Three Years

Hudson,

My little guy, my baby boy, my only son. Today is your third birthday. It's been three years since I last got to look at you, to hold you, and give you kisses. Three years since we got to meet you. Three years since we said goodbye to you.

These three years since you left us, I feel like I've lived another entirely different lifetime. I look back and sometimes am still in disbelief that this has been part of our life and our story. That we really endured the loss of our son, and it has truly changed every part of me. I spent time the other day going through your things and your pictures. I look at it all and it doesn't seem real. In those pictures, I look at myself and your Daddy, our tears and the pain stricken faces. I feel it all over again as if I was right back in that moment. It still hurts like hell and rips my heart apart, feeling the raw emotion as if it had just happened, all over again.

It's another year you've been gone and life has continued on. Life does that. It does continue on. Something I couldn't fathom three years ago when ours halted to a stop. Since that time, we've done quite a bit of growth and change. We've moved, we've switched jobs, we've gone on to welcome two babies. The healing your baby sisters have brought us is immeasurable, but my heart will always feel the void of my son who isn't here with us.

When times become difficult, I try to find you in ways to know you are watching over us. All month I've seen a blue jay in our yard perched on the fence or fluttering throughout the yard and the trees. One day there were three of them chasing each other around. Your magnolia tree has grown so much since it was planted a year ago, but the majority of growth has been throughout May. It started budding toward the end of April, but on Mother's Day the first bloom opened and it's been blooming ever since. A neighbor had a party and a blue balloon danced into our yard and just kind of hoovered a bit before it popped on its own. These are the little Hudson Hellos that I count on to get me through the hard days, and there have been a lot of hard days. Even this morning, as I fought back tears, the moment we turned on the car, our song came on the radio. Immediately I had peace and a warmth in my heart as Wagon Wheel played. 

I will always wonder what our life together would have brought. There were a number of little boys born around the time you were, and it was painful to see them for a long time, but now when I look at them and others, I try to picture you among them. They look so grown up and aren't babies anymore. I realize that I have no idea what my big boy would look like right now and that is a very sad thought for a Mommy to have. It takes my breath away to see another Hudson or hear the name called out by someone else, meant for someone else. I look at our family photos and miss the little boy who should be smiling with us, or proudly holding his sisters. I miss the mother/son relationship I hear is so special and the father/son bond I don't get to watch between you and your Daddy. I am sad for your sisters who don't get to have a big brother here with them to laugh with, learn from, and even to fight with. It is painful that your only boy cousin wanted another boy in the family but you were the only one he would get, and you are gone.

I think about the time I had with you in my arms. I think about all the things I wanted to try to remember, things I felt like I should tell you because I would never again have the chance to, and promises I made. One of those promises was that you would never be forgotten, and baby boy, I try to live by that promise every day. I try to live for you and create whatever I can in your name and continue to weave you into the fibers of our family. I want to make you proud.

Recently, I had allowed myself to go through everything we had collected for you. In preparation to find out if this third baby was a boy or a girl, I allowed myself to go there and prepare for a boy just in case. I washed everything and had them ready, but on April 2, we met our Hannah. Another sister you hand-picked just for us. Coming home, it was bittersweet because all of those things we had saved, they didn't serve a purpose anymore. We weren't going to have a living son to use them. Coping with that, I realized that it wasn't that I wanted Hannah to be a boy, I didn't. I loved that baby girl fiercely. I realized that the only boy I wanted was you, I wanted our first born. I used to think our hearts wouldn't be complete until we had a little boy, but we do have one and he awaits us in Heaven. As beautiful as it sounds, it still breaks my heart.

Today we took your sisters to the zoo. I thought maybe we'd have a wild and three themed party, so the zoo seemed like something we would do if you were here. Hadley loves animals right now and is learning the sounds they make. I felt like the two of you would be having the best time together, as baby Hannah slept. There were flowers on the church alter today in your memory. I even baked a cake for you! We wrote notes and will send them to Heaven on the three balloons that we will release at the park once your sisters wake up from nap time. We will visit you at your resting place and introduce you to Hannah - it will be the first time she'll be with us to visit. It was hard to get out of bed and have the celebratory spirit to do these things, because all I want to do is cry, but you deserve them, so my pain can wait. Next week we will celebrate you even more at your golf tournament event! We are very fortunate to have so many special friends who will join us in that.

I hope you know how badly you are missed and how much your family wishes you were here. Happy birthday, Hudson. We celebrate you always.

Nosies,

Mommy

Boy or Girl?

Final sonogram picture before delivery, who will you be little one?

Going through a pregnancy without knowing gender has been something that I've pleasantly surprised myself with the ability to do, but with it has come a lot of questions when it comes to gender. As a perpetual planner, this kind of goes against every fiber in my being. When receiving the question, my answer to that has been that I've wanted to legitimately be surprised, therefore, try to be confused without a strong intuition one way or the other, for several reasons. I will say that I've had gut feelings almost immediately with both Hudson and Hadley that have been accurate. It's hard not to, and though I tried to ignore it, I have had that this pregnancy too. Up until the 25 week mark, my Jiminy Cricket said boy. I was really trying not to have a feeling either way because that was defeating the purpose of not finding out. At our 25 week appointment, the 4D sono that we had showed the clearest view at that point of baby's little face. Baby looked just like Hadley so I started to have a hard time picturing anything but another girl. Since then, baby changes each time and it's hard to tell so I was left confused again and that's where I've tried to stay. In these final few weeks, emotions of what is coming have caught up to me and I've tried to allow myself the chance to process those a little bit before delivery.

When asked that question - you know, when people give you that look in conversation and are all like, yeah okay but what do you really hope to have, boy or girl? - honestly it makes me shudder a bit because the answer and the deep truth is simply:
A healthy baby.
A living baby.
A baby we get to take home with us.

That's all that matters and the gender just doesn't to me, but that's not to say that I don't have feelings about the gender and in this case I have feelings about both.

People have asked why I've been so vocal that this is the last baby and it's because after experiencing a stillbirth, going through a pregnancy again - any number of pregnancies that you are able - takes a lot out of you. Pregnancy in general does and I don't discount that at all. Whether you've experienced a loss or not, there are all kinds of issues that can arise that can make it difficult on a woman from a physical standpoint, maybe an emotional one for some. Pregnancy following loss is draining physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually. It takes a toll on every aspect of your life and my third trimesters are where risk seems to lie. This third trimester has been a roller coaster in which every time I went in, I felt like there was something, or I had the anxiety that there would be something. We originally planned for three kids and we have that, just in a different way. It's a way that we are completely at peace with and after this baby, are looking forward to raising our family and enjoying these next stages of our family growing up.

However, because I know this is our last baby, that makes this pregnancy and delivery emotional in a different way than Hadley's was. We've been through the sudden loss of a baby at a gestational age that he was absolutely viable to live if we could have known there was an issue and intervened in time. We've been through fertility issues after that loss. We've been through two pregnancies following that, both up and down with emotions and health issues. In no way do I take being pregnant for granted, and I'm thankful for the gift of it each and every day, but that doesn't mean that it can't completely overwhelm you, exhaust you, and make you a headcase of a person. It's a delicate line to walk and even though this has been my most difficult pregnancy due to issues this third trimester, I'm thankful for it every day but I know it's not something I can or should do again.

As birth nears - two days away at this point - I've been thinking a lot about who this little one is and there are a lot of emotions that surround it. One of my promises in writing is to be transparent, so that's what you will get. As it stands at this very moment, I have very deep joys and fears for either gender. I've know that there will be immense relief and excitement regardless, but have also accepted that there will be grief either way. Let me explain.

Having another girl. It feels right. It feels easy, we've done this with Hadley, we have all the things (and clothes galore!). I didn't have a sister, so there's this excitement for Hadley and this new baby if it is a girl to have that close, sister relationship - especially with such a small age gap. On the flip side, there would be a grief that is inevitable to follow because at one point, I was all in as a boy mom. I couldn't wait, I couldn't wait to see my husband with his son. The mother/son activities I envisioned in our future that would just be dreams, not having the chance to dance with him at his wedding someday, and when friends say that little boys just love their mamas so much and not experiencing what they mean by that - especially when I had been so close to that before. Having another girl would be the final realization that the chance to have a son, to mother a son, died when Hudson did. That's part of the grief that comes with losing the baby boy I gave birth to but who didn't get to stay.

Having another boy. In a way, that feels right too. When I was pregnant with Hadley, before finding out gender, I remember fearing that I was going to have a hard time switching my mindset from boy to girl. I remember feeling like my heart wouldn't feel complete without having that living boy in our family. But she completely fulfilled us and I did not have a problem switching that mindset once it was our reality. That's where my grief was then and as I've said, it continues to evolve. That is why we didn't find out the gender this time. The other piece to it was that we had a honeymoon pinky promise that if we had one of each and were having a third, I'd feel prepared for the surprise at delivery, which Max would have wanted from the start. So there was that, but there was also this heavier need to not know, an underlying fear that if I knew we were having a boy, I would allow that to stress me more during an already stressful pregnancy. I would compare every little detail to my pregnancy with Hudson. I would obsess and worry more than I needed to in fear this little boy wouldn't come home with us either. So to keep our eyes on the prize of getting a healthy baby here, safe and sound, and try to alleviate stress, we thought this would be the best approach. I envision a very emotional reaction if when baby comes and the moment Max says "it's a...." and that answer is boy. I will be completely overwhelmed to hold our living son in my arms. However, I fear the grief that will come from it as we take him home and begin life together with our son. Sure we have experienced things we had missed as a family once we had a living baby, but to have a boy, then I feel like we would really know what we've missed these almost three years without Hudson. I even worry I'd call the baby Hudson by accident. If it is a boy, I want him to stand on his own and for my broken heart to not still be so broken that I feel weak trying to be his mother. At the same time, receiving Hadley into our lives was a beautiful kind of redeeming love from the devastating loss we had endured. If we were given the opportunity to have another son, it would be met with the same feelings, too.

It's a lot to process. It's a lot of deep feeling and emotion surrounding this baby and who they are. Each one of our babies holds a special place - Hudson as our angel, Hadley has our answered prayer, this baby as our great surprise. Regardless, of what April 2 holds and the big reveal of who this little one is, in my heart I know our family will be complete and I will remember that as I continue to process the immense joy and the inevitable grief.

A Letter to My Littlest

Sweet baby,

I am 22 weeks pregnant with you and had an appointment today to check in and see you. Everything about you is perfect and I’m thankful to have the ability to make sure of it, even though I still hate the reason why we do. You will be born into a family with a big sister 18 months older than you, and you have a big brother who is in Heaven. It’s because he left us before we could experience life together that we get to see you so much and make sure you are okay. Now our doctor and her team takes every precaution to ensure nothing is wrong and we get you here safe and sound.

You’ve been making some stronger movements lately and it has made me stop what I’m doing to just be able to pause and enjoy. The movements of my babies are the most special parts of my pregnancies. They are what I look forward to the most in a pregnancy and the first thing I miss when I’m not pregnant anymore. I’ve been feeling you consistently for about two weeks now, but you are strong enough to be felt by outside touch now too, so the other night, Daddy got to feel you kick for the first time. I ate a Christmas cookie while finishing up some work at home, then within 15 minutes, you started hopping around. Big bold movements on my left side. We had just been talking about your big sister’s newfound strength and how she wrestled the doctor’s ear thingy (it is a technical term) away when at the Pediatrician earlier that day and I said, speaking of strength, this baby has some if you want to come feel? He did, and then you did you thing, and I smiled. Daddy’s eyes got all big and he said whoa, hey there baby! Just like he did with Hudson, just like he did with Hadley. I remember each of the moments when he felt his babies kick for the first time and the look on his face to get to experience it too.

Your big sister has become very cuddly and she loves to lay her head on the baby belly. You always become more active when she does, so I like to think you two are already channeling a little sibling bond. It's like she is being protective the way she lays her head and hand where you are, then you react to that touch by letting her know you are there. We’ve been working on teaching her to say baby, but you may be called puppy for a while.

You were kind of against our odds. To learn we were pregnant with you, even my doctor was in disbelief given some issues that should have made it more difficult. You are determined and strong, little one. We thought it would be months and months of waiting again. The way you began was a great surprise, so the way you arrive will only echo that when we find out just who you are. Our time together with you on the inside feels like it is flying by, which on the one hand makes me relieved because with our history, I’m ready to get you here, in my arms, breathing and crying. However, outside of the fear and anxiety that will always exist at some capacity, I truly love being pregnant and want to cherish this time with you – my last baby. We learned at the last appointment that my placenta did move and I no longer have placenta previa to worry about, so that is one less thing to stress over during this time together. Today we saw that the cyst on my ovary has completely shrunk too! 

We have a list on the fridge with our favorite names, mixing and matching firsts and middles. It’s been a fun game and while I think the right ones are evident, I’m going to keep working on your Daddy a bit more and enjoy this little name game.

I get teary eyed every time I think about the moment when we will get to meet you. That moment I held my babies to my chest for the first time was an indescribable feeling of finally getting to see and feel that long awaited miracle. While your big brother’s was also met with deep pain because his hello also meant a goodbye, your big sister’s was a joy we hadn’t experienced ever before in that way, and one I cannot wait to experience again with you. 

I can’t wait to keep getting to know you in there, and even more so, I can’t wait to meet you out here when the time comes. Again we are trying to conquer faith over fear and though there have been moments, we are so far, so good. 

I love you Squish and look forward to seeing you again at our next appointment. 

Mommy

October

It’s here again. October.

A month that was my favorite month for a long time. It was an exciting month. It was typically my busiest month. College football season in full swing. I always feel most inspired by fall cooking and decorating. It's a month full of events that I either attend or manage through work. It had become the new wedding season. There were costume parties for Halloween. The weather would become the perfect kind of perfect. 

And then 2015 rolled around. That year I had became a statistic and the month of October took on a new meaning. One that made that particular October dark and difficult. That year, I was one in four women to experience pregnancy and infant loss. I was 1% of women whose pregnancy resulted in stillbirth. I was 5% of that 1% (that’s a thing? yes, it is a thing.) whose baby died because of an umbilical cord accident. October is an awareness month for many things, Pregnancy and Infant Loss included. 

In October of 2016, we gave birth to our daughter, our blessing after loss, a baby that the Pregnancy and Infant Loss community term a "rainbow baby." My grief that followed Hudson's death was very much a storm. It was tumultuous and scathing. In the throes of it, it was like a hurricane-tornado-tsunami super storm all in one. To be clear, Hudson was never the storm, but the aftermath of his passing very much was for me - more so than anything I had ever experienced in my life. The hope of new life through our pregnancy with Hadley was that light needed, the faith needed, the redeeming love from loss needed. To me, the term rainbow baby is very indicative and symbolic for her and one I use.

So now October takes on a new meaning again. It is a month where my grief and my joy live together intertwined. See, she wasn't just born in October, she was born on the International day of remembrance for Pregnancy and Infant Loss, October 15. Last year in the hospital, it was such a bittersweet, beautiful testament. We were completely exhausted, emotional, and relieved to have a living, breathing baby in our arms. This year, as we celebrated her birthday, it was a little difficult. I wanted to honor him, but it was her day. I don't want her to grow up in the shadow of the brother who came before her but who didn't get to stay. There is his memory that we honor, but she is her own little person. While he is and will continue to be ingrained in our family through special ways of acknowledgment, I struggled with how that will look on her day that shared a meaning in the pregnancy and infant loss world that we were apart of. I struggled with the guilt of if I didn't acknowledge it and that of if I did.

The Wave of Light is an International movement that takes place across every time zone on October 15 at 7 pm. Throughout the day, I didn't think about it, the focus was all on her. Then her bedtime rolled around and that happened to be 7 pm. All day we had fun with her and made special first birthday memories. In the 7:00 evening hour, she was in bed, the house was quiet. With her day drawn to an end, it was time I could allocate to my firstborn. In my mind, I feel like that's the way it would have been if he were here. Little sister to bed first, a little more time with him before his own bedtime. In 2015, my coworkers at the time had made special candles and gave them out to people on the team, surprising me with it as a way to recognize Hudson together. One by one I saw their photos pop up that night on social media, or received texts of a photo with their candle lit. That candle inspired us to create special One Wing Foundation versions made by our Hudder Putter Classic volunteers for our Care Boxes for parents to personalize to their child. I keep that original candle close and with his hospital blanket bunny, lit it in a quiet space in the house. We had finally experienced the first birthday we had so longed for, and there was a lot of emotion attached to that on this particular evening. We had completed a year full of firsts and reflecting on that was really difficult to do because it was a reminder of everything we didn't get to have with him, while still radiating in the thankfulness that we did get to have it with her.

Parenting after loss has been full of a lot of moments like that. Experiencing something together as a family, or with Hadley that we'd been looking forward to doing, or didn't realize how much we had missed doing by not having him here. It's meeting people who have kids that would be in his class and thinking how our lives would have already intersected by now. It's doing family activities and attending events we never did previously because they were family-centric and now we have a little one to take to things, or one that will garner the invitation. It's in the life celebrations, now adapted because of a baby/child in the family. It's all the wonderful ways our lives have been enriched because of her. It's all the little things she does, how she learns, and develops, all the little milestones we experience with her. As we experienced those things, it was so exciting, but there was the thought - every single time - that I missed the chance to see him do it. Some of those light bulb moments are harder to swallow than others. Those times as parents that have been more challenging, my mind says this shouldn't have been the first time you are experiencing this and learning how to handle. Then people say, you are a first time parent, you'll figure it out and the next one will be a breeze. I hate being categorized as a first time parent - though okay, yes it is our first time to experience this - but to a Parent of Loss, most of us feel like we shouldn't be, this should be our second time around.

I have struggled to find my writing voice since early this year because I know that my writing is strongest when it comes from a place of pain. The pain that I had drawn from previously hasn't been as prevalent. Sure it has been there, but I have wanted to stay in the happy because we had this baby that had been so incredibly yearned for. I didn't want to seem ungrateful. Unappreciative. Like I was dwelling in the pain. That I couldn't enjoy the now. However, there is a truth to this side of it and it's okay to shine a little light on it. Especially for others who are walking this path and know they aren't alone in those moments that make them catch their breath a little bit, the things that can trigger the broken heart of loss, or the times grief could take hold for no reason other than because that love will always exist for the one who isn't here, too.

October represents a lot. For me, it is now my month where I can celebrate how hope was restored from the ultimate pain of loss, through the most beautiful gift of our daughter.

The Best Year

My sweet baby girl, 

One year ago today brought us the greatest sense of accomplishment, joy and pride that we had experienced to date - it was the day you entered the world as our daughter. All yesterday, at any moment, I could think back to that day one year before and relive each moment. I remember everything about it from the time I woke up, to feeling contractions, to heading to the hospital wondering if we'd be coming home with you, to almost exactly 24 hours later when I got to hold you against my chest for the first time.

Your brother made us parents, he taught us a depth and understanding of love that we hadn’t known before, of sacrifice, of humility, of finding beauty through pain.

And you, my precious one, you made us full again. You gave us the meaning of redemption, of hope, of answered prayers. There was an all new depth and understanding of that love Hudson first brought into our hearts. It was amplified with you and one that we could live out through every moment of every day.

You are loving. You may not love to snuggle and prefer to wiggle around, but you love to give and get hugs and kisses to anyone you can, including Georgie Pup and Hudson Bunny. You touch everyone's faces and smile. 

You are curious. To observe how you take in the world around you is fascinating. To watch you begin to understand how things work, how they sound, how they move - it is a gift you've given us. 

You are strong-willed. You are a girl who knows what she wants and are determined to get it. Your teachers call you independent and strong. While it can make parenting a challenge at times, I hope this never leaves you and I'm proud that it is apparent so early. 

You are happy. You are such a happy child. Sure you can pitch a really great fit, but you are a smiley, giggly, cheerful girl. You sing more than you try to talk, you squeal to show excitement. You are expressionate and animated. You exude spirit and joy. 

All of this in just your first year of life. I want you to know how incredibly cherished you are, how adored you are. You have made our lives far better than they’ve ever been and you will continue to do that as you grow. You are everything we could have ever hoped for, and what you have brought into our lives is greater than what we ever imagined.

Our hearts are so full. Happy birthday Hadley Jane, we are so thankful you are ours. 

Photos by Lori Wilson Photography. 

Two Years

Hudson,

Baby boy, today is your birthday. Somehow two years have come and gone. I sat with a friend the other day who asked me - doesn't it feel like it's been ten years and only five seconds all in one? I thought I'd be better this time around. I thought I'd have more peace. I thought having lived this loss after one full year and now a second would have given my heart more resolve on this day.

I thought wrong.

I've avoided my emotions for a while now. I've felt them building, the anxiety that can come with it, but I wanted to stay in the happy and not go to the place where the pain that you're not here is too overwhelming to bear sometimes. In this second year, I've talked about you more freely. I have smiled through the pain when I say I have one in Heaven and one at home. I can speak about loss now without tears every single time. I can smile when I say your name. But when I'm alone with my thoughts, or look long enough at your sister in my arms, the emotions I've tried to shut out begin to catch up to me. The life we didn't get to live and the memories we didn't get to create consume me.

Up until October 15, 2016, I only imagined all the things in life we've missed without you here. But starting at 5:08 am when Hadley was born and every minute since, I have learned just how much of the ordinary, everyday life we lost without you here.  I didn't know just how fulfilling the exhaustion of parenting was, just how much love can be felt from a neck nuzzle or smile, and just how much the little hugs or tugs of the finger can mean. I knew what we didn't have but I didn't know the depth of how much it hurt not to have it, until I did have it. I look at her and if I look long enough, it rips at my heart that I never got to look into your eyes. She loves to stare at us before breaking into a smile and it is adorable. Sometimes as she stares, I can't help but wonder what is going through her mind as she looks back at me, and then I think about how you never got to see me, your Mommy. You heard me, as you grew in my belly but you never saw me. I watch your Daddy with her and I get choked up often because he's just so good at it. He's an amazing Daddy and he should have had his son to be that to as well.

I avoided it for a long period of time because there was only so much my heart could endure, but I have allowed myself to see little ones around your age. We see them often now, especially as your sister has started daycare and we see kids of all ages. Whenever I pass a little one in the 2's class, it gives me pause every time. I wonder who you'd look like. Your sister is your Daddy's carbon copy, and you looked like me when you were born, but would you still? How would you and Hadley interact right now? What would you love to play with? I received my first pieces of art work from Hadley and decided to hang it along the new staircase and grow it into the playroom. I wonder how many pictures you would have drawn for us, how many Hudson originals I'd have already hung.

Every night before Hadley goes to bed, I sit with all my loves in my lap - Hadley, Georgie and the Hudson bunny. We rock together, we read stories, we snuggle. Sometimes Mommy cries. I wish you were here with us to make our family whole. I wish our lives had been able to experience your smile and laughter these two years. I want it all back, everything that was stolen from us two years ago when your heart stopped. All of it, I want it, I miss it. My mother's heart will never stop yearning for that life with you here too.

Today I don't want to get out of bed. Today I want to shut everything out. I want to cry until I can't cry anymore - which there are always more tears, I've learned. Yesterday I honored you in a special way. Next week we continue to honor you by furthering your legacy at your memorial golf tournament. But right now? Right now I just want you. I hear them playing in the other room and would give anything to walk in there to see Daddy, Georgie, and both our babies - my two year old and my 7 month old, with a birthday breakfast and balloons. We'd be starting our Hudson Day, your second birthday. I imagine you and see you with brown curls that maybe we'd have let grow out a little bit. I see you with my blue eyes but your Daddy's smile, that matches your sister's. Hadley smiles at you and you make her laugh. You make noises at each other and I raise an eyebrow thinking it's started, your own little language you keep from us. If only I could have five minutes of that on this day. Instead I'll close my eyes, cry the tears and live that scene in my mind. Over and over. I'll allow the warmth it creates in my heart to carry me through today when all I have are the memories of holding you when you were born, then twelve hours later, kissing you goodbye and watching as you were taken in a strangers arms until the door closed and you were gone.

We made you a birthday card and will tie it to a birthday balloon to send you in heaven. We'll have a cake for you that a special friend made for us to have in your honor. We will visit you at the church, and go on a walk trying to enjoy the outdoors where the sunbeams are like your smile, and the breeze in the air is like you playing all around us. I'll hold Hadley a little closer, I'll snuggle Georgie a little longer, I'll love your Daddy a little harder.

My heart breaks all over again on tough days like today, but it beats on. Happy Hudson Day, baby boy.

I love you with everything I have, always.

Mommy

This Side of Heaven

Two years ago today started like any other, but it was unknowingly the first day of our new life as bereaved parents. It has been 731 days since life as we knew it for 30 years was altered and we were shaken to our core upon hearing the words that our baby at 32 weeks and 6 days didn't have a heartbeat. It was the day we learned that our precious Hudson had already left us and would not be born into this world for us to love him, raise him and parent him in our arms. The way it should have been and is for most. Instead, we would give birth to his silence, to the sound of our cries, and say a goodbye that no parent ever should. Instead of the life we dreamed of as a family, we carry him in our hearts as we live on without him and only the idea of what should have been.

Loss parents have different milestone days that resonate, we may call them different things. I call today, the day we learned he had passed, Hudson's Heaven Day, and tomorrow, the day we gave birth, his Birthday. I honestly don't know which day is more difficult.

Two years ago I entered this hospital completely unsuspecting that I'd be leaving 24 hours later without our baby. Though I've been back here again many times since, it was a different kind of experience to walk through those same doors again, just like I did two years ago. While my answer to these hard milestones has been to escape, to be "vacation us" instead of loom in the "everyday us" where he is noticeably absent the most, this time on his Heaven Day we get to see his legacy in action. Today we did the official celebration and Cuddle Cot dedication to Baylor University Medical Center, the place that holds our only memories of the time spent with our son in our arms and where we brought his sister, a representation of so much joy and hope, into the world as well.

While we never want this Cuddle Cot to be used, the sad reality is that it will be. During this month, I've been introduced to or made aware of six families of stillbirth that have occurred in May alone. Six babies gone to soon. Six parents whose lives will never be the same. In addition to this Cuddle Cot, the funds given to Baylor University Medical Center at Dallas by the One Wing Foundation have gone to provide aid for families who cannot afford proper burial arrangements for their stillborn baby or NICU infant, and to create a renovated private space in Labor and Delivery for families giving birth but will either never hear their babies cry, or they will have a short time together before that baby takes its last breath.

Guys, this just isn't the way life is meant to go, but sometimes it does. There is not a rhyme or reason. Not a divine plan when someone's child dies. It is not the natural circle of life.You may feel differently, I did before this happened to me. Now, I believe that sometimes the terrible-awful happens. It just does. While we can't change it, we can provide for it. We can be the community that catches those parents in loving arms, without platitudes, when they have faced the most difficult obstacle of burying their baby. It is a wound that may reopen from time to time, and one that doesn't ever really heal. Because that's child loss.

I know it's ugly and unflattering sometimes. I know it's not what people want to see because it's sad. I know that every time I post about it, someone cringes. But he's my child, just like Hadley is. He will be recognized too. I may not have cute pictures of him covered in food, smiling in the bathtub or grabbing his toes - because those were robbed from me when his heart stopped. This is what I have for him. This is how I parent him - my son who should be turning two tomorrow.

Waking up two years ago on May 26, it was any other day until it wasn't, and our path changed for good. As difficult as this road has been, can be, and will continue to be at times, I take solace in continuing to parent my son in any way that I can, and One Wing Foundation is that way. I felt him in my heart, the love and support in the room through the incredible Baylor staff, I see him in her eyes sometimes - the eyes I never got to look into.

Happy Heaven Day sweet boy. You got there before us and we know we will see you again on the other side.

The House That Built Me

"A house is built with boards and beams, a home is built with love and dreams." 
First house photo taken the week we moved in, June 2014

I remember the first time we saw it. We drove down a tree-lined street to this little blue-grey house with a front porch and a white porch swing. It donned an American flag and the blooms of a crabapple tree finished the craftsman style ideal. The house, built in 1922, was well kept and maintained its character with gorgeous original hardwoods, glass door knobs, clawfoot tub and 10 ft ceilings throughout. As we walked through, we both ditched the check list we had in our minds of our "perfect house" because truth be told, this was far from our idea of perfect and it didn't have our shared top three musts. However, it had something that none of the 20+ houses we had seen by that point had. This one had the feeling of home. 

It may have only been three years for us, but we lived a significant chapter of our lives in this little house. It was our first house together as a married couple. We painted walls, slowly finding new pieces of furniture to fill the rooms. We planted new bushes and flowers in those flower beds with our own hands. We rocked on that front porch swing countless times. We renovated and saw our ideas come to life. We adopted a dog and gave him a loving home. We celebrated anniversaries, birthdays, hosted holidays and various dinners. We found out we were pregnant in that house, twice. We dreamed a life for those babies in that house. It was where we returned home to, with broken hearts and bare arms when our first baby died. It became my sanctuary when I couldn't bring myself to face the outside world. It is where we prepared for our second baby's arrival and emotionally brought her home to. Those hardwood floors have soaked up countless tears. If those walls could talk it would tell many stories of a combination of our love and pain, deeply absorbed within them.

We don't need to move but there has been an itch. An itch for change. That little house felt even smaller once Hadley arrived, but we were content. However, as I scrolled through neighborhood listings with a friend, I saw it. I remember the house from when we were looking for our current house and loved it then. Looking at it again, it felt like us the minute I laid eyes on the pictures. When we were able to get in to see it, I walked through with Hadley in my arms. I saw us there. The birthday parties, the holiday gatherings, the space for the larger table to set. I stood in that kitchen, envisioning a busy morning scene of getting ready for work, packing snacks and lunch - lined up on the island ready to go. I could see the patio doors open with my husband on the grill, me cooking in the kitchen, Hadley and hopefully future babies playing somewhere in between. I saw the Christmas tree next to the mantle with stockings hung, the family snuggled by the fire in the fireplace. I saw the traditions we will continue and new ones we will start. We fell in love with it and decided to go for it - and now here we are. Proud owners of our new family home, sellers of our first family home.

Over the weekend, I took some time to walk through and pause in each room, taking them in before we started to pack them up and they will no longer be the way we have had them. We've done a lot to the house to make it ours, but the room I will miss most is the nursery. It is a beautiful space, in many ways, that has so much sentiment tied to it. I've written before about how the first time walked the house, we identified that room as the nursery. I thought it would be the kitchen, but its the nursery that I will remember most about that house. We put in the contract that we are taking Hadley's chandelier with us so she can have a piece of her old room in her new room - a symbol of the room that was meant for both our babies. Before there were pink lines, there was the vision of who would occupy that room. I didn't know the road we'd take to get there. We always saw that house as our starter home and we'd hope to have two babies there, then we'd probably outgrow it. I guess you can say that's where we are now, though different than we thought it would look.

What gives me a great amount of peace and comfort to this process is that I feel like, if Hudson were here, we would be doing this right now, moving to this house. The timing became right for us to do this now, and I think it would have been right now if both our babies were here too - part of me wonders if that is where the itch came from, an inherent feeling that we'd be doing this anyway. As Parents of Loss, we do have our own parallel universe that we picture our other child/children in. I find that it can be painful sometimes when what is happening in our reality doesn't mesh with what would be going on if the parallel life was our reality. But when big life events happen and you feel they would be happening with or without the missing person, it's healing to the heart and soul. In that world, we are moving our almost 7 month old and almost 2 year old to a new house that will become our family home for quite some time. In our reality, we are doing the same but with our almost 2 year old as a memory of what could have been.

It is emotionally difficult to close the door, both literally and figuratively, on that little blue-grey house on Woodlawn. It would be hard even if we hadn't lost our first born, if we weren't leaving the only house he "experienced" but I know that adds to the connectivity. The time we made this house our home the most was when we were pregnant with him and preparing it with him in mind. Not just the renovation work but the things we bought to get ready for our growing family. I cried uncontrollably when it was agreed on in our selling contract that we'd leave our washer and dryer. The washer and dryer we bought with a gift card my in laws gave us for Christmas because we had just told them we were expecting Hudson and they told us we'd need a good new washer and dryer for that baby. I realized it is only a washer and dryer, but they carry a large amount of sentiment! The washer and dryer set revolved around him.

The 30,000 foot view regarding this move is that it feels like we are leaving a piece of us behind, but I remind myself that this is another part of our story as a family. It is a chapter of our book that we continue writing. While it was the only home that Hudson "experienced", I look forward to weaving him into our new family home blueprint. I envision creating a special corner in the new game room where I can maybe utilize some of his nursery decor that I've kept packed away in hopes to use again. It's a corner where his rocker will go with Hadley's books and toys. A place for her to play, hopefully with future siblings, some day. We have left our mark on our first family home, it will be a special place to us always. Come this weekend, I'll sit in our house for the last time with it empty, the way I did when I first entered it. Three years ago it I was in this empty space with the excitement of what the future holds. This time it is with tears, recounting the precious memories made there and how it went from a house to a home. We'll close and lock that door for the last time. Goodbye sweet little blue-grey house on Woodlawn. Hello to what our future holds for our family in our new home just ten blocks away.

To My Daughter on Her First Day of Daycare

Hadley,

Today you are six months, 2 weeks and 2 days. For the last 198 days, you have been the crux of our every everything. I spent thirteen weeks with you and day by day you learned your basic needs. I watched you take in the world around you, become more alert, learn to recognize people and other objects. I watched you transform from a newborn to an infant. I saw your smiles, heard your first giggle, listened as you found your voice, and discovered different textures. I watched as you began to focus your gaze on our faces, rather than look beyond them. I held you as you cried, and soothed you to become calm. When it was time for me to return to work, your Daddy took over and he stayed home to take care of his sweet baby girl - the first person in his office to take advantage of this new benefit that I am so thankful he is given.

He has heard those little giggles turn into belly laughs. He's taught you how to enjoy tummy time and roll over, how to jump in your jumparoo, to sit on your own like a big girl, and turn the pages of a book. Your little voice has changed and you call out now, you sing to us, you babble on and on. He has watched you become this precocious, energetic, happy baby girl. Every day he took you on walks and swung with you on the porch swing. In his last week of leave with you, you started stretching out your arms big and wide, he would do the same and lift you to him for the game he calls Big Hugs. You've started reaching for our faces, touching our cheeks, and giving us kisses.

I treasure every minute of every day I was home with you, and more so, I treasure the special time your Daddy got to have home with you. I hope when you grow up and if you become a Mommy someday, you will have plenty of time home with your babies without having to compromise your income, job responsibilities, or career aspirations. I hope you can have it all with cessation. I hope that all working mommies won't have to have a choice between spending those needed months (yes, it is months) with their baby, or being able to financially contribute to the household to provide what is needed for their families. I wish that a true maternity leave would be available for working moms, one that is representative of the beauty and importance of bringing a new life into the world, while indicative of what it entails to ensure the proper health and connectivity needed for a mother and a child. I hope that all Daddies will have the ability to take paternity leave and bond with their babies, taking care of them, being part of this very important time of growth and development as well, further solidifying a true partnership with their spouse in this joint venture called parenthood. I was fortunate to have 13 weeks with you, then when my time ended, your Daddy was able to spend 15 weeks with you - but this is not necessarily the norm and that's a shame.

Today is a new step for us as a family. Today I do the hardest thing I've had to do during your 198 days. Today I hand you over to someone we've never met, in a place you don't know, and trust them with your care. I wish I could explain it to you in a way you'd understand, and reassure you that everything will be okay, that we will be back for you. You've become used to Mommy being gone but you were in your own house with Daddy responding to your needs. Now everything is changing for you. My heart aches and it hurts that you are now going to be out of our daily care. That I won't be able to come home at lunch to see you and nurse you. That Daddy won't be there to make things better when you cry. It was a painful, long road to get you into this world - it is hard to put that trust in someone else to take care of you as well as we would. Will you find the comfort that you need when you cry? Will you know they love and care for you too? I'll miss those pictures and videos of what you are doing that get me through the day. I'm afraid to miss more of your firsts, for someone else to get those.

But can I tell you something? I'm also really excited for you.

These six months we've watched all these wonderful things take place with you. We've also watched as you've interacted with others. How you light up and have intrigue, especially with other little ones. You are going to love being around others your age and your teachers, learning from them, taking the world in. This is going to be so wonderful for you and honestly, it will be better developmentally than what we could do with you at home. You are going to thrive and it's important for us to let you. We want to give you this experience.

I want you to know that there is no greater job that either your Daddy or I have than being your parents. That's why, as your parents, we go to work every day - that is what is best for our family. The truth of the matter is, I love what I do, the job I have, the career I've built - I personally need that time to contribute to society and to our family. Even more so, I love what I get to come home to when that day at the office is done and be your Daddy's wife, and your Mommy. We work hard for you, to provide for you, to set an example for you. Every day, we aim to better ourselves as professionals in the careers we've worked hard to have in order to lay that foundation for you, so that you may blaze your own trail someday. You are going to have friends whose mommies or daddies don't go into an office every day and that is just as wonderful. That is what works best for their family, that is how they show their love to their littles. It doesn't mean we love you any less, or that they love theirs any less. We are all doing what is best for our own families, because each family is different with no two the same. You are going to do great things baby girl, you can do whatever you want to do. You can be a stay at home mom, you can be a work from home mom, you can be a go to the office mom, you can work part-time, you can work full-time. You can have a career, be a wife, be a mom - do them separately or all at the same time. You can take the world by storm and we are your biggest cheerleaders.

Whenever we pack you up in the car and we drop you off at daycare, know that during those nine hours we are away, it is because we love you as much as we do. You are our motivation, our inspiration, and we know you are thriving where you are. Although I cried today leaving you, handing you over to people we didn't know, it's not something I would change given the choice right now. They were so comforting, told us we could call whenever we needed, come by whenever we wanted. In my heart I feel like I should have already done this, the first day at daycare thing, with your brother. If he were here, Hudson would have been in the classroom across the hall. I think that made more tears flow and the experience that much harder. As I met other parents at pick up time, I wondered if our paths would have crossed already, if we would have been doing life together as parents but instead we meet now for the first time? While he's not next door to be there if you need him, he is always with you. When we picked you up for the day, before you realized we were there, we saw that you were happy - you were so happy - and that made us happy.

We love you Hadley Jane. We want to make you proud, and for you to know that you always make us proud. Everything we do is out of love for you.

Nosies,

Mommy

Easter People

Our babies on Easter Sunday

Last Easter, March 27, was 10 months from the day we met and said goodbye to our son. Last year on Maundy Thursday my mom sent me an article with the theme that we are Easter people living in a Good Friday world and that hit home to me. This year, I saw many more articles and interpretations of this message, but the one I read specifically pertained to a grieving audience. I wrote Hudson's 10 month letter with that on my heart.

"Sweet boy, we've experienced our own Good Friday in losing you. It has been dark and sad, we were angry and in deep pain. However, God's promise allows us to be hopeful Easter people. Hopeful of new life and that our sorrow will be resurrected. Today, we are Good Friday people, but we are also Easter people who are hopeful. We will celebrate new life and everlasting life with the promise that we will be reunited again someday in Heaven."

Last Easter was a somber time and it hit me much harder than I expected it to. I remember sitting in church and all around us were little ones who would be close to Hudson's age. My heart hurt and I yearned for my own son who should have been sitting in our lap, fidgeting, too. While my heart was heavy, it was also full of hope because we were 8 weeks pregnant with Hadley. I had bought the softest little stuffed baby chick and it was part of my first "belly pic" that morning. After church, we shared that news with family, which was also my parent's 34th wedding anniversary.

After church, we went to their house for brunch and before extended family arrived, we gave them their "anniversary gift" presented in an Easter Basket. There were three large plastic eggs filled with different candies and a message in each. Egg 1 wished them a Happy Anniversary and said "We are EGGcited", with chocolate eggs as the candy. Egg 2 said "To spill the beans" filled with jelly beans. Then egg 3 was filled with skittles and a picture of our 8 week sonogram taken a few days prior with a message that our Rainbow Baby would arrive October 2016.

What was really special and unique is that the traditional anniversary gift for 34 years is an opal and the opal happens to be the October birthstone. So in essence, we gave them their opal for their 34 year anniversary! 

This year Hadley turned 6 months on Easter weekend. I saved that stuffed chick and it was in her Easter basket. She wore the same dress that I wore for my first Easter. We were 22 weeks with Hudson for Easter 2015. We were 8 weeks pregnant with Hadley, missing our baby boy who would have been 10 months old for Easter 2016. This Easter, we have a precious 6 month old baby in our arms and a 22 month old in our hearts. We know that because He died for us, we will live eternally in the kingdom of Heaven. We are missing a piece of our family, but we will reunite again when our time on this earth has come to an end.

As I stood in that pew yesterday and recited the Apostles Creed along with the rest of the congregation, I knew this is the way we would teach the Easter story to our children and that message started yesterday with Hadley when we visited Hudson after church. Jesus died for us, he rose from he dead, he is seated at the right hand of the Father and will come again to judge the living and the dead. It is through Him and Him alone that we have eternal life. It is because of Him we will see our Hudson again, and it will be a glorious reunion when that time comes. 

Something in the Water

A month ago we baptized our baby girl.

We baptized our son in a hospital room. We believe he had already entered the kingdom of Heaven but we wanted the memory of being able to baptize him together as a family. It took place in the early hours of the morning with the pastor who married us. He came to the hospital, my family members and our nurse gathered around the bed in a circle, Max and I held one another while holding Hudson. The holy water was in a styrofoam cup. It was tragically beautiful. There wasn't a special outfit or family traditions, it was the best we could do at the time. For the very limited amount of time we had with him.

Before Hadley was born, we started planning her baptism. We had wanted to baptize her as an infant for various reasons, but the time of year was also really important to us. The holidays were so brutal for us a year ago when they should be a time of joy and celebration. We clung to one another as we "celebrated" our wedding anniversary and everything that had made up our marriage to that point with the devastating elephant in the room that we had become parents but didn't have a child anymore. We hurt. We were broken. We had experienced a time of for better and for worse early in our marriage. Coming up on this fourth anniversary we had talked about how special it would be for us to make that weekend about Hadley and to baptize her in the same setting that we were married in. To have that healing from the year prior. The baptismal gown that my great grandmother made was worn by my mom, her sisters and their female cousins. It was worn by me and my cousins. Now we had a third generation to wear it and needed to do so before she outgrew it. I wore that gown at 8 weeks old and so did she.

The church altar was covered in poinsettias the way it was when we stood up there together last. This time, two of the poinsettias were donated in memory of Hudson and in honor of Hadley. This time, we stood up there with our baby girl and our son was represented right there with us. The baptism took place at the beginning of the service and we stood at the altar together, surrounded by our family and some of our best friends, like we were four years ago for our wedding. This time the words we echoed back were an I Do to raise her in the church and nurture her through faith in Christ our Lord. She was baptized and we all laid our hands on her and prayed. The Reverend walked her down the aisle to introduce her to the congregation. The sermon was about brokenness and I found myself clinging to every word as my husband held our sweet girl and she squeezed my finger. Christmas carols were sung by the choir and congregation, then at the very end we happened to sing one verse of Silent Night, my Christmas lullaby to Hudson.

At the conclusion of the service, we walked together as a family to visit him at the church's columbarium, taking Hadley for the first time. Emotions poured over as Max held Hadley, tears in both of our eyes, and he kissed her little hand to then put on Hudson's niche. Our extended family members joined us and for some, it was the first time to see his resting place. A baptism was one of the only memories of something we had done with our son, and here we were with his sister on her baptism day, yet he was there too.

We celebrated her back at our house and we continue to make precious memories with her each day. I can't believe she will be three months old in just a few days. The time has flown by so fast and I know it will only continue. I remember a friend telling me that her babies' baptisms were two of the most special days. The way both my babies' baptisms have occurred, though very different, I have to agree. Thank you to our families, our church family and the special friends who were there to take part in this very special day for us!

Chronicles of Parenting a Living Child After Loss, Edition I

The moment she was placed in my arms, everything changed.

My comparisons from this time and last time ceased once I heard her cries. At that moment, it was a new and different experience. There was a lot of strength and optimism from the time we entered the hospital around 3:00 PM on Friday, October 14. That optimism continued on into the evening and through the hours of the early morning of October 15, but throughout it all there was still a tiny bit of insurmountable fear in the back of my mind. That fear took over during delivery and at one point I remember thinking that she's been in the birth canal too long (she hadn't at all) and I ignored nurse Shirley's half-push prompts because I felt like I needed to push harder to just get her out already, something could still happen (it didn't). The feeling of sweet relief and sheer joy spread throughout us once she was in our arms, safe and sound.

However, her birth story didn't tell the side of grief that was experienced once she arrived. About two hours after she was born, it was noticed that the little noises she was making wasn't her learning to cry and make sounds. It was termed grunting, which indicated that she was having trouble pulling oxygen into her lungs. She was taken from us and they were able to remove the excess amniotic fluid. As mentioned in her birth story, it was a busy night for Labor and Delivery. When it came time to move us to postpartum floor, there were not any rooms available. We were temporarily placed in a room on the antepartum floor - which is where we were taken following our delivery with Hudson until we were ready to go home. These rooms are primarily used for women who are pregnant and need to be hospitalized. Now we were back in the same kind of room we were in when we said goodbye to our son, which took me right back to last time.

Shortly after settling into this tiny temporary room, we realized she was still grunting. The nurse came in and Hadley was taken from us again. It hit me so hard to be back in that room, watching a stranger take my baby from me and wheel them away, door closing behind them. In the back of my mind I knew she was coming back, I knew it wasn't goodbye, I knew it wasn't like last time but in that moment the emotions and my grief got the best of me. This is where my personal version of post traumatic stress started.

About an hour later, the nurse and pediatrician came to see us. They told us that the grunting was still persisting and that we had a few options. They said it could be that there is just a little bit of fluid in there and it would resolve itself within a few hours, it could be pneumonia or another infection, it could be some kind of internal problem that they will need to start running tests for. She recommended that we wait a few hours and keep her in the NICU for observation to see how she does and then if it isn't getting better, we would do x-rays of her chest and start running tests. Now that we had this long awaited child, I hated having to be apart from her. 

We tried to sleep and get some rest as we waited, but my heart was overwhelmed. A few hours later, we were led to the NICU nursery to see her and to work with a lactation consultant. They said she had a posterior tongue tie and that it would be challenging for her to adequately latch, so we also learned how to syringe feed. The pediatrician came by and checked her over again, saying she was doing great and her lungs just needed a little time but that the grunting had stopped so they let her come back to our room with us and to work on obtaining a good latch to nurse her.

By 4:30 PM we were finally moved and settled into a postpartum room, now in a new environment and I could get over that hump, get back to the new and different of this time again. We were nursing her, family came to visit and to meet her, we tried to get our own rest in between.  As we moved into Sunday and throughout that day, we thought we were on the up and up. Except that her bilirubin levels were going up slightly each time checked which indicated jaundice, but we were still in the safe zone. No big deal, I had jaundice, a ton of babies have jaundice. Max held her in the window where the sunbeams came in and the two of them napped together throughout the day, bathing in the sunlight to help that jaundice dissipate.

We were supposed to be discharged on Monday, but early that morning the pediatrician came in to talk to us again. Her first 24 hours, she lost 1% of her birth weight which was normal. But that second 24 hours, she was down an additional 10% of her body weight which was a lot at once and concerning. We thought she was latching better and feeding well, but apparently she was not. The pediatrician on call said she wanted the lactation consultant to come check for a good latch and we'd wait for the blood test results for her jaundice before she will discharge us. After working with the LC for about 20 minutes, they said they just weren't comfortable sending us home yet. We then learned she was now above the seventy-fifth percentile and had moved into the high-risk classification with her jaundice. I had a tearful conversation with the pediatrician and she was aware of our previous birth and loss of Hudson. The team decided to discharge us, but keep Hadley as a patient. While I wasn't their patient anymore, we were to stay together in that room with her as if I were because they weren't going to send us home without our baby again, as long as they could help it. That, I am truly thankful for.

That Monday was a hard day. Aside from already being a sleepy newborn, the jaundice made her even more sleepy. It was nearly impossible to wake her up to try to feed on the schedule they wanted us to have so that she didn't lose anymore weight. However, to help the jaundice, she needed to eat. Throughout the rest of that day, I was broken down so badly. I would have episode after episode of staring at this precious newborn baby, wanting her so badly to open her eyes. It took me right back to last time with Hudson and trying to will him with my mind to wake up. Holding this tiny baby, tears running down my face please wake up, please open your eyes, it absolutely broke me. While I knew she would be fine, this wave of grief and de ja vu consumed me. We worked hard throughout that day to feed her and get her in that indirect sunlight so that they wouldn't have to take her from us to be under lights and receive supplemental formula to gain weight. We were trying to breastfeed and get a good latch, but also cup feeding and syringe feeding to make sure she had enough in her belly. By Tuesday afternoon, her BR levels had lowered, she seemed to be feeding better, and she hadn't lost any additional weight overnight so we were able to take her home.

Finally we were at that moment of being wheeled out of the postpartum floor, holding our living child. As they pushed me down the hallways of Labor and Delivery and to that front door, I clutched Hadley in her little going home outfit that was too big for her though it was a preemie size. I know I had the goofiest smile on my face while at the same time trying to fight back tears. I've been on that wheelchair ride before, but without my baby, a look of horror and disbelief on my face, passing people in the hallway, trying not to look at them and see their face when they looked at me. I clutched this little girl and listened as people gave their congratulations, commented on her big pink bow or how tiny she was or how beautiful she looked. I had tears of joy and pride, tinged with a little bit of sadness because of the memories that flooded back. Because I didn't get to do this part last time.

Max arrived in the circular drive with the car and he put her in the car seat for the first time. I let her grip my finger the whole way home and in exchange, she allowed me to stare at her in awe, with those tears streaming down my face. I held my breath walking in the front door. Max carried the car seat in. We took her out and walked into the nursery. We stood there together, the three of us, in that room. In the room that from the first time we first entered the house with the realtor, we identified it as the nursery. The room we had waited to bring a baby home to. The room we started to create for a little boy. The room we fell to the floor sobbing in when we got home after saying goodbye to that little boy, our first baby. The room that brought us joy again to create the perfect space for her. Now she was here, we had our baby in that room. I held her and just cried because that day had finally come. Afterwards, Max walked her around and introduced her to each space in her house, huge smile on both our faces. 

Throughout these first few weeks at home, both of us would just hold her or stare at her and cry - happy tears, tears because we couldn't believe that she was actually here, that we were finally having these moments together as a little family. I wasn't prepared for all of these overwhelming emotions. At the end of our first week with her, I learned that my placenta had an abnormality discovered once delivered and had been sent off to pathology. I also learned that her umbilical cord was short and had a marginal insertion which meant instead of a normal cord placement in the middle of the placenta, it was on the side. Both of these things can cause a number of risk factors, including a cause for stillbirth. One of the risk factors of a marginal insertion is restricted blood flow to the baby, which would explain the umbilical cord blood pressure issue we had. Between the unknown placenta abnormality and the marginal cord insertion, I felt even more so like she was a miracle. I was so thankful she came when she did and we didn't have to wait another few days for her to arrive. It makes me fearful in thinking about what it could mean for future pregnancies seeing that my uterus seems to create a risky environment for my babies and why neither of these factors were discovered in one of the 20+ sonograms we had. We will discuss pathology report and our questions with our doctor at the 6 week check up but for now, I concentrate on the fact that Hadley is healthy and perfectly fine despite the way things could have turned out.

At every 2 am diaper change and feeding, I rock her in her room. Sometimes I hold her and as I look at her, I cry. I whisper her lullaby songs to her and allow myself the chance for that emotional release of my grief and my joy tangled together. Smelling that sweet baby smell, feeling the weight of her in my arms, hearing her breaths and sighs, seeing her little facial expressions as she sleeps with the occasional raised cheek smile. I wasn't prepared for all the emotions this "fourth trimester" brings, but they are coupled with those of a mother's heart who is parenting one child in her arms and one she longs to hold again.

After losing Hudson, I'll admit, I would get really angry anytime I heard a mom complain about motherhood. I would bite my tongue but always in the back of my mind I thought I'd give anything to have that, you don't know how lucky you are to have your child. Because of that, I have immense guilt when I feel like this is really hard. But it is very hard, for any mother. I have guilt for the times I feel defeated or stressed when we have trouble with feeding, or I am so incredibly tired, or I just don't know what else to do to soothe her. I think that guilt is normal for a mother of loss to feel. I know this is just the beginning of all those feelings. I am tremendously grateful to have this sweet girl with us, to be her mother, to raise her and to love her. I'll take the hard times, all of them with the happy, whatever it may be, just to be able to have them with her at all.