Baby Deux

I posted this baby on my other social media channels but didn’t want to forget about you blog readers.

Baby Deux

To adequately describe the roller coaster of emotions that we have been through over the last 6 months would be difficult to do without sitting face to face with me; coffee in hand, of course.

And, the moment I saw two lines, I took in a big breath of air rather than letting out a scream of excitement. But, I am all joy now. I feel the weight of what it means to be responsible for another tiny human.

I’ve been drinking half decaffeinated coffee for weeks.

I feel the weight.

But, I feel joy along with that healthy amount of fear; because, I, will become a mother of two (and you’d be batshit to take that lightly). Kinsey will have to share the center of my world with another remarkable person, and I don’t know if it gets much better than that.

I’ve had dreams about Baby Deux clawing its way out of my uterus. I’ve had middle of the night, in a dead sleep, heartburn which created nightmares about Baby Deux’s legs getting lost up in my boobs.

Healthy amounts of fear, you guys.

Ultimately, I feel very grateful. I had several moments of panic as I was getting my spirit ready to blast this photo out onto the interwebs. I text my sweet friend Grace, who bless her heart has been my sounding board since I saw two lines on a stick at 3 weeks and 3 days! (It’s been a long road). She reminded me of my own words; that keeping this a secret wasn’t going to provide Baby Deux with more protection. I kept trying to keep it to myself, as if sharing the news was somehow going to jinx it; because jumping out and sharing the news of life, and then having to take it back…well there are no words for that. I was able to choose how to share baby loss, because I hadn’t yet publicized the creation of life. I’m grateful that was my experience with miscarriage, but I think it also made me fearful. I wrongly associated privacy with safety.

The truth of it is that I am most brave when I am vulnerable. It takes bravery to get there, but walking alongside my people brings strength in ways that only people can. I’ve been overwhelmed with messages of congratulations, prayer, happy thoughts, best wishes, and even received a text that said “I’m standing with you and I know your courage was not easily found today.” Tears streaming my face as retype these words because I am just so overwhelmed with love and support.

It’s amazing how much renewal a new little life can bring.

Stay tuned. I’m certain more emotional vomit will flood my corner of the internets.

In the meantime, know that I am peeing at an exponential rate, and have now purchased two boxes of Lucky Charms. #preggoboss







I was talking with my husband on Monday about some of the physical and emotional struggles that I was having post-miscarriage. I expressed that I so badly just wanted to move forward, but felt that my body wasn’t allowing it. I thought things were getting back to normal and then another wave of physical symptoms would hit, and I was forced backwards again. My husband mentioned that in some versions of the Bible, “patience” is translated as “longsuffering.” It seemed to describe what we were going through almost perfectly.

Here is where I insert a big WARNING. This is a TMI and graphic, and if you don’t want to read about my girl parts, THEN STOP READING NOW. I’m going to write it even though I know that my Dad reads my blog (sorry, Dad, don’t read this one), because that is how necessary I feel like this information is to share. There is only one other post that I’ve found that really explains what the heck happens to you after a miscarriage. I am a Mom-blogger. And, while I could easily just not blog about this, I don’t feel like that would help anyone, not even me.

When I first started talking about motherhood on this blog, I made a point to say that I would be honest. Truth first. Always. Even if it was messy. Even if it made me sound more human, and less and less perfect. I want honesty, because I’m tired of pretending like it all is rainbows and ponies. Though, I should also add that my kid is the greatest ever, and without her, I think this whole thing would be a million times more difficult.

Yesterday, was Day 9 of a cycle of bleeding that I thought I’d already had two weeks ago. Basically, I had the D&C, then 5 days ish of spotting, then 2 weeks later started what I thought was my period. Then, after a 8 day somewhat normal period, I had a 2 week break, then another period, with a vengeance. Which basically meant that I’d been experiencing the side effects of the miscarriage on and off for almost 8 weeks. I called my OBGYN after feeling like what was happening to me wasn’t normal. Alarming things were happening. No bleeding, then a clot the size of my fist, then no bleeding, then pain, then another clot that was horrific and terrifying. They ordered lab work, and an ultrasound, hoping that I could get both accomplished that afternoon. I called to schedule the ultrasound and the soonest they could fit me in was the next afternoon. So, I went to get my lab work, hoping that would help explain SOMETHING. While I was getting my blood drawn, I had a sudden rush of horrific pain, that felt like one of my worst contractions from when I gave birth. Yes. It was that bad. I told the lab tech that I needed to find a restroom stat, and then passed another obscenely large clot, and then yelled because I was about to hit the floor. Vasovagal is not timely, y’all. I was escorted to the OB Clinic, and after I described what happened, with the lab tech standing there all “I think she needs to see a doctor!” They sent me to the ER, immediately.

So, I spent almost 7 hours at the ER last night, going through ultrasounds abundance, and pelvic exams, and CERVIX CHECKS, which DEAR GOD, THERE MUST BE A BETTER WAY!

The verdict: they think that some ‘product’ was left behind after the D&C. My body then decided to get rid of it, and my HCG levels were so so minimal, but not yet a 0, as they should be. They determined after an invasive ultrasound that there didn’t appear to be anything obvious there, so not enough to warrant another D&C. We are all now hoping that this will subside. We’ll see.

So, all of that to say, our bodies do what they need to do. Emotionally, I’d like to just move on, but my body has other plans at the moment. I could take hormones and stop whatever this is and knock my body back into cycle, but there is no guarantee that things won’t be weird again when I stop taking them.

The reality is that a miscarriage is much more than just the emotional loss. Physically, it can take a long time for your body to figure things out and get back on track. Emotionally, I’m ready to move on, and put this shit in my rear view. But, my body isn’t ready, and until it is, there isn’t much I can do about it.



There is a greek word for it. “Humomonee.” It is translated as patience, but implies “Patience Endurance.”

True that.




I just got back from a 10 day vacation in North Carolina. Much of those 10 days were spent on Wrightsville Beach with my sweet little family, soaking in precious moments, and sun-rays. The timing of this little getaway could not have been more perfect.

My heart needed it.

I was feeling less and less like myself, and when our plane touched ground back here in Utah, I  felt like I got my spirit back.

A week or so after my miscarriage, my sweet friend Hannah came over and brought me lunch. I hadn’t sat down face to face with a friend since everything had happened, and much of our time together was me crying, and then changing the subject, and then coming back to it to cry again. I expressed to her that my heart and my head were having a hard time reconciling. I shared with her this feeling of guilt. Guilt about trying to forget, and guilt that I didn’t know how to properly process. She made a point to not say anything to encourage me one way or the other, expressing that she didn’t have the answers, and was in no position to counsel me, but was just there to validate my feelings, and listen. But, after I spiraled around the same thoughts over and over again she said:

“People who participate in the abortion debate don’t realize that in guilting women who have abortions, they are also guilting women who have miscarriages.”

Deep breath.

We weren’t talking about abortion, but we were talking about baby loss. I know that I didn’t do anything, and that wasn’t what we were talking about at all. It was that, I have seen pictures of little 10 week old babies in billboard sizes, and those images couldn’t be wiped from my brain. And as I sought out the appropriate way to process and grieve, and place all of my misplaced feelings, I couldn’t stop thinking about THOSE pictures, and THOSE arguments.

And so, oddly, it seems that abortion shaming, also made me feel shamed. Because what they say is that it was a baby that died, and that was something that I just couldn’t get over. I couldn’t feel better about it. I couldn’t think about the fact that I lost a baby, that I didn’t get to hold. I couldn’t stop thinking about lost time. Not being able to teach that little one how to ride a bike, or tie it’s shoes. And then I’d feel guilt about calling it an “it” because it didn’t ever become a girl or a boy, but should I be calling it a she? Because I thought maybe it was going to be a she? And what about those baby names that we had settled on? Do we need to throw those out? Were those names reserved for “it”? If I get pregnant again, am I going to feel like I took “it”‘s name and gave it to another baby? If I have another baby, is it like I’m replacing the one that we lost?

See what I mean?

I was feeling guilt because I wasn’t sure if I was grieving right. And I’d get all mushy and sad over things that I wasn’t even sure I believed.

Here are the facts:

My body sensed that something was wrong with this potential life, and it stopped making it. While I carried the baby until 10 weeks, it stopped growing at 6 weeks. I didn’t lose a child. And yes, had the pregnancy continued, it would have been a beautiful little baby…

but, it wasn’t.

I mourned over the potential of that little life. I mourned over the little baby hands and feet, and how excited we were that we were adding another little one to our little family. I felt sad about all of the excitement that we had, and how we were now experiencing sadness that we never thought was possible.

But, remember that thing called hope?

I can have children. I’ve had one. She’s perfect. And, while I’m pissed off that we had to go through something so terrible and traumatic, I don’t need to keep mourning. I was mourning over potential life, as if I lost my ability to create it. I didn’t. At the time, it was painful, and sad, but I think now, I have perspective.

My body did what it was supposed to do.

I didn’t lose a child. I could think that way, but then I don’t think I’d be able to keep moving forward. So, it may seem like a cop out, and maybe it is, but I don’t really care. I don’t think I’ve taken the easy way. I think that I processed and grieved the best that I could. And, now, I think I’m settled. Reconciled.

There is still the potential for life, and I want to grab hold of that, and stop obsessing over if I’m doing this right. I’m flawed. But, I don’t think Jesus is mad at me for trusting that my body did what he made it to do.