the story of you.

It was Labor Day weekend, and I was exactly one week late. I'm usually pretty regular, with the exception of a few times I had been 3-4 days late, but each one of the circumstances had led to me getting my hopes up, taking a test, and promptly getting my period the same day and realizing I had wasted $7. So this time I waited a whole week, and I just knew. I could FEEL something was different. So when I woke up at 5 am and had to pee, I decided it was time and took the test into the bathroom and shut the door so I wouldn't wake Austin. I waited the proper three minutes you're supposed to, trying to play it cool and not peek until the timer went off, and then I held my breath and looked.

And it was POSITIVE.

Two and a half years I had been waiting to see two lines on a test. My mouth dropped open and just like that, there were two dark as can be lines.

I had thought about how I would tell Austin for a long time, and since it was a Saturday morning I knew I would have to be creative since he was home. I laid in bed, giddy and unable to sleep, until around 8, and then got up and started preparing. I knew AB wouldn't wake up for a while (he loves to sleep in!) so I left the house to grab some items, and then came back and left the car for him and took my bike to the final spot. I set up a scavenger hunt around some of our favorite places in High Point - the first clue I left in the attic, which led him to the car, then our favorite neighborhood park, HPCA, and a few other spots. The final clue led him to a bench outside of the train station, where he had proposed to me 5 and a half years earlier. The whole thing was done under the guise of being an early anniversary gift, so I had him open a box that had my positive test and a onesie that said "Dad's Mini Man" - the only one I could find that said anything with Dad on it with such short notice.

I hadn't planned to share this video with anyone, and while it's hard to share the intimate details like this of our pregnancy, I want to include every part of the story.

We went out for a celebratory dinner that night, and I took a few first belly shots, of course! I wanted to remember what I had looked like in the beginning.

 Life went on, and we planned and dreamed like nobody's business. We talked names, nursery, boy or girl..all the little details that I had thought about for so long were actually becoming reality! We told Sarah and Ben the weekend we found out (tears! screams!) and we both pinned on Pinterest like mad. We were both pregnant at the same time, which was crazy! She was about 32 weeks along when we found out. We eventually told my parents by sending them a grandparent gift and told them it was from their 4th grandchild. We got a video of that too, but it ended up accidentally filming in time-lapse so you can't hear anything (I cried for days!).

Week 7 of pregnancy means your baby is the size of a blueberry, so that week we took pictures after church to mark the time.

On September 30th, I was in Texas visiting my sister for her baby shower and went for a run that morning. I had been running regularly since I found out, with no problems, so it was totally normal. I was feeling fine, had sore breasts and a bit of morning sickness, but nothing alarming. I got back from my run, took a shower, and about an hour later went to the bathroom and saw a bit of blood when I wiped. Of course I freaked out, Sarah freaked out, and yet there was nothing I could do since I was far away from home and didn't have my first doctor's appointment until the next week. I googled like mad, reading everything under the sun from it being normal in early pregnancy to have a bit of spotting, to the worst case scenario - miscarriage. I quietly laid on Sarah's bed for a few hours, resting and praying, and then the bleeding stopped. It had been light, and I became less worried and tried to continue enjoying the weekend. I loved being with my sister, celebrating who we now know is Kennedy, and being pregnant together.

When I got home the next Tuesday, I again discovered I had begun bleeding again - heavier and darker this time. I called my doctor and told them, so they told me they could get me in the next day.

On Wednesday, October 5th, Austin and I went in to the appointment worried but trusting in the Lord. We talked to the doctor about all the symptoms I'd been having, and he didn't seem too worried about the bleeding. We talked about proper pregnancy care, and then went back to the ultra sound room. I was SO excited to finally see our baby- when the picture popped up on the screen I was mesmerized! There actually was a baby in there! I of course had no idea what I was looking at or for - the doctor looked for a minute, and then out of nowhere said the worst words I've ever heard, in the most blunt and unfeeling way. "I'm afraid there is no heartbeat." Just like that. Did you know how you would change my life when you said it? Have you said those words so many times that they mean nothing to   you, but everything to me?

I always thought infertility would be the battle we would face. I had come to terms with the idea of not getting pregnant, at least without a lot of help if we chose that route. I had known a few others that went through miscarriage, and of course it had crossed my mind, but thought surely not that too. Not on top of the pain of waiting and hoping every month, and failing. Of feeling less than adequate when those around you are so easily getting pregnant. Not when it was finally our turn, finally a positive, finally perfect timing with my due date right around when Austin would be out of school for the summer, finally, finally.

The ultrasound showed the baby measured at 9 weeks 1 day - exactly the size it should be, maybe a day off. Which means its heart had only stopped the day before or that day. The nurse took some blood for some tests, gave me a hug and some tissues, and escorted us out the back door so I wouldn't have to see the other women with perfect bellies in the waiting room and they wouldn't see me bawling my eyes out. Ironically, I had another doctors appointment I had to get to - a pulmonologist where I had to get cleared to start my new job. It was like the world and life kept going, and I had to pretend that my life wasn't crashing down around me. I made it through that appointment somehow, and Austin and I went home and just mourned together.

My OB had given me three options - let the miscarriage happen naturally, schedule a D&C, or a prescription for Misoprostol. Because I was starting my new job in less that two weeks, I didn't want to wait it out naturally, since he said it could happen at any time and could take up to a month. I didn't want a D&C because I felt that was a little harsh. So I chose the misoprostol, which is basically the drug you take to induce an abortion. Long story short, you stick the pills as far up as they will go, they dissolve, and induce the abortion supposedly beginning in as little as a few hours, or up to 12.

I knew in my heart my baby was dead - the doctor said he was 99% sure, and I saw with my own eyes the absence of any sort of heart activity. But let me tell you...the hardest thing I've ever done is to put in those pills and wait. I honestly felt like I was aborting my baby. The what if's were strong. What if it was actually still alive? What if I was killing it? I prayed so hard that the doctor was right, that I was doing the right thing, that my baby had already died. I was terrified of what was to come, terrified to see it, terrified of the pain and blood. I took one last belly picture, so I would have just one more picture of me with my child.

I had decided to wait until the weekend to begin the process so Austin could be home. So a few days after we had found out, I did the pills, laid down in bed, and waited. I felt some mild cramping a few hours later, and my pregnancy symptoms had started to completely disappear by then. But I eventually went to sleep, and when I woke up the next morning, I was lightly bleeding but less than even a normal period. Everything I had read and been told indicated that it should be heavy cramping and heavy bleeding. So I called the doctor, and was told to take a second dose of medicine. I did that as well, expecting the worst, but still only mildly bleeding.

I was emotionally drained by that point, and since I was still bleeding, I just decided to let the rest happen naturally. I moved through each day in a fog. We publicly told people what we were going through the day before I began my new job, and each day was living and surviving and trying to pretend I was normal at work so I didn't scare everyone off, then going home and crumbling under the grief.

On Halloween weekend, I began finally bleeding a lot heavier, passing large clots of blood and having severe cramping. Each time there was a clot, I thought "Was that it? Was that the baby?", which honestly was torture. I didn't want to look but couldn't look away - I had to know if and when I passed the baby in case I didn't. That Friday night, Austin and I were out running errands after he was done with school for the day, and suddenly I didn't feel right. I felt something inside pop, and immediately started having severe contractions in the car. He drove home with lightening speed, I rushed to the bathroom, and didn't get up from the toilet for nearly four hours. We were ironically supposed to go to a friends gender reveal party that evening, but thankfully for everyone we were unable to go. I don't think there are even words to describe that night - I'm not sure you reading would want to know, but it was absolutely terrifying. There was continuous, horrifyingly heavy blood, painful contractions, and mourning and grieving and prayer. I eventually was able to get into the shower, but had to sit for most of it because of being extremely light headed and dizzy from blood loss. I was eventually able to pass the baby, and we cried and prayed and thanked God for its little life. The whole process was terrible, and as hard as feeling like I was aborting my baby had been, flushing my baby down the toilet was ten times harder.

And that was it. Just like that, my first pregnancy was over. I carried that baby for 12 weeks, and 3 of them it was dead. We will never know if it was a boy or girl, what color its eyes would have been, who it would have grown up to be.

Today would have been my due date.

It's hard to imagine now, that at this time we would be preparing for or even have a squishy newborn. That my belly would be big and full of life. It almost seems like a dream now, a long lost dream that slipped away so quickly. But before time goes on even longer, I wanted to sit down and take some time to remember.

Miscarriage changes you. It hard to describe, to put into words, and those who have experienced it understand, and those who haven't, just don't. In the beginning, it was hard not to get caught up in the physical aspect of the miscarriage - the bleeding, the first trimester weight I had already gained, the acne, the hair loss that naturally occurs after a pregnancy ends. It felt like my body didn't know what to do to heal. Beautiful pregnant bellies and excited pregnancy announcements for the month of our due date were seemingly everywhere. My hormones were raging and everything felt like a physical reminder of our loss. Everything I'd read about cycles returning said 4 to 6 weeks after miscarriage. Mine took 8 weeks, which may not seem like a long time, but when you are fragile emotionally, it felt  like an eternity of wondering when I would be healthy again and be able to finally start moving forward. I also couldn't help but feel we were starting over. It had taken over two years to get a positive test, would it take another two years now? By this time, it was close to Christmas - I had gotten pregnant in August. I knew time was moving on, and our doctor told us to have two normal periods before we started trying again. More time waiting, waiting, waiting.

I also struggled with the idea of trying again so soon. What about the baby we lost? Does the desire to have another baby so soon after miscarriage mean we're already moving on? But I've realized that the desire to have another baby doesn't take away any of the immense love I still have for the baby we lost. I will always love you, sweet child, and your life is the one that made me a mother.

Healing has come slowly with each passing day. There are good days and bad days. I'm okay and then I'm not. I still have moments where I break down, where the sense of loss and love is overwhelming. I'm doing okay.

It's been 8 months, and I dreaded my due date with each passing month. But now that it is here, I wanted to simply celebrate the life that was, the little life that I know is in heaven waiting to meet me.

Little bird, you changed my life in so many ways. I'm grateful for the lessons you taught me, and for the way you brought Austin and I so close, indescribably close. I'm grateful for those who have reached out, having walked this road before me...so many I never would have guessed, but who I'm thankful were brave enough to share. And I'm thankful for my family and those few precious friends who walked with us, not knowing exactly how to help, but not giving up on me during the hard times  or turning away when we needed someone to lean on.

Thank you Lord, for blessing me with this short precious gift of life. May it's life be a way to always be pointing back to you.

Happy due date, little one.