his mom.  I am grateful for my belief that I am eternally his mom and that one day he will be in my arms.  Every day that I am able to survive without him, is one day closer to be with him again.