Train potty

On the other side

I flip the calendar over to a new month: September. The summer is ending and we are heading into fall---the smell of crisp leaves on the ground, football, cool breezes during our family walks, pumpkin spice candles, apple orchards, hot coffee, crock pot meals, fleeces, and sweaters. I love all four seasons we get to experience in Wisconsin but fall has to be one of the best. The scents in this cooler air remind me of last year and I can't help but flip through my pictures from September 2011 with a sense of wonder. Was it really just one year ago?

Last year at this time I was over-thinking every twinge in my body, desperately hoping that I was pregnant. Desperate. That is a great word for the Julia of September 2011. I vowed not to test for a few more days but I couldn't get out of my own head. I wanted so badly to be pregnant again. I would say it was bordering on an obsession, really. My head was filled with thoughts on babies and pregnancy tests and ovulation strips and timing and symptoms and hope but fear and plenty of anxiety. Prayers each night requesting a patient heart, His will be done, not mine. And when that Saturday morning finally came, and I allowed my self to test, I could feel the weight of that moment on my shoulders. 'Pregnant'. It was happening again. And Cecelia's tiny being was a matter of a few cells, rapidly multiplying and ready to fight for survival.

My pregnancy journey from the positive test until her birth was....rough at times. Nothing was certain. I was bleeding at six weeks and heard the words, 'I've never seen a bleed this big turn out okay in the end.' I was awaiting another miscarriage. Cecelia wasn't supposed to be sleeping in the swing next to me as I type this. And yet, here she is---every bit the fighter that we saw on that ultrasound screen last year. She's here and she is amazing and truly the most wonderful miracle I've experienced. Words could never fully capture the love I have for my daughter and it seems silly to even try to describe how grateful I am for this little lady. Gratitude. Thankful. And even when my little fighter is fighting any sort of routine, or the bottle, or sleep, and I'm fighting back tears----even then, I wouldn't trade a second of it for the world. She is worth it. I think back to the Julia of September 2011 and remember how badly I ached for our second child. And I'd gladly take the sleepless nights and newborn dramas over the desperation for another pregnancy.

Prior to that magical moment of Cecelia's announcement into the world with a positive test, we had been through some of the most difficult months I could have imagined. And it's those months of grief and mourning and loss and despair that I find myself sorting through a year later. It's not that I think about my miscarriage a lot, and I don't let it get me down too often. I don't want you to think I'm sitting around dwelling on the loss or feeling sorry for myself. But when those memories come back to the surface they still make my heart hurt. Who was baby Wren? Why did it have to happen? Why did I have to have one of the most complicated, prolonged, expensive miscarriages ever? My story still seems like it happened to someone else and as I type it out, or read back over my own posts, I almost feel like it was all a dream. Or a nightmare, I suppose.

My body didn't know the baby's heart stopped beating and I needed medication to get the actual miscarriage going. It was painful. It was scary. It was horrible. I bled for 6 weeks just waiting to fully lose my baby, then had severe hemorrhaging and landed in the ER, where the staff handled my case like crap. Threw out words like 'hysterectomy' and 'large mass' and didn't provide any sort of answers or hope. Then I had the surgery I so badly needed and things started to return to a new normal. And nearly 7k later, with an entire summer of heartbreak, we entered the fall. When I saw the word 'pregnant' and felt a sense of peace, if ever so brief, that the worst was behind us.

I hear the creaking of the swing next to me and glance over at my beautiful baby girl, and I get a little choked up. Tears welling up in my eyes show me that again, it was all worth it to have Cecelia here with us. If Wren had been our number two we'd never have the privilege of meeting Cece---and that would be the biggest loss of all. But it still hurts to remember the path we took to get on the other side of loss.

My heart breaks for every other woman going through the motions of life after a loss. Miscarriage is everywhere and each time I read about it, or hear about it, I feel angry that it happens so much. It's not fair. It's so sad. But life does go on. It will get better.

A year later, we are living the life with two kids that I dreamed about for so long. It's happening. It's real. SHE'S real. We're on the other side of a loss. And I'm at a loss for words to accurately reflect my gratitude. And so I simply give my sleeping baby a kiss and say a prayer of thanks.

She's worth it.