“Do you ever wonder if that’s all we’re ever going to be?”

Brian and I were walking through the mall tonight after an overwhelming visit with our Reproductive Endocrinologist (aka our Infertility Doctor), and I saw an adorable shirt with the words, “Dog Mom” on it. I pointed the shirt out to Brian and he asked, “Do you ever wonder if that’s all we’re ever going to be?”

My heart initially sank, I didn’t want him to ever feel that way, but I had to admit that I knew exactly what he was feeling because I fear that every single day. I fear that all we’ll ever have is our babies in heaven and our dog. I guess in some ways I’m thankful. I am so grateful that I was chosen to be the one to carry my daughter, no matter how brief her life ended up being. I’m even grateful for the baby that we miscarried because for the short few weeks I carried that baby, I got to feel such an overwhelming hope and excitement that I hadn’t felt in such a long time. Then there’s our sweet four legged angel in a fur coat, who brings such a beautiful daily happiness into our home. I’m grateful for all of them, and the color they have added to our world.

But despite all that, there is fear in wondering if this is it for us. Never to hold another baby in our arms, never to know the sweet sound of our newborn’s first cry. So many hopes and dreams never coming to fruition.

Earlier today I was sure we would leave our RE’s office with answers, a solid plan, and lots of hope. Instead we left feeling uneasy and confused about our next steps. The hard thing is that when it comes to fertility treatments, nothing is guaranteed. You can spend thousands and still walk out of there empty handed. It’s beyond frustrating and completely unfair. Yet the thing that keeps pulling us back is the chance that it could work, and then of course it would all be worth it in the end.

But it’s nights like tonight that I am fearing if this is all we’ll ever be, and it is so very hard.

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Searching for the end of our rainbow.

There’s a desire that often occurs when a woman loses a baby, no matter if it is an early first trimester loss, a stillbirth, or their baby died after birth. It is the desire to try again, to bring forth another life. To have a child you can birth alive, and raise for a lifetime.

It is such a huge topic of discussion in loss support groups. Mothers discuss when they should try again, and search for hopeful stories of women who conceived again immediately following their losses and had healthy babies.

Although there is some controversy about this term among loss parents, these babies born after a loss are often called “Rainbow Babies.” It is a term used to describe the hope they bring after the storm that follows the loss of a very loved child.

And this topic has always been hard for me.

The moment after I held Aria in my arms for the last time, I instantly felt a void that I needed to fill. What most people don’t understand is that my desire to have another baby wasn’t just because I wanted to get back to being a mom. Every hormone in my postpartum body was raging inside me, frantically trying to make sense of the disaster that had just occurred. Losing a child is not the natural order of things. My mothering instincts were never prepared for this moment. I just grew a child in my womb, and now she has been birthed, so my brain couldn’t understand why a child wasn’t in my arms. My breasts swelled so large I thought they might burst, and they ached as they carried a supply of milk that was no longer needed. As my milk leaked out of me, I wondered if it was the tears of my mothering spirit, for I could feel her grieving too.

But I am unlike the majority of mothers who have lost. You see, the day Aria was born I asked if I could try again right away. I was told, “absolutely not.” I was told my body needed time to heal. I was told that carrying such a sick child had serious complications and I needed to recover from them before I could become pregnant again. It was like daggers through my heart. It felt like I was being punished for choosing to continue Aria’s life despite her diagnosis. Even though I knew termination was never the right choice for us, it stung to know that if I had taken that path, I would have been able to try again almost immediately.

Anyone who has ever lost a baby knows the desire to have another right away, so I know I don’t have to explain it any further for them. And for those who haven’t, I simply hope they never will.

I painstakingly trudged through that next chapter of my life, waiting for the green light that would bring hope sweeping back into my life. I put on a smile and pretended I was perfectly patient when people asked “Are you going to try again soon?” Then I’d run off and cry, thinking how unfair it was that I couldn’t even live up to everyone’s expectations about how motherhood should look after a loss.

And finally, after many months of fear, I was cleared to carry another baby. My exam and blood work all came back perfect! I was healed and healthy. I nearly cried as the nurse told me my labs were normal. I remember going into the bottom of a drawer, where I kept a gift I had purchased nearly a year before, and holding it to my chest as tears of hope rolled down my cheeks. It was a gift that I had hoped to give to Brian when I became pregnant for the second time. And today, it still sits in the bottom of that drawer.

A few weeks ago, I finally went in for a doctors appointment I had been putting off for quite a while. I was afraid of being on the receiving end of more bad news, and I hoped that by assuming everything was fine, it would be. But it was time to be brave. I owed myself answers, even if they weren’t good ones. I have had several tests done, and am now impatiently awaiting the results. Those tests will determine our next steps. I could finally receive a diagnosis, in which case we may decide to begin our first round of fertility treatments. Or they could say nothing – which is almost the result I fear most. Sure it’s great to be told you’re healthy, but none of that explains the many roadblocks we have faced over the last three and a half years on our journey to parenthood. Sometimes no news is good news, and sometimes it’s just really really confusing.

Every day of the last eighteen months, the emotions of this entire process have weighed heavier and heavier on my heart. We’ve had so much time to dream about another child that we already have baby names picked. Both for a boy and a girl, and even back up names on the off chance it’s twins. I’ve got paint colors and nursery designs all dreamed up in my head. I even bought a sweet little onesie that says, “worth the wait”. I am so ready to be a mom again. I’m just waiting for it to finally be my turn.

But there’s fear. So much fear. What if we can’t get pregnant again? What if we do but not for a very long time? How will my heart find the strength to continue this journey? What if we get pregnant again but we lose that baby too? What if? What if? What if…

By now, you may be wondering why I’m sharing all of this so publicly. I certainly am. I have typed and deleted this post more times than I can count. I feel like it may border a bit on oversharing, as a lot of people don’t want to know all the details on how you conceived a baby. But I have held this part of my journey inside of me for eighteen months now. I never even felt brave enough to bring up the topic of trying again during all the months I spent in therapy. But I guess it’s true what they say about bottling things up, they explode at some point. So I guess this is me letting it out before I burst.

And well, a few prayers from those who are reading this would definitely be helpful too. Because one day, I want to think about me when I was six years old, pushing a baby doll in a stroller and telling everyone that all I wanted to be when I grew up is a mom, and know that little girl got her wish.