The Baby I Wouldn’t Hold Had It Not Been For the Death of The One Before

pexels-photo-54547.jpeg

I’m now in my third trimester with our sweet little baby boy. I feel all his little kicks, squirms, and wiggles. He’s already showing differences with how he moves and responds to touch than my daughter, my first pregnancy. Our boy is much more squirmy than my daughter was, and is quite active at night (in fact, as I write, I’m also watching my belly move!). And, we’ve FINALLY begun getting the third bedroom set up for him. Now, you can see the floor, and the crib is in place. His clothes are mostly hung in the closet, although I still need to clear my own out… oops. Yes, I’m guilty of taking up part of three closets in the house. (Gotta rotate seasons!)

This morning I cried in the shower. I don’t know why my miscarriage hit me so hard. I was thinking about this sweet little boy in my womb, and then I began thinking about our angel baby Jordyn. I thought about how much I wish I knew him/her, what s/he would have looked like, what s/he would have felt like. Jordyn would be 6 months old by now.

As soon as the thoughts swelled inside my heart about holding and meeting my little Jordyn, I realized that had that longing come true, I wouldn’t be holding this little one this summer. Had it not been for the passing of Jordyn, this little man wouldn’t have been conceived and wouldn’t be making an appearance in the world. His genes would have passed by, never having formed into being. Life almost went on without him; and, yet, I know the moment I see him in a short three months, I won’t be able to imagine life without him.

Once I hold my son, could I really wish Jordyn here? Is it possible to wish for both babies at once, while knowing the reality is it would be one or the other? Absolutely.

I then wondered if Jordyn had been a boy or a girl. I imagined how much different life would have been had Jordyn been a girl and we had two girls instead of the girl and boy we will have now. We’d have a house FULL of ladies! Pinks, purples, dress up clothes, tea parties, nail painting, all things girly. I imagined how my daughter would be the big sissy and would probably play dolls with Jordyn, and, perhaps, as older girls, they’d go out, talk about dates, and perhaps even share clothes.

Now, we will be blessed with both a daughter and a son. There will be batman toys mixed in with Barbie, swords in a dress-up basket with tutus, and muddy tennis shoes laying beside little princess high heels. The bond they share will be just as sweet, but much different than what sisters share. How easily life could have taken another route!

I miss Jordyn. I wish I met Jordyn. On the other hand, I’m so happy to meet this one, and hold him in my arms. I wish for both babies. I both mourn and I celebrate. I can’t help but to feel the sacrifice that Jordyn made to bring this brother here into the world. Without that sacrifice, I’d never have known my son.

Announcing early after a miscarriage

img_2200

SURPRISE!

That’s right! We are expecting baby number 2 in June 2017! 

Anyone who has followed our journey knows that we had a traumatic miscarriage earlier this year — a loss that was truly unexpected and sudden, happening days following our first ultrasound, where we witnessed our baby’s heartbeat healthily beating, a checkup that came with the diagnosis of “Looks perfect! Congratulations. See you back in a few weeks.” The week that followed our miscarriage was filled with confusion, worry, regret, grief, depression, and lack of knowledge. We passed baby naturally, and ended up burying our second child under a Japanese Maple Tree. We sought closure as we named our baby Jordyn, and found peace in the fact that our child never experienced earthly suffering, our baby WAS with us all along even if for a short time, and that our child was in the arms of the One that we would have wanted him to be in all along.

Today, we announce our 3rd pregnancy while at 7 weeks pregnant. Some people are surprised by an early announcement. Yes, I acknowledge that the unthinkable could happen again. I understand the risk I am taking.

But here’s the thing — I want to announce baby now, because I want time to celebrate the LIFE that I feel and know and am experiencing. Miscarriage shouldn’t be taboo: I think society NEEDS to understand how unfortunately often it happens, and recognize the suffering that families experience from such a loss. There’s strength in community, even in one filled with pain. There’s strength in knowing you aren’t alone. 

Whether or not my baby survives, baby is living right now, with a heart beating inside me. I don’t feel the need to “wait” to see if my child will be alive later when my child is alive now. 

In only announcing the death, I miss the journey (whether short or long) of fully celebrating this beautiful child’s life now. If I announce only death, I am the only one that truly experienced the joy of the life now. I would experience it alone, and only in death would there be community.

I take a risk. But, tonight, I celebrate the beginning of life.

——-

*NOTE: This post is NOT to shame those who wish to wait to announce their child. And, if you’ve experienced a miscarriage, I mourn with you and am truly sorry for your loss. There is NOTHING wrong with waiting or desiring privacy — or wanting to keep personal matters private, or keep mourning private. This is only my own personal reflection of why I wish to not wait, and how I wish to give other moms courage to announce and celebrate life, even when paralyzed by fear.

Miscarriage: The Invisible Child

Today I cried a bit.

And yes most people don’t talk about miscarriage publicly. I do. I do because so many women have experienced it. I didn’t realize just how many until I experienced it and those who never spoke about it sent me a message. I probably got over 30 messages… And those were only the ones who felt they could tell me. So, I want you to understand.

You don’t truly “get over it.” You don’t just “get better.” In some ways, it never “gets easier.” Just, mourning takes a new shape with passing days, months, years. And it hits you, the emotion, when you least expect it, publicly. Talking to a friend. Someone tells you they are expecting. A pampers commercial comes on. You see a mom holding a baby in the mall. Someone has the same month due date and every picture they post reminds you of where you should be but you aren’t. Someone celebrates a child’s first birthday and you stand at a party where everyone is laughing and tears unexpectedly fall… but you try to wipe them away before anyone notices. The due date month comes and goes and you imagine what it would have been like, but instead the halls are quiet in your house at night. Quiet enough that you hear the silence and drown in it. It’s a silent type of suffering… Pain that’s buried in the mundane routine of life, that’s hiding in a corner and there’s no warning it’s there until you take that corner to get where you’re going. Maybe I’ll have another baby someday. Maybe we won’t. But you don’t “replace” the loss. The invisible child grows with your family. And each year that passes you see your invisible child taking their first steps, playing with their siblings, blowing out their birthday cake candles. The invisible child is always with you. You never kick him out. But you embrace him for what he is. Laughter you can’t hear, but feel. A hand you can’t hold, but that touched your heart.

 

(Repost from Facebook: Miscarriage Announcement)

Image04

Unfortunately on Monday after a long week and a half of family illnesses, we miscarried our baby. It was awful. It was painful. It was graphic. It was the deepest heartache we’ve ever felt. I don’t have the words to say how much grief I feel – and how much grief Tucker and I feel as a family — pregnancy clothes still out on our bedroom floor, sorted and ready to be washed, and a third bedroom still awaiting a crib, a registry that won’t yet be fulfilled — I thought about writing a blog post, but can’t bring myself to publish it, not yet at least. All I can say is we aren’t alright, but we will be. We are mourning, and always will, but mourning will take a new shape and light with time. We will always feel a hole, but it won’t always be filled with darkness.

However, we do know that we have a loving Heavenly Father, who mourns with us, who provides for us, who hears our prayers, who is a Comforter, a Healer, and our Savior. We trust in Him knowing that He knows our needs and works all things according to a greater plan. We don’t understand, but we trust in the One who suffered and died for us. We know that our baby is safe and loved, in a place greater than this with no pain, no tears, and no suffering. He is walking, laughing, and worshipping beside the Lord – in a heavenly Eden. Although I never got to hold him in my arms, for a short 11 weeks I did hold him close in my own body. Now, I will hold him forever in my heart.

Love you, Jordyn Eden Field.

(We did not know the gender, and only used ‘he’ as a non-gendered pronoun for ease of writing.)

 

NOTE: *This was posted on my Facebook on March 19, 2016. I wanted to share on my blog for those following my blog only.*