limbo

The past week has been rough. Not in it's entirety, but here and there, pangs of hurt, sadness and want, knock on my heart. I want so badly to be pregnant.

When I as newly pregnant with Selah, I often worried about how Asher would respond to the baby when it arrived. I was worried that he'd be jealous and try to beat the baby. Whenever I held another baby he would go nuts. I was really nervous. But since losing Selah, I have realized just how much Asher loves babies. Loves them. He wants to be around babies and kiss their heads and give them hugs. It's so cute to watch. He just, simply, loves them. That makes my pain all the worse. As beautiful as it is to see him with another person's baby...I see how wonderful he would have been with his own sister...and we may never be able to experience it.

There's a part of me that whats to throw up my arms in surrender, cast my fears in the wind and get pregnant. But I know I can't. I could be caving into my own wants, just to kill another child. I can't do that. Not so blindly. If there was hope...any glimmer of hope, that we could have another healthy child, then I would try...but I can't now.

The night we lost Jorai, she was jumping within me with such vigor that Steve and I laid there in amazement, as our hands felt her movements. We were lying in bed. As we did each night, we had our hands on my belly feeling and watching her movements. But that night was different. She was going crazy. We were laughing with excitement, thinking that we were going to have our hands full when she came. We were so happy. So, happy.

After losing Jorai, our doctor explained to us that most people who have a stillborn child experience what we did, that one beautiful night in June. Though that night for Jorai, wasn't as beautiful as we thought. As we were laughing in joy, she was probably reeling in death. She was kicking so hard and thrashing about because she was in pain and/or dying. We weren't feeling her happiness. We were feeling her death. That night still haunts me. What was once such a wonderful memory has turned horrid.

I feel blessed to not have had those feelings with Selah. And though I know I felt her move after my last memory...my last memory of feeling her movements were shared with my mom's hands. That brings me joy.

I've had a few people tell me to try to get pregnant again, if that's what I want....this is why I can't. Your child is your child, no matter how old they are. And though I know it would have been easier for me to try again if my losses were through miscarriage, they weren't. I birthed my babies. I held them and kissed them and called them by name. And how could I get pregnant again, knowing that they have such a slim chance of survival? Knowing that I may possibly feel them die within me...feel their lifeless body in my arms...feel the warmth leave their skin...never look into their beautiful eyes or hear their cries or laughs...never...never...never.

I'm hopeful for our appointment in a few weeks. I'm anxious to go. I'm scared that they too, won't be able to give us hope. But, I'm hopeful. The doctor we're seeing is not only a geneticist, but also an obstetrician. Maybe she's seen this before...maybe she has ideas of what it could be and/or if it can be fixed or prevented...All I can be is hopeful.

I want to be pregnant. I want to have two living children. I loved having siblings as I grew up. I have so many wonderful memories of my brothers and I. It pains me to think of Asher not having those bonds...those memories. But I have to be patient. I have to hold out for hope. That's all I have to hold onto right now. hope