reflecting.

2012 was both hard and amazing at the same time.

When I reflect back, I can hardly believe how far i've come.

From a second failed IVF treatment in March to conceiving naturally 7 weeks later to threatening to miscarry at 6 weeks to cervical cerclage and 30 weeks of my life spent in bed.

What.a.journey.

What a crazy, terrifying, amazing, bittersweet journey.

//

The stitches that held my cervix closed and kept my second son safe in my womb were removed last week.

I walked out of the hospital with a smile on my face and a lump in my throat.

The removal was another hard and familiar step in this pregnancy.

Every day, every hour, every minute, as I grow this baby I think of Liam.

//

Contractions were strong last night and eased this morning.

My body is preparing for labor any day now.

We are ready to meet our second son.

//

Thank you so much to those who are checking in and thinking of us.

I'm sorry for being quiet here in this place of missing and hoping and waiting, and not really knowing how to articulate it all.

You can also find me over on Instagram if you'd like to join me there @Suite994.

update.

After spending over 7 months in bed, this part of my pregnancy journey is coming to an end.

The cerclage will be removed in 11 days, and then i'll be allowed up on my feet.

My doctor says I will likely go into labor soon after the stitches are removed.

Baby has stayed put way low and all scans since 20 weeks have shown him head down.

The pelvic pressure has been pretty intense throughout my entire pregnancy and i've been spotting here and there.

Dr. B says we can't afford any problems and that I need to keep a close eye on discharge and bleeding because it could signal an infection.

So I continue to lie very still in bed.

I continue to quietly count the days.

We desperately want a happy ending… this time.

We hope Liam's little brother will arrive safely on the other side very soon.


/Liam's tree and second Christmas ornament.

/16 steps from my bed to the bathroom. 16 steps back. But I always stop to take peeks of my growing belly.

***

My days have been slow and quiet. I sip tea, read magazines and listen to music. I put my feet up, take my hormones, folic acid and prenatal vitamins. I research, email and blog.

I've been thinking about this blog and how much it's changed. I think about how much my life has changed. I think about Liam. My son has been gone for nearly 7 months now. 7 months. I think about the little boy he would be today. "He would have been one handsome little guy". Those were my father's first words after he kissed Liam's forehead and feet. I think about all the hopes and dreams we had for him and for our family. We wanted to take Liam to China and Uruguay, to show him his roots and introduce him to his family overseas. We had such plans. Such confidence.

I think about life and I wonder what's next. J and I are heading into Friday's appointment with the hope for a chance. A second chance. Even through loss and pain and struggle, there is hope isn't there. A light at the end of the deep, dark tunnel. It's not always easy to see it, but i've opened up my heart again and it's there. The hope that is coming.


*** Thank you so much for checking in on me, for your messages, private emails and the hopes you've sent our way. I've been thinking about you too, old blog friends who have stuck by me and new blog friends whom i've been lucky to find along my way. I'm sincerely thankful for you guys.

one.

Last week ended on a hopeful note and we made it to a transfer. Of nine eggs that were collected, six were abnormal. Three eggs went on to fertilize but two of them were developing abnormally and had to be destroyed. That left us with one. One chance for this cycle. The embryologist told us that our egg was developing "correctly" and so it was transferred into my body on Friday morning.

The transfer itself was quick but overwhelming. As the doctor implanted and we watched the procedure on the flat screen TV above our heads, J and I looked at each other with tears in our eyes. Our thoughts were with Liam. He will always be our son. We will always live and breathe his absence. I held my necklace with one hand and J's hand with the other, and through our tears we smiled. We smiled for this chance.

Now we wait. Time will tell.

I'm at home for two weeks, slowing down, resting and yes, i'm even preparing my body for the possibility of another child. If this turns into a pregnancy then we'll have to prepare for a long and hard road ahead. My high risk doctor is waiting for my call with a positive and then i'm in her hands. But for now that's looking too far ahead. For now I need to catch my breath, breathe and try to relax into whatever will happen next.

Thank you for your touching comments, for your thoughts and hopes and wishes! I really can't tell you how much it's meant to be able to come here and share and connect with such amazing people like you.

sunday morning.

I'm always the first one to wake up. I put on a pot of coffee, cuddle with Ziggy and fiddle around the house while J sleeps. This morning I curled up on the sofa with a pile of blankets and a magazine. Ziggy joined me and fell back asleep in my lap.

It's been a long two weeks. It felt good to be still and just be in those first few hours of the day. My IVF treatments are finishing on Tuesday. The heavy dose of hormones divided up into 5 injections a day have completely drained me. IVF is intense. For me, IVF after losing Liam has been overwhelming and very emotional. So much pain from his death has risen back to the surface. I feel like the past, present and future have all gathered into one time. Right now. J reminds me to take it one step at a time. Don't look too far ahead. Keep the spark of hope alive. Keep Liam close and safe. It's a balancing act.

Our collection is the next step and that will be on either Wednesday or Thursday. Then we wait by the phone for someone to tell us that my eggs have fertilized and that it's time for the transfer. Oh how I hope one fertilizes this time... steps Tash.


*** These are some photos from our day in the country last week.

***

We walked along a quiet trail in the mountains and breathed in the winter air. We followed bunny tracks and deer tracks and watched the sunset from the mountaintop. And as the sun disappeared into the hills and the sky lit up magnificently in layers of yellows and oranges, we both felt him. Liam was with us. But he wasn't with us.

J put this little video together. I cry every single time I watch it because that sunset meant so much. We stood quietly watching until the last sparkle of light was gone. And now we wait. Until the next moment when we get to feel Liam again.

6 months.

It's been 6 months since Liam died, the same amount of time that he was alive.

I'm especially reflective around significant dates. I go through the series of events that have led me to this moment in my life and it always leaves me stunned in disbelief. How Liam came to be after the doctors gave us a 2% chance at conceiving naturally. How he died after I ruptured PPROM (pre-term premature rupture of the membrane), something that happens in less than 3% of pregnancies. Those are some odds. How my son and I spent 26 days in a hospital bed holding on as tightly as we could to each other while the doctors monitored survival rates, chances of risks and amniotic fluid levels. How one day my baby was safe in my belly and the next I was helplessly birthing him into the world only to die. It's been so much to process, so much to absorb and accept. 6 months after my son's death and I still go about my days wondering what happened? What on earth happened?

Next week I start my second cycle of IVF. My new IVF protocol is more aggressive since the first cycle failed miserably, and yes, the doctor gave us our chances for success. But I know better now. I know that it will either work or it won't. I know that while I put my faith in doctors and technology, some things are just out of our control. There are no guarantees in science, just as there are no guarantees in life.

So we take everything we know, and everything we will never know, we hold each others hand and we take the next step.

***

Have I told you that the flakes are falling here?

We snowshoe in the winter. There's something special about snowy walks in the woods when all you can hear is your breath and your feet shuffling underneath you. J and I have shared magical walks under the stars in the backcountry of Vermont, somewhere i'd like to go again this year.

I'm not one for new year's resolutions, especially after last year. Losing a child puts your life into perspective. This year I take the time to reflect on a year that has forever changed me. On Liam, my son who died before he had the chance to really live. On finding a balance between the two worlds I live in. My world of Liam and my world without him.

One breath at a time. One step at a time.

***

I don't get to talk about Liam very much anymore. Usually, i'm the one who brings him up, and I do, not all the time but I need to talk about my son. I carried him for 6 months, I spent a month in the hospital fighting to save him, and now I'm missing him with all my heart. He's my son. How could I not talk about him? But I realize that most people would rather ignore the truth when the truth is hard. It's easier to ignore Liam's life or try to sugar coat his death by saying something {so completely awful} like "it just wasn't meant to be". Someone told me that during the holidays. As she hugged me she whispered those words in my ear. I'd like to mention that she's a mother of two. A part of me wanted to tell her that she should be careful about what she says, that we're talking about my child here, his name is Liam and he most definitely was meant to be and did in fact be. But I just didn't have the energy to get into it. Especially a few days before Christmas.

That same evening, I went to my support group meeting where I join four other babylost mothers every month in a church basement. In this place our children are safe and they're always acknowledged as they should be. Our group leader asked us about the gifts our babies brought us and when it was my turn to talk about Liam's gifts, my list was longer than I had expected. I kind of surprised myself as I was speaking, it took someone asking me to say aloud all his gifts for me to realize that to this day Liam continues to bring me gifts. He's changed me in so many ways, he's opened up my eyes and even my broken heart to this cruel world. Liam has taught me what's really important in life and how we really don't know what tomorrow will bring. He's taught me not to sweat the small stuff, life is really too short for that. He's taught me that i'm a strong woman but I have my limits and I don't have to be strong or "better" for other people. And Liam continues to teach me about the type of person I want to be and the open, honest and meaningful life I want to lead. In so many ways, my son is teaching me how to really live. I left my meeting with new thoughts to take into the new year. Good thoughts.

It was a hard year. The worst. But i've promised myself to make more of an effort to remember the hope and love and harmony that my son brought me. I won't pretend or deny the pain and guilt and anger that surrounds Liam's death, but I will try to find a balance. I know that people will continue to say hurtful things but I also know that it's my job to protect my son's life and memory. What type of a mother would I be if I didn't want to protect my child?

I want to thank each of you who continues to join me here. I really can't express my gratitude enough for listening, being there and for sharing with me. This blog has been a healing place, i'd even add it to my list of therapies right along with my psychologist and support group. It's a place where i've been able to set my heart free and keep Liam's memory alive. And that feels so good.

Wishing you peace, love and light for the new year friends.