Pictures, Pictures, Pictures!!!!!!

Holy cow...I've not updated really on Luke in ages, nor shared many pictures, nor shared much of what we are doing or what's going on (well, except of course, the intimate details of our IVF cycle, right?)...guess that means we've just been SUPER busy...

So quick highlights and then mostly pictures:

WALKING! Still wobbly, but getting better and better every day.  Can't keep him in the crawlers room at church anymore!

TEETH!  He has NINE now...three molars and according to the doctor, several more bulges ready to pop.

WORDS!  He says Mommy, Daddy, Doggie (and in no particular order...just depends on mood!), Bap  (bath), Dixie (what he calls Dixie OR Sammy), LeLe (what he calls Grandma's dog Lola), shoes (more like shooce), juice (more like shooce), Nein (though thankfully, not a lot yet!) and lots of parroting of sounds...especially bells ringing and sirens clanging.

SINGING!  He sings.  Lots.  And especially sings himself to sleep.  Love that!

RECOGNITION!  One morning when I went to get him up, I walked in his room and smelled a diaper!  I said, "Uh oh, Luke!  Do you have a stinky diaper?" Would you believe he started patting the front of his diaper like, "Yep.  Sure do.  Here it is."?  He knows where his diaper, ears, eyes, mouth, and nose, belly, feet and hands are and he's working on those with us and on pictures in books.  He's also signing more, eat, and ALL DONE (which is universal for him...the "All Done" sign is basically his way of saying "NO!" to whatever he doesn't want any more!

He is a very serious boy all of a sudden.  He's always been very analytical, and very quizzical, but he seems like he always has such a serious furrow of his little brows.  So funny.

We've done a lot in the last few months, even though we've been sick, so here are some highlights in pictures:

Marine Corps Ball in November...he wasn't thrilled!

Enjoying this great spring weather last week!

Mommy, Lukey and Baby Brother or Sister...and yes, he was trying to reach desperately for daddy!

8 weeks 3 days...definitely getting bigger more quickly!

Mommy's birthday...He bought me a new Llama Llama book and he was thrilled with it!

We were SO excited to visit with our friends Heather and sweet little Liam!  We hung out with them at the Pine Knoll Shores Aquarium and their beach cottage at Emerald Isle (visiting from Illinois!)...Liam is a LOVE bug.  Luke, I learned...well....Luke is somewhat territorial!  Working on that!

 

Luke was looking at Liam like, "Kid, don't mess with my deck slat!"

He walked up to this donation bin, said "Doggie" and tried to hug the "Doggie" (aka the otter!)...silly boy!

Beach Babies!!!!  LOVE these little miracles playing together!

SOOOO serious!

Sandy crackers are the best.  (The seagulls certainly think so!)

Liam the smiley boy at the Aquarium

Ill-fated attempts to get pictures of them playing together...

Beautiful Mommy and son!!!
  

Hanging outside of the aquarium.  These big boys are so precious.  And three days apart!

Luke helping himself to his juice and snacks back in November.

 Daddy made Luke a rocking horse for his first birthday.  It was a HIT!  (And yes, he calls it Doggie!)

Working out dishwasher style...

Some pics from back in November...such great weather we had! (Still do!)

Visiting Flat-Iron Farm at Christmas...not AT ALL happy with that goat!

Hoping he doesn't like being behind bars!!!!

Surreality and Fear...

I sort of feel as if I am living in a very surreal life.

It is just about insanity to me that I am pregnant for the 3rd time in less than 3 years.  One week from now is another one of my favorite days—March 19.  That's the day we found out for the first time that we were pregnant and I just couldn't believe it.

Three years later, I'm at a loss.  A loss for a name if we have a baby boy, because I'd only ever had one picked out...Matthew.

Luke's name fell perfectly into our lives, and I guess I'm hoping for that again should this baby be a boy because I'm stumped.  A little girl has long been named Molly Jane...but another boy?

When in my wildest dreams would I have imagined three baby boys in my life?  Three baby boy names????

It just feels very surreal.

Really, this whole pregnancy seems that way.  I have to say that I went through most of the IVF cycle banking on it working.  Don't ask why, but I just felt like it would.

But fear is trying to creep back in, which is really strange because honestly, I don't remember feeling more fear than excitement with Luke.

I know that's crazy, but it's true.  I REFUSED to allow my fear to steal one single second of my joy over that second pregnancy test.  I just reread what I wrote HERE and it's funny how it's somewhat similar but quite different from how I am feeling now.

Obviously, fourteen months raising an amazing little boy has given me purpose again...unimaginable joy and happiness.  I couldn't even have imagined that then because my heart was so heavy.

It's not as heavy now.  Two years have gone by and so many people share their love of our Matthew with us nearly every day...somehow...whether a quick email or FB "thinking of you" or picture from the cemetery or whatever...we are so blessed by people who remind us that Matthew MATTERED.  His life is not just one that's gone and made no impact.  We are grateful.

I think with Luke, though...I tried to reinforce my remembrance of odds...that MOST babies go home just fine and seriously?  What were the odds of another catastrophic happening back to back?

We're not back to back anymore.

I feel joyful and happy so, so much of the time.

Life feels different than it should...but it still feels good.  Amazing, actually.

That FLIPPING SHOE just keeps hanging...dangling...taunting.

I still am not feeling all that pregnant.  Thankfully the OHSS has simmered mostly down (though ovaries are still pretty big, most fluid is gone) and I've been so sick in the last several weeks that I've lost several pounds.  I was 92 pounds at retrieval and am currently about 86.

No one needs to get in a dither about that.  The baby is fine.  Fabulous.  Taking everything it possibly needs from me.  I am getting full daily amounts of all vitamins and minerals I need, and though eating has not been easy for me, I am certainly making sure I do my best to keep fed and hydrated.

I'm just small.  Skinny, really.  John keeps saying we need a picture.  I know, we do.

Just not feeling up to it these days.

Which of course makes me twitch a bit because it's soooo like most would laugh about and say, "Yep...second child syndrome.  They never get all the pictures and documentation and attention like the first."

Except this is not our second child.  Our first is dead and his little brother is basically being raised as a first/only child.

Anyway, just not feeling or looking pregnant.  I know we are early...8w2d today, but other than being really tired, I'd not believe I was pregnant except for the wonderful ultrasounds I had on Friday.  I was terrified that we'd go in and find that the growth had stopped.

Nope.  It was perfect.  Measured exactly as I was...7w6d with a lovely, lovely heartrate of 160.

Of course everyone thinks "girl" because that's a bit faster, but I don't believe that for a second...Matthew's at that 8 week appointment was 162 and Luke's at the 8 week appointment was 169!

Both all boy.  In fact, none of the old wives' tales ever fit...how I carried, what their heartrates were, whether or not I had heartburn... (and yes, HORRIBLE with Luke and the boy is STILL bald!)

So...we'll see...we go back to see our beloved Dr. Sweeney Easter weekend for the NT scan and then...we're done with the first trimester!

Friends, that is LESS than a month!!!!  Another surreality...that I'm a little less than 4 weeks from being out of the 1st trimester already!!!

Holy cow.

As for the giveaway...no one got it!  Not one got right beside it.  So, I just took the entries on time order and drew a random number.  The number was 11 and that was by dayzeegirrl (J!) at 7:08, March 7!  Friend, I messaged you on HP, but was having a hard time finding you on FB, so email me your address so I may send the cd!!  Congrats!

No fear.  No fear.  No fear.
Working on it.

Who I Am Today...

Today, I am 39 years old. (Gasp.)

I am a shell of who I used to be.

I am stronger than I ever wanted to be.

I am a former extrovert...now an introvert with super acting skills.

I am a former social butterfly who could befriend just about anyone but now, a self-proclaimed hermit.

I used to enjoy and be energized by new people and new circumstances where I could roar.

Now, no one really wants to hear what I feel like roaring.  I don't blame them.  I wish it didn't pulse through my veins with every beat of my heart.

HE'S GONE.


NO ONE TAKES HIS PLACE.


I CAN'T BREATHE.

But...

I am a mother. Unbelievably, and against many odds, I am a mother.

And though I want to just scream with agony at the top of my lungs sometimes....

I sing every.single. day.

Every day.  Imagine Snow White with birds fluttering around and silly squirrels happily twittering.

Because I am so often overwhelmed with gratitude and love and joy for the precious little brother who also leaves me not breathing...gasping for air because he makes me laugh so much I nearly cry.

Happy tears.  Joyful tears.  Bittersweet tears.  But sweet nonetheless.

I am a tornado.  Emotions raging through me so strongly I can't contain them sometimes.

Injustice??????  LET ME AT IT.

Threaten harm to my family?  Consider yourself in a war you will not win.

Tenacious?  So I've been told.

But tamed.

Tamed by the knowledge that everyone has a story.  Some, we just don't know.

Tamed by the arrogant way I so easily threw around, "Everything happens for a reason," as I would console someone...and how those words now sear my skin.  Then, I thought, "Oh...if only this person had the faith that *I* have...their hearts would be comforted."  The arrogance has me humbled and tamed.

Just tamed.

I am defeated.

I am a winner.

I am able to accept it all.

I am not able to happily accept it all.

I have smiled more in the last 14 months than I have in my entire life.

I have cried more in the last two years than I have in my entire life.

I am barely a newlywed in my head.

I am old enough to be the grandmother of some of the little ones in some of Luke's playgroups. (And I'm not talking 12 year-old motherhood either.  Like seriously, I was in college when some moms were born!)

I feel I was targeted.  I feel I was tested.  I feel I was punished.

I feel I am blessed beyond measure.  I am so, so grateful that I don't have to worry about food or clothes or a roof over our head.  We have amazing things and an amazing life.

I am well-traveled.

I just don't really feel like going many places anymore.

I am well-educated.

But I can't find my keys or wallet half the time, much less do anything more taxing with my brain.

I feel like I am capable of doing so much more in my life.

But don't even know what more I'd want to do.  I never want to be away from Luke.

I am infertile.

But... infertile women don't have children.

Yes,we do.  And I am.  Still.  

I am a person completely different than I was November 28, 2009.

But the same.  Same face, more wrinkles.  Same hair, now with gray.  Same eyes, only without the same sparkle.  Same laugh, just more guarded about its use.  Same body, but with scarring reminders of what it's been through and what it's given up.

So very much the same and so very much different.

Any time I hear the Kenny Chesney song, "Who you'd be today," I always wonder just who I am?  Today?

And all I ever can answer is that I am in the Great I Am's hands.

Every day, who I am changes, but being held never does.  It feels different at different times, and that doesn't always settle as well with me as I'd like it to.

But I believe Him for who He says He is.

One who does not plan to harm me.  One who has great plans for my future.  One who has given me the strength to wake up every single day for 39 years.  One who has given me the most amazing miracles I could ever fathom.

One who knows who I am.

Remembering with Anguish and Joy...and Another Giveaway

I'm doing the Beth Moore Bible study on James.  The concept that has struck me to my inner core so far is the concept of living with anguish and joy...how the very nature of our humanness unfortunately means that we can experience such joy and glee that makes our heart sing...while at the same time, know in the depths of our hearts an anguish that seems unquenchable...never able to heal...never able from which to recover.

How those two completely opposite, heavy and all-encompassing emotions can co-exist in so many lives.

And how we are to count it ALL as joy...even the anguish.

I admit.  I've struggled at times in this study because it really hits home.  Beth's example of a time that she's experienced an anguish that was gut-wrenching was far, far, far different than mine.  And in her situation...all lived.

(Don't get me wrong...I LOVE BETH MOORE!  She has gone through struggles and trials unfathomable herself, and still praises Him beautifully.  I'm just saying that as she was taking us to that 'place of anguish' in her video, mine was much, much, much deeper and soul-crushing.)

Anyway. Remembering. THIS POST is from this day exactly three years ago.  I just reread it.  I cried.  Even more than this morning when I updated Facebook, remembering this day.

This was the day I became a mother.  I remember it so vividly.  I was terrified we were going to have a difficult time getting to Rockville because of the two feet of snow we'd just gotten.  I had no idea what to expect.  And really...I just couldn't believe that it would work our first try.

As I reread...I am also struck by my feelings then...God's will...what will be, will be...my ease and ability to so carelessly toss it all into that big bin of "God is in control," and really believe that.

It's easy to believe it when it hasn't been really challenged.

Oh, it was challenged when my mom died and when John's dad died...cancer...a sick, evil word.  Two precious people gone way before they should have been.

But they were parents.  We expect our parents to go before we do.

We do not expect that we will have to be sure the 'baby' coffin we pick out for our son is long enough for his tiny body because he was so tall.

THAT challenged my ease of belief.

Regardless, March 6 is one of my favorite, favorite days.  March 6 gave me the best early birthday present ever...a sweet little one nestled in his mommy's tummy...allowing me the honor of protecting and serving him until we met.  Even if just in a caress of a shoulder months later.

To honor Matthew, I'd like to do another giveaway.  Several months ago, a talented pianist named John Albert offered, out of the generosity of his heart, beautiful music made in honor of bereaved parents...parents he'd found out about through Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep...and parents everywhere who knew the grief in losing a little one far too soon.  He was (and I believe still may be) offering FREE downloads of the music, as well as the option to purchase the beautiful CD versions to honor several little ones.  I thought it was so kind of him to do so that I bought two.  One for myself and one to giveaway...one day.

Today is the day.  We have another ultrasound and visit with our amazing doctors in Maryland on Friday.  We graduate from Shady Grove, and also get to see our beloved Dr. Sweeney so he can tell us this little one looks like a million bucks.  To enter this giveaway, just give me another guess at the heartbeat rate.  Honestly, I'm trying to stay away from Dr. Google, so I don't even know what the average heartbeat rate at 7w6d is, so I can't help with guesses.  Whoever gets it, or comes closest, wins.

And as we wait for the winning answer...please say a little prayer for my anxiety.  I admit I'm worried about having a good ultrasound on Friday.  There's no reason we shouldn't, but I'm having a hard time keeping the fear at bay.

Winners!!

So, I had 41 people enter (several gave 'for fun' guesses, but did not want to receive the DVD) to win the Praise Baby DVD by guessing Dash-3's heartbeat.

Do you know that not a single person got it?  I'm surprised!  I had two guess 123 and two guess 121, but no one got 122.  Frankly, I think that's high, so I'd never have guessed that either. (And I don't give two cents' worth of belief in that girls have higher heartrates...both Matthew and Luke's were initially slower, but after the first one, for both of them, they were always super high and everyone kept saying, "Girl! Girl!").

In any event, I want a winner!!!  So, I basically took the time stamp from each FB post and blog comment and put them in order.  Then I did a random number generator and picked.

And because we had a little twin that was trying to make it but just couldn't...sigh...I'm giving away TWO.  So I picked ANOTHER number!

The winners are: (These winners know who they are, so abbreviating some info for their privacy!)

Loribeth S !!! (Mommy of the ADORABLE little LK and super lucky...she just won an awesome smocked outfit contest too!!!).  She guessed 103 at 6:39 and that was the 9th guess of the contest! I hope LK loves this video as much as Luke does!

Random Integer Generator

Here are your random numbers:

9

Timestamp: 2012-03-02 16:17:39 UTC

 

The next winner makes me SO glad I decided to do two...Crystal P. was the 35th guesser of the game, and though she didn't want it, if she won, she wanted her 'prize' to go to my sweet, sweet friend Shandrea...who is soon welcoming her sweet J into the world.  I am thrilled to do so, Crystal!!!

Random Integer Generator

Here are your random numbers:

35

Timestamp: 2012-03-02 16:24:52 UTC

Loribeth and Shandrea, I am pretty sure I have both of your addresses, but would you be kind to me and save some looking time for me by messaging them to me really quickly?  I'll order the videos from Amazon, and you should have them in a couple of days!!

I have to say...I LOVE doing giveaways...I might have to try and figure out how to do more!!!

Dash-3 Is ON BOARD!

So, if you want to truly know what receiving a miraculous answer to prayer feels like, post something on FB, have a ton of people offer encouragement, support and mostly, PRAYER...get on your knees and beg God to listen to your and others' prayers and wait.

(Which of course, is the excruciating part!)

Yesterday morning, I was pretty sure I was miscarrying.  I have no experience with miscarriage, but I know that bright red blood and cramping are not usually great things, nor were they anything I experienced with Matthew or Luke.  Considering how miserable I've felt (and really...I've been SICK!  Almost as bad as when I had H1N1 last year!) and how worried I was about how my illness could have affected the baby, when you throw in the blood and the cramping...like I said, pretty much felt it was over.

Throughout the day, I got email after email/text/message telling me not to give up hope because this was common and there were other reasons than just losing the baby that I could be bleeding.

I wasn't so sure, but honestly, as the day wore on, I felt more and more encouraged.  The bleeding pretty much stopped (and I figured if it was miscarriage, it would get worse) and the cramping lessened.  By the end of the night, I started to feel like maybe...just maybe...maybe we could still have a miracle.

John seemed pretty upbeat, and even though I didn't want to get my hopes up, truly, my gut said to just hold on.

You know, though, what kind of speaking terms my gut and I have been on lately, of course.  Not so easy.

But then I thought, maybe it wasn't my gut.  I really feel like God was just telling me to wait.

I sort of had some internal conversation with God...

"Lori, trust Me.  You specifically asked for a healthy brother or sister for Luke and Matthew.  I think I've made it pretty clear with how amazing things have turned that I'm working that for you."

"I know, God...but You promised me Matthew too."

"I gave him to you."

"You didn't let me keep him."

"I never tell anyone how long they get to keep anyone.  Not your business...Mine.  Make the most of every second I give you with anyone you love."

"Well I love this baby.  I want this baby.  This baby is a miracle."

"Umm...I KNOW!  I gave her (yes, I think it's a girl) to you.  Wait in me.  Strength will rise when you wait on me."

(Cue music again...and by the way, the week we found out we were pregnant, we sang that song at church...so before we found out Luke was coming and right after we found out this baby was coming!)

"Lori.  You said you wouldn't worry about anything until you had a reason to worry.  Don't live through a miscarriage you may not even have.  Deal with it tomorrow, if that's what happens.  But treasure that baby now."

"Gulp.  Ok."

So, even though I was nervous, nervous, nervous...I oddly felt like this was going to be one of those miracles.  I didn't know how...but I just felt like it could be.

AND IT WAS!

The doctor had a difficult time finding anything initially because she didn't have enough gel (she was a resident, and very nice!) so the sonographer helped her and helped her move me up on the table.  At first, the only thing obvious was that my ovaries are still VERY enlarged (did NOT need an ultrasound for that, trust me... I feel it!)...but I didn't see anything.  Nothing.  NOTHING.  I started to tear up and then all of a sudden, the tech said, "Hey, hey...there's your peanut!!!"  and then John said, "I see the heartbeat!!!"

TEARS.  TEARS.  MORE TEARS.

There was a sweet little baby with a sweet little heartbeat and I was overjoyed.  As I thanked God, I then said, "Well, why am I bleeding??? What's going on????"  The doctor and tech said it looked as if there were the 'remains' (such a harsh word) of another and it just didn't continue...so, that would explain why my HCG levels were off the charts...and also explain why I was bleeding.  They suspect it was a twin.  She said that often, there may not even be any blood..."Disappearing Twin" and that it actually was fairly common in IVF pregnancies, especially when two embryos were transferred.  The official terminology was "a sonolucent area representing a 2nd gestational sac with no fetal pole."

So, of course.  That is sad.  Sad, sad, sad.  And worse, I feel so terrible because as sad as that makes me, I am just so overjoyed and relieved that the peanut we saw on Friday shared a beautiful heartbeat with us today! 122!!!

Dr. P talked to us after and said it was very common to miss a twin (especially one that was not going to make it) when we scanned at 5w5d and so that a lot of things made sense and today was great news.

You know, here's a secret.  I only told John...not even my doctors...on Thursday, I had a little bit of bleeding too.  I won't get graphic, but it was weird.  Sort of out of the blue and not really much of anything I gave any credence to because it was just so weird.  It wasn't a lot, and I just thought, "Hmm. Well, blood sometimes happens."  Now, knowing what we know and seeing what we saw today...I think even then we were losing that little one.

This all boils down to....DASH-3 is ON BOARD!!!  We are thrilled and just so, so grateful.

Thank you ALL for the prayers.  Isn't it amazing what things can be done when asked for in His name?

Here are a few pics of our little one...already giving us a run for our money!

To me, this looks like a parrot sitting on it's ring...the baby is the parrot part and the ring is the yolk sac.

Welcome to our family, little one!!!

Pretty Much Over...

Please keep us in your prayers. I am having some cramping and bleeding and will go in tomorrow morning for confirmation, but we pretty much feel we have lost this baby.

Will I Ever Learn?

Learn what?

To trust my gut? (Again.  Trust it again.)

Not to worry about what others think?

That different people present different diseases with different symptoms?

Ugh.

I am so angry.  Luke and I have been suffering with this 'cold' off and on for the last 10 days.  I've called the nurses' line, polled friends with kids who are suffering various ailments, and even polled some friends with strep throaters.  I've done everything that has been recommended to me in dealing with it...which is not fun when you are miserable and pregnant.  Miserable?  Hard enough?  Miserable with a busy toddler running around?  Harder still.  Miserable with a busy toddler who is ALSO sick?  Worse.  Throw PREGNANT in with that mix, and really, I guess I just chalked me taking this 'cold' harder to my weaker immune system and not being able to do anything to treat it.

Not to mention...little bit has been under-the-weather off and on for the last 10 days.  We've both been running low grade fevers that will come and go, days apart. (I've taken 5 tylenol in the last 10 days because I know fever isn't great for baby.)  So, I figured that whatever HE has, I must have.  And it seemed as if he just had this 'cold.'

Even though, in my gut, I thought..."This is some cold."

Even though, in my gut, I thought..."I know they say you can run fevers with colds, but I didn't think that really happened all that much."

Even though, in my gut, I thought..."I should probably just be sure it's not strep, because I know that's going around."

I didn't listen.

I took Luke in this morning.  In addition to the awful cold-like symptoms, he now has some bumps on his face/neck and hands.  Remembering that the boy is a RASHY boy, I haven't paid too much attention until I noticed they were multiplying pretty rapidly from the first one last night.  John freaked me out about chicken pox, Luke has been tugging at his ear, and therefore...doctor's visit warranted.

He has an infection in both ears (left one, pretty severe), a sinus infection, and STREP THROAT.
His doctor told me to get tested ASAP, being pregnant, and at such a pivotal developmental time for the baby.

Yep...the rapid came back, "Raging," according to the doctor, with him also asking me how I've been able to eat with my throat as raw as it was.  (Answer?  I'm PREGNANT and this baby needs to eat at ALL COSTS.  I force myself.  It's what mommies do.)

I immediately started crying, because I said, "I should have come in earlier, shouldn't I?" and he said, "Anytime a pregnant woman has a fever, even a low-grade one, they should come in because it could be the onset of a bacterial infection."

*Cue Mom-of-the-Year Award music*

I've been pregnant 3 times.  You'd think I would know that.

And the thing is...in my gut, I DO.

But I don't trust my gut anymore.  My gut told me Matthew would live.

He's dead.

My gut worries about just about everything.

I feel like I can't win.  I'm either too neurotic because I worry about EVERYTHING (and frankly, it takes everything in me, every single day to NOT be like this)...or, I don't worry enough, trust that it's 'just a cold and has to run it's course,' and end up with strep and could kill the baby.

When I started crying, the doctor said, "Woah, woah...woah...don't worry...moms take crack and heroin and their babies turn out fine."  (Comforting or not, I'm not sure how I feel about that statement.)

In my experience, moms do EVERYTHING right and their babies die.

I hate that I do not trust my gut.  I just feel like I can't.  It has lied to me in the most severe, severe way.

I hate that I worry (even though I say I don't) about what kind of mother people think I am.  I feel like my reaction to everything is on showcase—for people to pick at, criticize and condemn. (Of course, I realize that I could remove a LOT of that if I didn't have a public blog.  I know, I know.)

"His paci dropped on the ground...what's she gonna do?"

"He won't eat anything...how's she gonna handle that?"

"He's crying...is she gonna let him cry or baby him?" (Which is ironic...BABY a baby?  Umm, yes.  When the call arises.)

"She needs to stop worrying so much. Kids get scrapes.  They get bumps.  They get dirty."

"She needs to worry a little more.  Playing with keys is dangerous.  Dog food isn't good for babies.  Why isn't he wearing a coat when all the other babies are?"

More, I hate that trusting God means accepting circumstances I DO NOT WANT.

I don't want that to sound blasphemous.  I am doing a study on James.  I know, I know...count it as joy...

But really, I do not count losing Matthew as joy.
If something should happen to this baby, I will not count losing it as joy.

I will accept.  What choice do I have?

And I know, I am not alone and God holds us.

I just know that even though God is holding me, I still am the mother of a dead child.  And there's nothing to say I won't be the mother of two. Or three.  Or the widow of a military pilot.  Or all of the above.

Trusting my gut and trusting God are often not all that much different...except in obedience I trust God.

But my gut?  Too big a liar.

Except sometimes.  Like now.

Feel Down? Give Away!!!!

I really feel pretty ashamed of myself for feeling so "bleh" these last few days.  There is nothing to be that way about AT ALL.  It was early.  I got the ultrasound report back—it was a beautiful little 1.14cm x .043cm x .075 gestational sac with a 4mm yolk.  As much as I love Dr. P down here, his equipment is NOT the same as Shady Grove's so, it stands to reason that not much more could be seen as early as 5w6d.  Like I already said, nothing was seen for either of the boys that early, and when it WAS seen, it was slow cardiac activity, so odds are it had just started.

We are already just so attached to this little one.  Truly.  So I just hate not knowing definitively that everything is fine.

Then again, do we ever?
Sigh.

Anyway...so I've been blah.  But that is just not ok with me, especially in light of so many I know of who are hurting and suffering.  So, one of the things that I know doesn't seem natural, but is SO true, is that when one is feeling blah, the best way to fix that is to serve or to give.  So, I'm going to do a giveaway.

I've said it before.  Luke LOVES the PraiseBaby videos.  So do I.  Heck, even John walks around the house humming!

So, I'm going to give one away on Friday.  To enter, just tell me what you think the baby's heart rate is going to be. (Because I WILL see a heartbeat.)  I'll help give some idea...typically at this point, the heartbeat is 90-110.  Matthew at 6w1d was 102 and Luke at 6w2d was 88 (yeah, remember me freaking out about how that was a bit slow???!!!).  I'll be 6w6d on Friday.

Whoever gets it, or closest, wins.  In the event that there are multiple correct guesses, I'll go with the first one...maybe.  Maybe I'll just give more!

In the meantime, friends...thank you for praying for us and sending us love and encouragement.  We are so, so grateful.  Our cups runneth over.

No Fetal Pole...

Don't feel like writing much but know many people are waiting. They saw one gestational sac. No fetal pole or heartbeat. A small yolk. I am 5w6d. I saw Matthew's heartbeat at 102 when I was 6w1d and Luke's at 88 when I was 6w2d. Both of those heartbeats were considered slow. There is nothing slow about Luke, let me be clear. All clinicians involved feel it's early. We return next week for definitive information. So... More waiting. Super not fun. Thanks everyone for thinking about us and praying for us.

Quiet..

It's so funny how people who really know me will always call me out when they haven't heard from me in a while.

And I realize I've been a little less vocal.

I do want to thank everyone for sending me so many kind comments and emails and messages.  I really, really, really do feel loved beyond measure and appreciate so many of you just opening your hearts to me and sharing my hurts.  You really don't have to take them on, and yet, you do, and I am honored.

I guess I don't really know what to say.  I probably shouldn't even have written that the other night.  I wasn't looking for anything.  I guess, if anything, I was aggravated with John because I felt like we should have had a deeper conversation after that movie than we did, so I took out my frustrations somewhere else.

And really...completely being honest here... I do NOT blame myself for Matthew dying.  Do I believe that if I had a scheduled c-section (which my doctors would have allowed, though they definitely preferred natural delivery), Matthew would have lived?

I do.

I believe that with my entire being.  While I recognize I am not the one who gives or takes life away, I also believe that we, in God's sovereignty, are given free will and brains with which to make choices, and that as a result of living in this broken world, our choices have consequences.

I don't believe that I was being punished by Matthew dying.
I don't believe that John was being punished.
I don't believe that I was given any medical advice that EVERY.SINGLE.OTHER pregnant woman in my shoes would have been given.

I just believe that if I'd stuck to my guns, it would have been different.

And I won't lie.  I know that a lot of people also feel a bit of that regret...my sweet doctors even told me so..."Maybe we should have listened to you..."

For about two-tenths of a second, the human, hurting mother in me wants to scream, "YES!  YOU SHOULD HAVE!  YOU SHOULD HAVE!  I TOLD YOU!"

But I won't.  I absolutely, wholeheartedly believe and know that I received THE BEST MEDICAL care and advice that could be provided for me.  THE BEST.  Period.  For a single person to tell me, "Oh, yeah...go ahead, cut him out...easy peasy!" would have been completely irresponsible and frankly, close to medical malpractice.

I won't allow myself to give that thought more than two-tenths (which is frankly, two-tenths of a second too much) worth of time because it's just not fair or true.

In the end, *I* made the choice I did because I trusted those who could be trusted.  I believed those who knew what they were doing.  I wanted to do what was best for my baby.

I still believe that a natural delivery IS the best, first path.

I'm just aggravated that I felt so, so strongly about something, regardless of the reasoning, and was talked into something else.  That's just not me.

What IS me, though...is trying to maintain faith.  What good are providers if you don't trust them?  Listen to them?  BELIEVE them?  They are worthless, and you are arrogant.

I had FAITH in them.  And I still do.

So...another sticking point for me has been the whole "God's plan" conversation being debated in my heart and mind and even in writing, apparently.  And while I, by pure definition of being a good little Southern Baptist girl, claim that God is SOVEREIGN and ALL-KNOWING...I have to say that I am yet convinced He purposely planned for Matthew to suffer.

I know people mean well when they tell me this.  But what I hear is:

"It was God's plan to make you ache as you saw nurses frantically doing CPR on Matthew."
"It was God's intention to break your heart."
"It was God's purpose to force your husband to do the thing no person should ever have to do...give your newborn and now dead son back to the nurses and leave empty-handed."
"God planned for Matthew to suffer."
"God planned for Matthew to hurt."
"God planned for Matthew to be afraid."
"God purposed that blood vessel to specifically break and bleed the life from your son."

I know that's not what people mean to say.

But that's essentially the nuts and bolts of it.


I know this.  God allowed all of that.  Why?  I'll never know.  And it's futile to ask.

I know that God was merciful with Matthew.  I have no doubt that He was merciful in taking Matthew home instead of allowing him to live a life that might not have been much of a life at all.

I know that God has made beautiful, beautiful things from the devastation in our lives, and has changed the world (and my heart) using my sweet baby son.  Actually, using BOTH of my sweet baby sons.

I know God is Love.

And I know a God who is Love and knows the plans He has for His people (and those plans are not to harm them), does not PURPOSE the suffering of a tiny infant, only hours old.

I know there is evil that scours the earth and seeks to destroy.  And that God allows that.

I know that's the stuff denominations are made of, and I understand there are many who may disagree.

I understand and I'm ok with that.

But at the end of the day, it's me and God.  And we've agreed that He did not purpose Matthew's suffering.  Or mine, for that matter.


Thank you all for commenting and reaching out to me.  I guess it's obvious I've had some difficult days.

I'm ok.  I know all things can be made beautiful...and I am grateful for the many beautiful people in my life.

Courageous...

John and I finally were able to watch this movie tonight.

I admit.  I thought it was an amazing movie.

I guess I just wasn't up for it.

And so, while I think it was amazing (and highly recommend it, and at another time, maybe when less hormonal, I will probably watch it again), and I think John did too, I am not in a great mood.

Mainly because after we watched it, I asked John, "So, what did you think?"

He said, "Well, since Matthew died so soon, I guess I don't have any regrets."

"You mean, you don't regret what kind of father you were to him because he wasn't with us long enough for you to really have any?"

"Yes."

Silence.

That doesn't really apply to me.

I only have one.

That he died because I didn't have a c-section.  Well, a scheduled c-section.

So, I guess that would qualify as a big one.

He of course said I had no reason to want a c-section and was going through labor the way I did based on sound medical advice.

Sound medical advice that killed my son, of course.

John then threw out that I had no way of knowing.

Knowing that a c-section would have kept a perfectly healthy and amazing and much-loved baby from dying for NO.GOOD.REASON.

And though I had no idea it would have saved him, I still went against my gut...my inner intuition...whatever you want to call it...I went against it.  How many times while pregnant (and even before?) did I say that I wanted a c-section?  Needed a c-section? Wished for the days where you were just wheeled into the hospital, put to sleep, woke up and there the baby was?

Who cares why I felt I needed one?

In the last weeks, I caved to peer pressure.  I didn't follow my gut.  I walked into that hospital shaking more than a drug addict on major withdrawal because I was so terrified.

I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN.  Something was not right.  How much more plainly could it have been?

Even after Matthew died, Dr. Polko told me, "You know...we always thought you wanted a c-section because you just didn't want to tear stuff up down there...maybe you knew something cosmically that we just didn't know."

Too late to put any merit into that thought now.  He's dead.  I buried him.

John said, "You had no control over Matthew living or dying."

To him, I replied, "Would he have died if I scheduled a c-section?"

"Well, no."

Folks, there we have our answer.

I've been accused of being stubborn once or twice in my life. (Ahem.)

Look what caving in and NOT being stubborn about something got me?

A grave.  A dead baby.  Trying to teach my son about his big brother simply by walking by his picture every day and saying, "Matthew."

I should mention again that I don't blame the movie for this mood.  It just was the catalyst for conversation after that I am now trying to reconcile before I go to bed.

People talk about our strength and inspiration and bravery and blah-blah-blah.

I appreciate it.  The human in me can't lie and say I am not pleased to hear that we endure and we try to give honor to God in doing so.

But courageous?  Don't think so.  Because if I was courageous, I'd have kept my foot down.  Regardless of what ANYONE else thought...my GUT told me I needed to schedule a c-section.

If I was courageous, he'd have lived.

I Wish...

I wish I knew why Luke was running a fever today.  It's the first fever he's ever had.  In 13 and a half months.  Even through teething and H1N1 and double ear infections and sinus infections...not once has he had any fever.

So I'm perplexed and I wish I knew what was going on.  I came across a blog of a woman who lost her son a few weeks ago.  He was adopted from the Ukraine; nearly 9 months here in his forever home.  He had horrible flu-like symptoms one day and the next was dead.

It turns out it wasn't the flu, but a bike accident he'd had the day before.  He'd fallen, damaged his duodenum, and died.  It was such a benign fall, apparently, he'd never even told his mother.  No big deal.

I just think, "If Luke's never had a fever when I expected him to...what does it mean when he has one out of the blue.  For no reason?"  I've been very good about not expecting the worst, but I won't lie.  I do not like his body fighting something of which I have no knowledge.  It takes me back to a very helpless place where control is not even close to an option and ends with many people standing around a small white casket on a cold and icy day.

I know.  It's just a fever.  Not even a high one...at highest, 100.2.  I don't have to take him for urine testing unless it's 101.  Motrin immediately brought relief and the poor sweet thing has been sleeping and really, for being sick, one might never know.  I know my mind is really getting out of control.

I wish it was as easy as people think it is just to turn it off.

I wish we had pictures from Matthew's funeral.  Really, I wish we had video.  We have a cd, somewhere, in the 8 million boxes that are either stored here in the garage in NC or storage in Maryland.  But I'd love to have video or pictures because so much of it is just so blurry.

Some things, like how everyone looked so pitifully at me, scream at me every time I think of that day.

Others, like who was there and what the table with his things looked like and what the church looked like are cloudy.  And get cloudier every day.


I wish, though I know it's such a benign question and truly well-intentioned when asked, people would not ask me, "What do you want?" when we discuss the fact that we do not know if both of these  embryos implanted and are viable pregnancies.

What do I want?  I don't want to have to grieve another baby.  Period.  Whether that means one, two, three or 10...I want to be able to carry and birth and raise and love until I die whatever I'm given.

And really, how harsh would I sound if I said, "Um, just one?"  Of course, one comes with less risk.  More odds of bringing home.  Less stress and chaos with another toddler and two crazy dogs and a house that's not really my house and a deployed husband.

But one also means that a little chance at life ended.  I know that the debate on where life begins is a never-ending one.  But for us, life began the second any of those little embryos' cells divided.  Nothing was making them do that.  No laboratory procedure was forcing the reproduction from two to 4 to 8 cells...and then beyond.  To us, life was in them.  And when I transferred both of those embryos several weeks ago, they were both living...dividing...growing.  So to say I'd prefer a single pregnancy for all reasons listed above makes me sound selfish, cruel, and really...I feel a bit murderous.

So again, I just wish that I'd not have to answer that, and am glad that people nod (sort of sheepishly as if they forgot what we've been through because it seems so far away now)  when I tear up and say, "I just want healthy. I want to bring this baby or babies home."  Once they hear me answer, they realize how frivolous a question it is.

I wish that it wasn't like that, though...that the frivolity and ignorant bliss that many women who undergo fertility treatments have  when they finally get pregnant and anticipate finding out how many 'took' was still a part of my world and that question wouldn't bother me so much.

Dr. P told me that he knew of a patient who underwent several years' worth (and thousands of dollars as well, as we certainly know!) of fertility treatments and finally got to a point where she had 6 embryos from an IVF cycle.  She transferred them all, and he said that was the first set of septuplets he'd ever scanned.  People thought she was crazy for transferring all 6 (I think it's medical malpractice, and wasn't done at this office, of course!), but he could understand after all she'd been through and all she'd spent, how she was willing to risk the chance of multiples in order to become a mother.

I replied, "I understand too.  But once you've become a mother who has to bury her child, you are a lot more cautious in the risk you are willing to take, and frankly, I'd not really be willing to risk the life of one of my children for another in any scenario."

Again, a knowing nod...one of those, "Oh, yeah...that's right...I guess I forgot to whom I was talking," and he said, "You are absolutely right."

I know.

Numbers Don't Lie????

I feel like I've had lots of posts in the last few weeks and all of a sudden, in the last couple of days, nothing.

Not because I don't have a lot on my mind.

Just don't know how to put it all to words.

So, the basics are that I am very, very curious about what next Friday's ultrasound is going to show.

I did another HCG test on Wednesday.  At this point, I was 18dpo (18 days past ovulation) or 13dp5dt (13 days past a 5 day transfer).  The number 715 from two days before was great, and honestly, I was wrong about the numbers from Matthew's and Luke's pregnancies.  Though their numbers were high, and their doubling rates were definitely faster than the 48 hours that every RE seems to be looking for (though that doesn't always indicate any problem or super success story), they weren't as fast as I thought.  Jackie told me that I actually tested 3 and 4 days between each beta, whereas with this pregnancy, I tested 4 days and then 2 days later.

All that blah-blah-blah means that when I was 18dpo with Luke, my hcg was 806.

(And that was considered high.)

Wednesday, two days later at 18dpo with this pregnancy, my hcg was 1999.

Yowzers.

Again, not looking into double strollers just yet (well, sort of I am since I will also have a two year old!) because my body tends to be an overachiever and inundate my babies with HCG...but, I have to say, this feels more like it could be multiples than I've ever thought.

I was anxious for Luke's 6 week ultrasound because I was terrified there might not have been a heartbeat.  I know that's a possibility next Friday, but I don't feel terrified about not seeing a heartbeat.

I'm just going crazy wondering how many we'll see.

Speaking of that boy of mine...he sure is turning into a feisty one!  He is finally signing "more" (lazy..he doesn't really do it, more a right hand pats the top of his left hand, or sometimes his left forearm, but good enough to get his point across) and "all done," although his "all done" is quite obnoxious and universal for pretty much EVERYTHING he wants to be done with.  Food, drink, mommy.  Being apart from daddy for a month made him awfully clingy to daddy last week.  That's fine with me...of course I want him to love daddy.  It's the fervent and forceful "all done" signs he makes at me anytime John is holding him or playing with him and I come near that are making me a bit crazy, that stinker.  I know, I know...it's me he wants most of the time, and the boy has always loved that daddy...but it's pretty funny how very adamant he is about me NOT taking him from daddy or even when daddy isn't around and he's playing with his toys, if I come to get him and take him for a diaper change or something, he flails and furiously signs, "ALL DONE!" as protest of me taking him from what he wanted to be doing.

Mind of his own that boy has.  Mind of his own.

And totally off-topic, but can I say how much joy I get from hanging his sweet little clothes in the closet?  One of the things that just hurt me so, so, so much after Matthew died was his closet.  His chock-full, perfectly organized, full of love and anticipation closet just mocking me...screaming at me that he was NEVER going to use a single.solitary.thing in that closet.  Ever.  I'd go into his room, when I could get the gumption up, and just stare at that closet.  One of the things I remember very vividly about Christmas after he died was my nephew going upstairs to look in Matthew's room.  Their family was stationed in Germany, but had come out for Christmas, and so this was the first time we'd seen them in a long time (and certainly since Matthew had died).  I went upstairs to be with him, not wanting that sweet 15 year old to be by himself, and just saw him doing the same thing.  Standing. Staring. Stunned.  Just staring at that open closet full of Matthew's things.  I went in, put my arm around him and just stood there with him.  He said, "I just don't get it.  I just don't."  And you know, I didn't (and still don't) either.  But I totally got what he meant.

So, I admit.  When I hang outfits that I have put on Luke several times up each time I do laundry, I just give thanks that I am able to have a closet full of things that a dear little boy DEFINITELY makes use of.  I am so, so grateful for the opportunity to use that closet.

A Message From Matthew...

So, I got an message in my inbox on FB yesterday.  It was from an old friend (NOT a friend who is old, haha!) I used to teach with years and years ago.  We probably haven't seen each other in eight or nine years, maybe more, but through the magic of Facebook, have connected in the last few years.  With her permission, I am sharing her message.

"Your Matthew was in my dream last night. In my dream I had gone to pick up my daughter at daycare and the kids were all seated at a table coloring Valentines. Matthew was sitting next to B and they were talking about their work and sharing crayons. I knew it was him in my dream and I was surprised he was there but it was a good surprise. His Valentine was a big red heart and he had written "I love Mommy" and then his name, Matthew. I woke up feeling so driven to tell you about this dream. I think Matthew wants you to know he loves you. Your son has touched so many, Lori. Thank you for sharing him with us."


I have to say this took me by surprise.  I have yet to have any dreams that were specifically about Matthew.  I've had two or three nightmares, that I know were connected with losing Matthew, but none that have given me even the slightest sense about him.  What he's like.  What he'd be like.  That he is even cognizant of me.  Even without the hormones raging through me, this made me weep.  And weep some more.

Selfish as I am, I had to ask if she remembered anything about him.  What he looked like?  What he was wearing?  What his voice was like?  Anything.  Just anything.  Again, with her permission, here is her response:

 "I feel so blessed at having Matthew appear to me in a dream but I also feel almost guilty at having seen him as a young preschooler, at possibly having a glimpse of him that you have not seen. I wish I could take a photograph of him in my dream. 
I remember, in the dream, walking into the classroom and not recognizing the boy next to B but noticing how sweet he was and how cute the two of them were sitting side by side chatting and coloring. I remember his little hand holding the crayon and being impressed that he had written all the words on his valentine at such a young age. 
He was looking down at his valentine so first I saw this head of dark waves. Lots of hair. When I said hello to B they both looked up and I caught my breath. His eyes were dark brown with long, long lashes. His face was round, almost heart shaped, and came to a little point at his chin. His cheeks were full and his little red lips and pearly teeth formed the sweetest smile that was so kind and gentle. The expression in his eyes was wise beyond his years. He was alert and aware and he just knew. I wish I had the words to describe this more clearly. I can still see the two of them sitting at the table together I just don't have the words to describe it well enough. 
I hope my lacking description does not cause frustration or despair. I hope you hold Matthew's message close to your heart and let it soothe the aching you feel for him. "

Though obviously I have no idea of how accurate this would be, I do have to say that it's just as I'd imagine him to be.  Just before we went up to bed last night, I was looking at Matthew's picture, as I always do, and noted to John how Matthew had more hair at birth than Luke does now.  And commenting about how it was so much darker than Luke's.  I know from that small glimpse of the back of Matthew's head I had that there were definitely swirls and waves to the the texture of his hair.  I know that his eyes were brown at birth and the nurses all told me that if babies are born with brown eyes, they usually stay that way.  I know he probably could have had long eyelashes because John and his little brother do.  I know that pointed chin because it's mine.  And my mother's.  And my grandmother's.  I know that gentle heart because he was so, so good to his mama while I was pregnant. I know he would have been driven as first-borns usually are to be over-achievers, and knowing his mama, he probably WOULD have known all his letters then.  (John and I laughed sort of, at how different I am.  Had Matthew lived, I am sure I would have continued my highly-strung, Type A personality traits and that baby probably would have been reciting the Gettysburg Address at 12 months.  Luke, on the other hand, now has the mama who thinks that Valentine's Day cookies are just a great treat at breakfast, and the kid STILL can't clap, ha ha!) I know that those little lips were perfect and plump at birth and looked so much like his brother's did when Luke was born.  I know that boy would certainly have been alert because like his brother, he'd take after his (very active and alert!) daddy.

I know that boy. 

Or, at least I think I do. 

And I know that boy would love his mama because his mama so loves him.  With so much joy and aching mixed together, I love him.  I miss him.  I wish I could have every single thing this dream embodies with that sweet little precocious boy.  

Until that day...I'm grateful for the dreams and messages from others.  What a precious, precious Valentine's Day gift.  Thank you, H.

Answers I Won't Find...

There's a song (that I love, by the way) by Building 429 that is called "Where I Belong."  When that song comes on, and it does pretty regularly on my iPod, I turn it up and just sing at the top of my lungs.  Yes, Luke loves it.

(Really, he does.  He's a singer!)

Anyway...there is a line..."I won't keep searching for answers that aren't here to find."

I think I decided that myself about two years ago.  More like two years and two months ago.

To ask questions that I just won't find the answer for is really futile.  There are just no good answers for too many questions.  Or good enough for me right now.  Or ever.

But I can't help wondering why it couldn't be different.

I am over the moon thrilled that this cycle worked, and that so far, things are really great.

But having Luke toddling around and being pregnant makes me wonder why it couldn't be Matthew toddling around and me being pregnant with Luke.

Why I might be blessed to raise two children on this earth, but it's not my first two.

I imagine this may come across as ungrateful.

I'm not.  I know this little one (or ones?) inside of me right now is amazing.  I already know it because he or she is such a miracle.  There's a little soul and spirit with a life planned for it before *I* was even born. Like Matthew and Luke, I know this little one or ones was meant to be.

And I won't ask an unanswerable question.

I just can't promise I won't think about it.

*****************************
My beta on Thursday was 54.5.  I was 7dp5dt (seven days past a five day transfer).  Pretty early, but still, pretty great number and we were thrilled.  Today was my next beta (my official one was supposed to be tomorrow, but since we've already had one last week, we went ahead and are doing them today, Wednesday and Thursday) and it was 715!!!  Doctors hope for numbers to double every 48 hours, and these are doubling approximately every 25 hours.  That's great.  Though it's a high number, it's not uncommon for me.  Luke's first beta at 15dp3dt (I am now 11dp5dt, so two days earlier than when I tested with Luke) and was 806.  Two days later, his numbers were 2971!!!  That's when everyone started screaming, "TWINS!" and yet...not.

So I'm not buying two bassinets just yet.  I am saying that the numbers are high.  And really doing a fabulous job of doubling (or even quadrupling!).

But that's just how my kiddos (both singletons!) roll.  So we test again Wednesday and then Friday...but the real way of knowing if there is one in there or if there are two will be in the way of the ultrasound on February 24th.

Yes, more nail-biting.  Guilty!

No More Nail Biting...

Well...the OHSS symptoms were getting worse so I called my nurse.

Yep, she agreed.  I was dealing more with OHSS than effects of the medicines.

Doctor's orders?

1) Get in and get an ultrasound.  Get there stat. (Going tomorrow.  Earliest I can.)

2) Take a pregnancy test.  It's early, and it may be negative and I still could be positive because it's just so early but she has a feeling that I'm pregnant and that's why it's getting worse.

So she says.

And though I don't want to, I do.

Begrudgingly.

I did it.  And was crazy nervous.  I was not looking forward to bad news (even if it is a false negative) today.

But I did.  My dear friend Karie stood and watched the monitor with me.

Control line?  Immediate and dark.

I thought the white space beside it was looking very, very stark.

I looked at the clock.  Not even a minute had passed. (I had to wait for three.)  White space was still stark.

And then...I thought I saw a faint pink line.

But then I thought I was imagining it.

And then Karie said, "I think I see something."

And so did I.

It was faint, but it kept getting ever so darker.

And then the three minutes were up.

It's faint, but it's definitely two lines.

So.

A baby brother or sister (or two?) is on his or her (or their?) way.

Thank you, Lord.  What precious gifts you give me again and again.

Now, if we can just keep the OHSS away...