Yay! 9.3

I’d like to thank Sweet P for hanging in there with us this far. Though, now, he/she is pretty much on the hook to stay with us forever. Please? Here’s what the little guy/gal looks like today:


I am kind of amazed that this is happening at all. We saw little arm buds waving and a little heart pumping away at 175 bpm. Kind of took my breath away.

Three more weeks until I see you again, SP. As your dad would say, “you keep growin!” That’s an order!

Just Some Words. 9.1

Now I miss you more than I can take
and I will surely break
And every morning that I wake
God, it is the same
There’s nothing more to it,
I just get through it
Oh, there’s nothing more to it
I just get through it

– First Aid Kit, To A Poet”

HIE. 8.5

Happy 5 months, Mal.  Miss you, buddy.

Here is a little infographic I found on Facebook that gives a little insight into what we lost our little guy to.


I find it helpful because there is so little info out there that isn’t lost in a sea of medical jargon on websites maintained by and written for doctors.  I guess that’s just one of the effects of HIE happening so infrequently, not a whole lot of people are looking.

I look at this and…I don’t necessarily feel comforted by the explanation, but I’m glad there is a name for it.  I’m glad there is at least something to call it, something to create awareness about.  But what are we really creating awareness about? Just that it happens?  Because there wasn’t really anything they could do for our son.  He lost everything in those final moments before they took me to get an emergency c-section.  There was no way to stop it, his cord was stuck and he lost everything.  I suppose other children have milder symptoms and some can even fully recover using the cooling technique.  Just not Mal.

It still baffles me that it all happened so quickly.  Here one minute, gone the next.  What a waste.

I know Sweet P is in no danger of that precise thing happening to him/her.  I know that all of it can be avoided this time around, presuming everything else goes ok.

So there’s that, I guess.



“Dying” and Hoping. 8.4

No of course I’m not actually dying.  I’m just being dramatic, but, man, this is really hard.

I have hardly any energy at all.  The only bright side of that is I tend to go to bed early enough that I stopped having to set an alarm for the morning.  I just tend to wake up when I’m supposed to, if not shortly before or after.  Not having an alarm blaring to wake me up in the morning definitely helps, but it doesn’t fight the mid-morning-through-late-afternoon-or-really-most-of-the-day slump.

Of course, I want to be grateful for all of this.  For all of this experience and what it could lead to.  I want to be glad and hopeful and excited, but all I can think is “Eh, maybe when this part is over.”  Maybe when I’m rounder and less sleepy.  Maybe when I’m not constantly torn between wishing I felt better and being scared to death that something bad has happened on a day that I do feel better.

I have my 9 week appointment next week.  Just one more milestone on the road to not feeling quite as uncertain or scared.  I’ll be grateful for it, but I don’t know how much it will relieve me.  I don’t know when that magic moment is that I’m just like “whew ok, I feel pretty confident now that everything will be ok.”  It might only happen when I have a crying baby in my arms.  Who knows, it might not even happen then.  I keep telling myself that 20 weeks will be a good time to relax.  That’s far enough along that any chance of miscarriage has pretty much passed but they can also tell if there are any serious problems.

So, just like 11.5 more weeks, huh?  Haha, sure, ok.


Sucks. 7.1

You know what sucks?

Being happy about something and hating it at the same time.

Knowing your body is doing what it is supposed to and it’s also making you miserable.

Still being devastated about losing a child when you’re making a new one because life is too short to sit around and wait to be not-sad anymore.


Yes, of course, I’m happy to be making another child.  Of course I want a baby.  You know what I don’t want?  To be pregnant all over again.  But them’s just the breaks, I guess.   I wish I could just speed this part up.  I wish I could wake up tomorrow and summer is over and I’m big and happy and ready to have a baby.  I think, before I got pregnant again, I thought that all would be well as soon as I had a little something in there.  That was pretty naive.


This is going to take a while.


Here we go… 6.4

7 weeks, 3 days.  6 weeks, 6 days.  6 weeks, 4 days.6wk_written

So here we are again.  Yesterday, we saw the little heartbeat on the monitor and the doctor said it measured at about 120 bpm which is a really good rate.  Sweet P also measured at around 6 weeks, 3 days, so she moved my due date out…

To December 21st.

That was Malcolm’s due date.  If I didn’t know I was going to have a scheduled c-section at about 38 weeks, I’d probably be really sad.  I don’t know why, I always new that trying again after three months would put me in that range, but the same due date…wow.  Thankfully, if Sweet P decides (or his or her chromosomes) decide to stick around, we’ll get to meet him/her sooner.

But that’s a big “if,” I know.  According to a miscarriage statistics site I found last year, a study found that the risk of miscarriage dropped from 15% (once gestational sac is visible – which it was last week) to about 9% when a heartbeat is confirmed at 6 weeks.  According to the same study, if all is well at our 9 week visit on May 21st, the risk of miscarriage will drop to a measly 0.5%.  Of course, anything can happen and I’m trying to prepare myself for all possibilities, but somehow these numbers ease my mind a little.