Birdies or Cars?

Last week Brendon, Cole and I went to my 19-week prenatal appointment.  I was overwhelmed with anxiety for weeks before this appointment because I was having my first ultrasound that would really tell us if this baby was growing at a typical rate.  As anyone who has lost a baby knows, ultrasounds are no longer fun.  They are anxiety ridden scans that hopefully provide reassurance, but can also be an immense source of pain.  When I had one at 8 weeks with this pregnancy, I cried for 10 minutes beforehand.  It was my first ultrasound since my last one with Molly, that one being when we found out she was gone. This was my fourth ultrasound of this pregnancy, and I will likely have five more before I deliver this child.  I was also anxious to discover if this baby is a boy or a girl, unsure of what emotions would be stirred up either way.  Two days before the appointment, I went to a huge sale at Nicki's Diapers.  I found a great deal on two diapers, both being very gender specific.  I bought both.  I'm not one to pass up a good deal, nor do I hesitate at putting pink birdies on a boy or cars on a girl.  Honestly, I believed I would be putting pink on a boy, and I was perfectly fine with that, both in terms of fashion and having a boy in general.

Thank you, Nicki's Diapers!

Walking in to the ultrasound, I was beyond terrified.  With each of my other 3 ultrasounds up to that point, I immediately told the technician Molly's story, asking for them to show me the heartbeat first so I could relax a bit.  With my 11 week ultrasound, the technician asked me what Molly's name was.  When I told her, she shared with me that she had also lost an infant daughter named Molly.  That connection made the ultrasound so much easier, and I had hoped to have the same technician at 19 weeks, but I did not.  Before even getting on the table, I told the technician about Molly.  She was very kind.  After only seconds, she showed me and Brendon the heartbeat.  I was able to relax a little, but I also knew that this ultrasound was very important.  As she scanned and measured, I crossed my fingers that this baby's growth would come back in the typical range.  After Molly died, we learned that she was smaller than she should have been and her placenta was only in the 5th percentile.  This meant that at some point she stopped getting nutrition and stopped growing, most likely around 37 weeks and most likely caused by a blood clot.  That is why I will have so many ultrasounds this time to make sure this baby is growing properly.  I am also on a blood thinning medication to prevent clots.

After the technician finished, the doctor came in to look everything over.  It was not the doctor I normally make appointments with, and that is for a reason.  This particular doctor has horrible bedside manner.  Horrible.  She went through the scans quickly, saying everything looked good, and then revealed our child's gender in the most anticlimactic way possible, followed by, "Oh, you wanted to know that, right?"  Ughhh.  For being a doctor who sees patients like me everyday, meaning parents who have lost children or are in the midst of high risk pregnancies, she just isn't very good at the interpersonal part of her job.  I wanted fireworks upon learning the baby was healthy (I got a few nods and a few "looks good, looks good...").  And I certainly didn't want our child's gender revealed as an unimportant detail.  I realize that doctors are busy, but I just wanted a little...drum roll?  Support?  A realization on her part that this isn't easy for us?  Something.  I wanted something.  And I didn't get it.  But it is what it is.  And we found out, in the most undramatic way ever, that Cole is now a...

I was surprised.  And by surprised, I mean shocked.  Speechless.  Unable to form a complete thought about how I felt.  And maybe a little numb.  I truly, beyond a doubt, felt that this baby was a boy.  I'm guessing my mind had decided this child was a boy so that I wouldn't subconsciously think I was carrying Molly.  I also felt so lucky when we found out Molly was a girl, and I didn't think we could get that lucky again.  Not to say that we wouldn't have felt lucky if Molly had been a boy.  But after already having Cole, it felt somehow magical to be expecting a girl.  I do feel lucky again, but I also feel strange.  Mixed up.  Confused.  I know I will love this little girl.  I already do.  And I know she will be her own person, not a shadow of the sister she will not get to grow up with.  I have to admit, though, right now, it is incredibly difficult to imagine giving birth to and raising a daughter who isn't Molly.  Will I put her in the few outfits I bought for Molly?  Will I ever slip and say the wrong name?  Will other people?

I've been hesitant to share this news for a few reasons.  In general, I feel a bit more private about this pregnancy that I did about my other two.  I am not assuming anything.  It doesn't feel quite right when people congratulate me on the pregnancy.  I always say "I'm pregnant" instead of "I'm having a baby."  I say "she's a girl" instead of "we're having a girl."  Indeed all of these statements are true, but what if tragedy strikes again and we don't get to bring her home?  It feels like assuming too much to say things too confidently.  I also remember the reaction people had when I was pregnant with Molly.  "Oh, a girl and a boy.  How perfect."  If someone says that to me this time, it will feel so wrong.  I already have a boy and a girl, and it isn't perfect.  Not by a long shot.  And I always wondered why people thought a boy and a girl made the perfect family.  I would have been thrilled with a house full of boys or a house full of girls or any combination if I got to raise them all.

Along with the confusion over finding out this baby is a girl came the thought that I really want Cole to have a little brother.  I have a very strong relationship with my sister, and Brendon is very close with his brother.  I want that connection for Cole.  And it will always make me sad that this little girl won't have an earthly relationship with her big sister.  I know siblings can have a strong relationship regardless of gender.  I see that with Cole's cousins, and I greatly value the relationship I have with my own brother.  However, I just feel that there is something really special between brothers (and sisters, if that were the case).  These thoughts of course make me feel guilty and even more mixed up.  I want to raise a girl.  I have shed countless tears over losing Molly as an individual, but also the loss of the chance to raise a girl.  But upon finding out this child is a girl, I suddenly re-realized that I also really love raising a boy.  Ultimately, I have no control over any of this.  Letting go, however, is not my strong suit.  My mind tends to believe that if I think about something long enough, I can control the outcome.  As Brendon likes to remind me, for better or worse, I don't control the universe.  Whatever happens will happen.  And hopefully my children will value each other and want to spend time together no matter what combination of boys and girls we end up raising.

August 17, 2007

 I really felt in my heart that this baby would be a boy, and if we went on to have a fourth, maybe that child would be a girl.  I think I was protecting myself, believing that it would hurt less if we had a boy now, and then I might be ready for a girl in a few years.  I do know that's probably absolutely not true.  Would I have ever been ready for this?  Would I ever have absolutely felt ready for another pregnancy?  Would I ever have felt ready to carry a girl who wasn't Molly?  Nope.  Everything about this pregnancy is terrifying.  Adding the layer of knowing this baby is a girl has not made it easier.  I would have gone crazy not knowing, but I'm going crazy anyway.  I do miss the carefree pregnancy days I had with Cole and Molly.  I rarely worried.  I felt everything would be fine.  I didn't believe my baby could die.  Impossible.  But despite the anxiety, I know that losing Molly has made me more grateful for every moment of this pregnancy.  Every time we hear the heartbeat or see her on the ultrasound screen or I feel a little movement, I know it is a miracle.

I've been so hesitant to be excited about this pregnancy.  I'm no longer innocent when it comes to all of this.  Bad things happen.  All the time.  But I know good things happen all the time, too.  Healthy babies are born every day.  I have been on both sides of the fence.  I have experienced the joy of a live birth and the devastation of a stillbirth.  And I know that even in tragedy, hope blooms.  Even knowing how Molly's story ended, I would do it all again.  I would still have her even if I walked with the knowledge that I would lose her.  And I am doing it again.  I am taking the risk because I believe good things are to come for my family.  Hope wins in our house.  Despite my anxiety and the pain and the fear, Hope wins.  I again have images of tutus and purple soccer shoes and ridiculous girly outfits running through my mind.  No matter what I say or how I feel or how scared I am, this baby girl is Hope realized.  So much so that our wonderful nephew James (loudly) believes that should be her name.  Cole has other plans.  But that is for another day...

"I wish I could have one without the other, but that's the problem with being alive.  You don't usually get to choose the measure of suffering or the degree of joy you have."
~Ally Condie