Stepmomming is so hard, but so rewarding. It’s like having all the perks of being an aunt and all the complications of parenting…but with your hands tied behind your back. I love them like I would love my own children but feel like I’ve had to maintain this invisible boundary that says I’m not their parent. Heavy on the STEP, light on the MOM. You feel awkward at events where people assume you’re the mom. When someone in public compliments the kids, do you say “thanks!” and move on or do you go into an explanation that you’re not actually their mother but you’ll pass on the compliment? When you meet new people, you don’t want to jump into the “I’m actually their stepmom” conversation right away, but you also don’t want to make the kids uncomfortable or feel like an imposter. It’s a delicate balance of wanting to be an involved stepmom (sans the wart on the nose), and also wanting to avoid looking like the creepy nanny in the movie “The Hand That Rocks the Cradle.”
I’m so fortunate to have a wonderful husband who supports my relationship with his kids in whatever manner the kids and I find comfortable. There is so much joy in sharing a life with them. Their laughter, creativity, and kindness leave me in awe on a weekly basis. I love watching them succeed at school and activities. We share our own traditions, like making fairy gardens each spring. They absolutely have changed my heart for the better. I’m a better person because I know and love them, and I think I’ll be an even better mother because of them.
Then there’s the heartache that comes with it. This week I reminded my stepson that it was Mother’s Day this weekend and asked if he’d made his mom a card or present at school. He looked at me and said he didn’t know it was this week. Then with a puzzled look asked “wait, does Mother’s Day include you?” My heart soared just knowing he considered me at all, but I also never want him to feel uncomfortable or take away from his mom. I told him “it doesn’t have to include me, but that is your decision to make.”
I can say with certainty that I’ve been a wicked awesome stepmom to these kids – most days anyway! But I can also say, I’ve had a really hard time building a relationship with their mom. Meeting each other in the beginning was so awkward…for both of us I’m sure. We share kids now and at some point both loved and married the same man. I suppose it can either give you a common ground to stand on, or it can become a breeding ground for insecurity, jealousy, and negativity. In this case, I’m sad to say it created the latter in me.
When I picked up the kids from school yesterday, my stepson handed me his backpack and his Mother’s Day gifts for his mom as he ran to the car. I looked down at his carefully drawn hearts and inscription “Mommy+Me=Love” and it softened my heart. For years, there’s been so much tension between his mom and me. Like it’s somehow become some sort of competition between us…either her or me. But why haven’t I considered our mutual love for these kids to be common ground? Then the answer hit me as I looked back down at that card. She has what I long for most which caused jealousy to build up in my heart. Beautiful children with the man I love. Handwritten Mother’s Day cards. A love for her kids and from her kids that knows no limits.
All the bad blood and toxic feelings flooded out of my pores. When I saw her later at a baseball game, I prayed that God would soften my heart and give me a way to repair all the damage and hurt between us. And without me even realizing what I was saying, I asked if she wanted to join us for dinner after the game.
We all enjoyed a pizza dinner on a patio and got to enjoy a beautiful night with our wonderful kids. Later, we exchanged some text messages apologizing for hard feelings and how events, words, and misunderstandings created a huge complicated knot we didn’t know how to unravel. And just like that, we’ve started working on unraveling it together. The best gift that I never expected to receive has turned my first and worst Mother’s Day into a pretty awesome one. Wicked awesome.
“Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.” – Ephesians 4:31-32
Since I was little, I have always loved being around dogs. Growing up, if you asked what I wanted to be, my answer would likely either be veterinarian or She-Ra Princess of Power. My parents were always concerned I’d end up with a house full of animals if I were a vet, which ended up being the case regardless of my profession. My husband laughs that I’ve introduced him to friends and coworkers by telling him their dog’s name before their own. In my opinion, a house is not a home without a dog.
We had 3 dogs throughout my childhood. Since college, I’ve adopted 6 rescue dogs. Just like children, they all have different personalities, issues, health problems, and strengths. Dash, a black and tan dachshund, is my loyal protector. He had a rough start to life and has many fears and triggers but in ways he knows me better than almost any person in my life. He’s been by my side when I was sick or sad and never fails to make me feel better. He’s got more nicknames than I can count, one for every one of his personalities.
Dori, another black and tan dachshund, is beautiful. Far and away the prettiest dachshund I’ve ever seen. I should have named her Scarlett O’Hara because she has that much sass and spunk. She has epilepsy, gave birth to stillborn puppies and required surgery to remove the puppies she miscarried but couldn’t deliver, she was heart worm positive, and at some point (perhaps during birthing?) had her pelvis broken in 5 places. She’s a MESS but hilarious at the same time. Anxious, annoying, affectionate, unapologetic and unafraid. She absolutely loves my Dad more than anyone.
BatBat (Stellaluna) is a small 5 pound chihuahua that knows no fear. She kicks grass, cuddles/smothers you with love, and guards the yard like a Rottweiler. She gives high fives and loves when you sing to her. Even though she has 4 legs, she runs on 3. Won’t get out of bed in the morning until you sing to her and rub her belly.
Zoe, a dachshund/chihuahua mix, is my love bug. She’s probably the easiest going dog I’ve ever had. She’s happy in all situations – loves to cuddle, play, lick, run, sleep. She follows me pretty much everywhere. Wouldn’t hurt a fly unless it got between her and her food bowl. Her favorite thing in the world is to go to our family farm, run around through the grass and hay, and ride a four wheeler with me. She used to love chasing squirrels in the back yard, but her vision has been getting bad over the last year or two.
Last week, we learned that Zoe has a condition called SARDS (Sudden Acquired Retinal Degeneration Syndrome) which has caused vision loss. That vision loss resulted in her getting under my feet two weeks ago when I was moving laundry, and I accidentally stepped on her foot and she yelped. The next day she was limping and in pain. She got better with some rest but was in pain again a few days later. I took her to the emergency hospital last Tuesday, then to the vet again on Thursday. We decided to do a CAT (shouldn’t it be DOG??) scan to check for injuries and to rule out a tumor causing her vision problems. The scans showed no tumor – hallelujah! But it did show a small disc injury which is likely causing the nerve pain in her front leg.
It’s really difficult to not place blame on yourself when bad things happen. I blame myself for not knowing Zoe’s eyesight had gotten so bad as a result of SARDS. For accidentally stepping on her paw and causing her pain. For not knowing when or how she injured her back. I blame myself not knowing something was wrong during my pregnancy. For having a defective egg that was possibly the cause of the molar pregnancy. Honestly, I’m just having a tough time being inside my head lately. I find myself submerged in podcasts, books, and TV shows trying to escape the emotional pain and negative voices in my head. I’m realizing that you can’t escape or hide from the grief when you self-blame.
There are times when we think the waves of guilt and grief may drown us. We struggle to keep our heads above water and over time we get stronger. Each experience gives us practice, strength, and knowledge so that when the next wave comes crashing down on us, we can successfully swim against the waves of guilt and grief without being pulled under.
Maybe I need to learn some life lessons from my precious dogs. Become fiercely loyal like Dash, unafraid and unapologetic like Dori, loving and happy like Zoe despite having to navigate through darkness, and learn how to set emotional boundaries around what is ours and what is not ours like BatBat. The grief, pain, and memories are mine, but the blame is not. Yesterday, I talked about our baby for the first time without breaking down in tears and it made me realize I’m not drowning anymore.
I know now that we never get over our losses; we absorb them, and they carve us into different, often kinder creatures.
Today there’s a soft, kind voice echoing inside my mind saying “Beloved, do not make war against your own heart. Love yourself fully – even with your wounds, even with your broken heart.”
Mother’s Day. The dread set in about a month ago, thinking about the Sunday when my *mostly* flat and empty belly will serve as a reminder of the pain I’ve been through. A reminder I’ll never hear my baby call me “Mommy.” Or smell it’s sweet newborn smell. There won’t be Mother’s Day gifts made of my sweet angel’s footprints or hand prints. It’s an ache so deep, I swear it’s left a scar on my heart and soul.
Today, a woman in my support group posted a sweet message about International Bereaved Mother’s Day which is observed the Sunday before Mother’s Day in the United States. How did I never know this day existed?
Honestly, I’m thankful for this day. I’m thankful for a day when I can think about and talk about my baby that is no longer with me. That child is still my child, and they forever changed my heart. That baby made me a mom. Even if I never got to see its face, kiss its soft cheeks, or count its toes…I am still a mom in my heart and I long for the day when I get to see my child’s face.
It’s been a wonderful day, better than I could have imagined my first Mother’s Day! My husband and I went to a spin class this morning. We (finally) booked our honeymoon! We spent the rest of the day listening to music as we cleaned up around the house and did some much needed yard work. As I was working in our flower bed, I peeked inside our birdhouse. We had a family of birds nesting there the first summer we bought our home, but a few weeks ago, I decided to clean out what remained of their nest in hopes that another family would move in this spring. Sure enough, a new bird has made a nest in that birdhouse.
I’ve been so scared thinking about trying to have another baby. I’m worried it might turn out in another molar pregnancy. Or possibly a chemical pregnancy or blighted ovum, both of which seem common after a molar pregnancy. I’m absolutely terrified to feel that pain all over again. How do women find the strength and hope to try again after they’ve been devastated? I’m learning you don’t ever forget that loss. You learn that a new baby doesn’t replace the baby you lost. You’ve learned that you can survive the worst heartbreak imaginable and not completely give up hope. I guess what I really need to do is clean out that nest of worry that’s been built in my mind and make room for something new.
If you are a bereaved mother, I’m sending you love. If you know a bereaved mother, give her a hug today. She matters, and the one(s) she lost matters.
“On Mother’s Day I can thank of no mother more deserving than a Mother who had to give one back.” – Erma Bombeck
My favorite color has always been green. One day when I was a kid, my mom saw me sitting on the curb. She came outside to ask me what I was doing and noticed a lizard warming itself on the sidewalk next to me. It was surrounded by a rainbow of M&M’s. I’d tried feeding the lizard all the different colors and I couldn’t believe he wasn’t interested in the candy. “He doesn’t even like the green ones!” I said, convinced green tasted better than the other colors.
My love for the color was a well known fact by the time I got to kindergarten. My favorite outfit was an all green dress. I had a green bedspread, a green radio, and Patio Green was my favorite Rainbow Brite character. During a spring road trip to visit my grandparents in the hill country, my mom questioned why green was my favorite color. I was confident in my answer – “because it’s God’s favorite color!” She asked me how I knew that and I replied “just look around, everything is green!”
This week I traveled to Colorado for work and despite some cold weather over the weekend, spring has started to turn the landscape green. Last night, I had some time to explore and I found myself driving toward the Rocky Mountains drawn by their majestic peaks reaching up to the clouds. The sun peeked through the thick clouds and small beams of light stretched down onto the mountains and valleys below. As I was driving, I wished for a good place to pull over so I could take in the view. Within seconds, I drove past a sign indicating a scenic overlook at the very next exit. I pulled my rental car into the parking area and walked over to a park bench. It was a breathtaking view and I could feel my heart start to beat harder in my chest as tears filled my eyes. Have you ever had moments like that? When you’re overwhelmed with the beauty of the world we live in? It makes you feel so connected with the earth and so small at the same time. I reached for my phone to snap a picture, wishing I had brought a better camera with me to better capture the moment that filled me with so much emotion. In that moment, I noticed a man to my right setting up his camera on a tripod. I asked him if he’d be willing to share one of his photos with me. He said he’d be happy to email me one and I explained how I had stumbled upon this overlook. He told me that he’d found that location by using an app called “The Photographer’s Ephemeris” which shows you on a Google map the locations that the sun and moon will rise and set with respective times. It’s amazing to me that the path of the sun and moon drew this photographer to the exact location I was emotionally drawn to.
God doesn’t make mistakes. Everything we go through is a part of His big plan. Of course, we have the ability to make our own decisions, but they become part of a bigger picture. One of my favorite movies, Serendipity, describes this far more eloquently than I ever could with these words “…life is not merely a series of meaningless accidents or coincidences…but rather, it’s a tapestry of events that culminate in an exquisite, sublime plan.” We are all God’s masterpieces. Every person we meet and every experience we have shapes us into the person we were destined to be. Just as water dug the depths of the Grand Canyon, life carves us into the masterpiece of God.
My little angel would have been born in August of this year. For those of you who don’t know, the birthstone for the month of August is peridot which is a light green stone. Now I wear a small peridot charm on a necklace every day to remind me that God didn’t make a mistake. He put that baby in my life for a reason and he’s shaping me into a person I wouldn’t have become without having this pregnancy and loss. A loss so painful at times, it takes my breath away and tears instantly form in my eyes. But just like the green of spring, God brings the promise of new beginnings.
“My friends, consider yourselves fortunate when all kinds of trials come your way, for you know that when your faith succeeds in facing such trials, the result is the ability to endure. Make sure that your endurance carries you all the way without failing, so that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing.” James 1:2-4
“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new.” 2 Corinthians 5:17
“I will give them an undivided heart and put a new spirit in them; I will remove from them their heart of stone and give them a heart of flesh.” Ezekiel 11:19
Almost 3 years ago, a dear friend of mine introduced me to the man I now call my husband. I’d been single or dating for several years, and people had told me that I was being too picky. Perhaps that was the case, but I didn’t see a point in settling for anything less than butterflies. I was actually happy living alone. I had a good job, wonderful friends and family, a beautiful house, and 4 sometimes well behaved rescue dogs. Looking back now, it’s hard to remember what my life was like before I met Bill. There’s been enough love, laughter, and happiness to fill up decades of life – which somehow makes the memories of my life before seem far away. Enough love to make 3 years seem like 30 years in the best possible way.
Along with finding this kind, handsome, funny man, I also gained 3 wonderful stepchildren. Before Bill I wasn’t sure that I wanted children of my own. I was happy being “Aunt Teri” and spoiling my nieces and nephew. Becoming a stepmom seemed like a promotion from aunt. Three more children to love, laugh with, and learn from – with a bonus of them living in my home half of the time. Just like their dad, these kids changed me for the better. They made me want to create the best possible life for them. I found myself more excited to shop for clothes for them than myself. Getting manicures and talking girl talk with my oldest stepdaughter. Planting fairy gardens and falling into a world of make believe with my youngest stepdaughter. Helping my stepson learn how to ride his bike and practice baseball and soccer in the back yard. Watching how they light up my husband’s eyes with love. And before I knew it, a desire began to burn inside me. I want to be “Mom.”
Bill proposed to me in our backyard in August of 2015. He said he wanted to propose there because that’s where we would make a lifetime of memories together. There would be good times and happy memories made in our home, but we’d also face hard times and sadness there together. We got married a year ago today, and our wedding day was one of the happiest days of my life. I walked down the aisle to Gary Wright’s “Dream Weaver” in a beautiful lace gown as the man of my dreams laughed at my surprise song choice, teared up, and shot finger guns at me. We shared our first dance to “Wedding Bell Blues” and enjoyed celebrating our love and marriage with friends and family. We’ve had so much happen in our first year together as husband and wife, and the words that he said during his proposal ring more true to me now than they did that day. We’ve had lots of happy memories, and unfortunately already faced grief, sadness, and loss. He’s given me a precious baby and held me as we mourned our child. He’s loved me on days when I was having a hard time loving myself. He’s held me together when it felt like our world was crumbling around us. He’s pushed me to get out of bed and put one foot in front of the other. Every day he makes me want to be a better person.
Bill encourages me to learn new things and pushes me out of my comfort zone. He helps me realize what things in life are important and that time spent in a bad mood is time wasted. He believes the best in people even when they don’t deserve it. He puts his family before everything else. His daily actions are like love notes if you take the time to read them – making me a breakfast taco every morning, washing my car and filling it up with gas when he notices it’s low, fixing things around the house, helping me finish tasks so we both have more free time to enjoy together and with the kids. Things I notice and appreciate because it wasn’t too long ago that I found myself having to do it all alone.
It really does seem like he was weaved from the stuff my dreams were made of. And my goal every day is to make his day a little better because that’s what he does for me. That’s what love does…it changes you for the better.
Bill, I love you so. I always will.
Today was all about stepping out of comfort zone! A couple of weeks ago, a friend asked if I wanted to try a cycle class with her. She kindly signed me up with a free class pass she’d received, and I took my first ever Soul Cycle class this morning with her and a long time friend. As I rode my bike between these two encouraging and strong women, my mind finally quieted and my body and heart got a chance to take control. Sweat and tears poured down my face and it felt so amazing to let the emotional pain go for an hour.
I’d been really nervous about taking the class and trying something new. But that nervousness grew this week when I started an audio book called “What Alice Forgot” which is about a 40 year old woman who passes out in a spin class, hits her head, and wakes up with no memory of the prior 10 years. She wakes up thinking she’s 29 and pregnant with her first child…due on August 8th. The exact same due date for Baby Z. Given that I’m likely to be the person to get injured or pass out, I went into class with my only goal being that I’d make it through the whole hour without having to be carried out by a paramedic. I MADE IT! I crushed that goal, had fun, worked hard and left wanting to sign up again soon.
Afterwards, I had lunch with my friend and we went to a local no-kill animal shelter to complete a volunteer training course and walk some of the dogs. We learned that they process around 18,000 dogs a year! There were buildings full of dogs, cats, and bunnies waiting to be fed, walked, loved, and adopted. I’ve hit my maximum number of adopted rescue dogs at home, so it felt nice to have a way to help other homeless dogs in a different capacity. I walked a dog named Cruz around the facility and was amazed at how happy and excited this dog was just to walk around and sniff. There really is nothing like a dog to remind you how to live life. To enjoy the sunshine, the grass under your feet, and a friendly person to join you for a walk.
My heart feels so grateful and full tonight! Reflecting on the different ways people have encouraged me to heal. To stand next to me and encourage me to push myself to meet a goal I never thought I’d reach. Pushing my body out of my comfort zone. Meeting dogs that haven’t given up hope on the world even when the world hasn’t been kind to them. Interacting with people who make it their job or passion to help the dogs find homes or even just a 20 minute walk in the sunshine.
The world really is full of wonderful things, and I am so happy and thankful to have people and animals in my life to open my eyes to the beauty. Life goes on and we just have to keep moving our feet.
If you read the title of this post with the tune of the Enigma song “Return to Innocence” in the background – GOOD. Because I’ve had that song in my head the whole day thinking about writing this post!
Can we all agree that the changes to your body during pregnancy are amazing and weird at the same time? The first inkling that I was pregnant came on a Friday morning in November when my breasts no longer fit into my bra. As long time chairperson of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee, this was NOT NORMAL for me. I was somehow patient enough to wait a few more days to take a pregnancy test. Well, I say patient…mainly I wasn’t ready to feel disappointed at the chance the test might reveal a big fat negative. The following week I got my big fat positive. I was so excited to get the news just before Thanksgiving so I could share it with my family in person over the holiday weekend.
As the next couple of months went on, my breasts and waistline grew as fast as my excitement. One January afternoon I decided to go into Motherhood Maternity to buy some jeans because I was no longer able to wear my normal pants and it was too cold to wear dresses on a daily basis. Looking back, I remember both the sales lady and a nurse at the doctor’s office giving me strange looks for wearing maternity pants so early on in the pregnancy. Now I know that my uterus had expanded much faster than a normal pregnancy but everything I read kept feeding me that “every pregnancy is different” line. Since I was a big baby born at 9 pounds 3 ounces and currently stand 6 feet tall, I just assumed my belly would get bigger faster because I was likely to have a big, fat adorable baby.
The weirdest thing about miscarriage is having your body return to normal(ish) when you only expected to get bigger. Normally, I’d feel happy about fitting into a smaller size pant but that wasn’t the case anymore. Even as someone who previously enjoyed being small breasted, I hated trading in my recently acquired, comfy big girl bras. I had felt so beautiful and special when I was pregnant and now my body was betraying me. Reverting back to the body it used to be and trying to erase my pregnancy and excitement.
My closet has become a storage area for my 3 maternity shirts, jeans, cup size C bras, pregnancy pillow, and a small wooden box containing all of the lovely things that were intended for Baby Z. I keep all of it because I really hope I’ll be able to use them all again soon. But I am terrified of reliving this nightmare, of losing another baby, and losing myself in grief. How do you ever fully enjoy a pregnancy after a miscarriage? How do we return to innocence?
Maybe the motivation lies in the lyrics of the song stuck in my head:
Don’t be afraid to be weak
Don’t be too proud to be strong
Just look into your heart my friend
That will be the return to yourself
The return to innocence.
If you want, then start to laugh
If you must, then start to cry
Be yourself don’t hide
Just believe in destiny.
Don’t care what people say
Just follow your own way
Don’t give up and use the chance
To return to innocence.
That’s not the beginning of the end
That’s the return to yourself
The return to innocence.
The Dead Baby Club. The sorority you never rushed, the membership you never purchased, the group you never volunteered to join. Quite honestly, it’s a group I didn’t really know existed until the day I got initiated. Chances are we all belong to a group we never wanted to be a part of. Maybe you lost a parent/aunt/uncle/sibling/grandparent way too early. A part of you always wants to hand in your membership card but it never expires.
My uncle and his wife got into a car accident about 6 months after I was born. Someone hit their car from behind and their truck rolled off the road. My uncle sustained minor injuries, but my aunt was ejected from the vehicle. She had unfastened her seatbelt for a moment to check on the dogs behind her, returned to her seat and was braiding her hair when their car was struck. She had massive internal injuries and swelling on the brain and a short time later she was gone at the age of 24.
The only things I know about her are what people told me. That she loved dogs, she enjoyed beating my great grandpa at board games, everyone adored her, and that she was the greatest love of my uncle’s life. Unfortunately, the only memory I have is visiting her grave.
My parents would take us to the cemetery so they could mourn the loss of their sister-in-law, and my sister and I would often wander off reading headstones together. There is a section of the cemetery called “Lullaby Land” that always beckoned us. We read names, calculated how old the babies and children were, and wondered how they died. There was even one headstone that contained a baby’s picture with a metal lid that rotated to cover it like a locket. We would wipe the dirt from the photo and stare into the face of a child gone from this world too soon.
During my own grieving period, I had close to one hundred women reach out to me. They bravely shared their stories with me and in the process shared some of my grief. Before long, I had a network of strong women praying for me, checking on me, lifting me up, and crying with me. I’m amazed that this network of women existed without me even realizing it. Women who have struggled to get pregnant on their own, who have gone through countless procedures, suffered miscarriages and stillbirths, or lost their precious infants. As my mom has always said, there is no greater pain than a parent who has to bury or grieve their child.
I like to think that my baby is in a peaceful, heavenly Lullaby Land. A place where angels sing a sweet lullaby, and my aunt and grandpas take turns rocking my little one.
Words cannot express how grateful I am for my own angels here on earth. For my mom who texts me that she loves me when I’m sitting at work with tears spilling over my cheeks. For my sister who came to Austin for my D&C and is willing to talk to me when I feel down. For my best friend who has let me grieve at my own pace and complain as often as I need. For the friends and family who have emailed/texted/called/sent flowers and cookies (my love language!!)/come to visit. For my sister-in-law who has held me and let me ugly cry on her shoulder in public. For my workout friends who support me and encourage me both at the barre and when I cancel classes. For the fellow angel mom who anonymously sent me a necklace and kind note.
So here’s my purpose for this blog. To offer a safe place to grieve our babies in Lullaby Land, to be a resource for those who feel lost and broken, to be a shoulder to cry on, to encourage someone and tell them that the pain will get better even though it never goes away. To be there with open arms when the next woman unwillingly joins the club.
Grieving the Child I Never Knew: A Devotional for Comfort in the Loss of Your Unborn or Newly Born Child by Kathe Wunnenberg
We spent yesterday at our family farm (more like playground) with my sister and got home late last night. My husband put the kids to bed and I started working on filling up Easter eggs. He asked if we should hide the eggs in the morning worried that ants would get inside the eggs, but I said I was tired and worried the kids would wake up before me and convinced him and my oldest stepdaughter to hide the eggs last night before we went to sleep. True to form, the kids got up before us and waited as patiently as they could for us to wake up at 7:30am. The hunt started not long after and didn’t last long enough for me to snap more than a couple of photos. As the kids picked up the last of the eggs they started screaming. Ants were crawling on their eggs and baskets. If that isn’t a good metaphor for my story, I don’t know what is!
Once I decided I wanted a baby, I started planning everything. I started taking prenatal vitamins a year before we got married. We decided we wanted to try to have a summer baby. I bought a nursery rocking chair and ottoman from someone who posted it on our neighborhood website. My Amazon order history shows a list of all the books I read about conceiving, pregnancy, and newborns. I knew what to expect BEFORE I was expecting. The week I conceived our baby, I went shopping with my mom at Pottery Barn Kids and fell in love with a crib named “Rory” (a good laugh for anyone who knows my obsession with Gilmore Girls) and a bedding set called “Sleepy Sheep.” I doubt I’ve ever been more prepared for anything in my life!
Through all that planning, I had never read about molar pregnancies. When I had my follow up appointment after my D&C in January, my obstetrician told me that she’d received the pathology report from the procedure but wanted to discuss it with me in person. I was surprised there was a pathology done, as we were told they didn’t usually do testing to determine the cause of a miscarriage until a woman has had 3+ miscarriages. I had thought it would be a standard post op appointment and had told my husband he didn’t need to come with me to the doctor’s office. Right after the doctor greeted me, she starts explaining that they found two things in the pathology report. First, our baby had 69 chromosomes (triploidy) – a condition where the baby has 46 chromosomes (2 copies) from the father and the usual 23 chromosomes from the mother. This happens from the moment of conception when two sperm fertilize one egg and triploidy is “not compatible with life.” My first thought to this news was, well Bill is pretty awesome so I can’t blame this kid for wanting to be 66.6% dad and 33.3% me. And my second thought was relief to know that I hadn’t done anything to harm the baby and that I could finally stop asking the question “why” over and over and over. Second, she explained that it was also a molar pregnancy. My first thought to this was, ok I’m some kind of freak who got pregnant with a tooth (?) as flashes of a Grey’s Anatomy episode replay in my mind. Specifically the episode where a man thinks he’s pregnant but they find a teratoma growing inside him. In all of my Grey’s Anatomy medical education, I’d never heard of a molar pregnancy diagnosis. Basically, when my egg became fertilized by two sperm, the baby AND placenta began to grow abnormally. As it turns out there is a really good reason babies receive half their DNA from mom and half from dad. The paternal cells grow rapidly and are kept in check by the maternal cells that act as a sort of tumor suppressor. So having a molar pregnancy means everything is growing at warp speed. My hCG (pregnancy hormone) grew as rapidly as my belly. By week 9, I had to go buy maternity pants because I’d run out of clothes that fit! In a way this molar pregnancy diagnosis explained all the strange things I’d experienced while pregnant. Typically, the D&C procedure removes all the “products of conception” (can they really not find a better name for it??) and a woman is cleared to try again anywhere from 1-3 months after a miscarriage. I was told that I needed to have my blood checked weekly until my hCG level hit negative (<5) to ensure that all of the cells were removed and did not start to grow again and metastasize. If I hit negative on my own then I’d have 3 more monthly checks to make sure my levels remain negative and I’d be cleared to try to conceive again. If I didn’t hit negative on my own, the next step would be getting injections of Methotrexate – a chemotherapy drug – to kill all the abnormal cells. Molar pregnancies fall under the category of “Gestational Trophoblastic Disease” – gestational refers to pregnancy and trophoblastic refers to placental cells. I specifically had a partial molar pregnancy which means I had a triploidy baby and abnormal placental cells. There is another form of GTD called complete molar pregnancy which occurs when an egg contains zero maternal DNA but is fertilized by sperm, resulting in a pregnancy with no fetus but abnormal growth of cells. Another more rare form of GTD is called Placental Site Trophoblastic Tumor where a malignancy occurs at the location of where the placenta attaches to the uterus and often metastasizes to the lungs or other organs. This can actually occur with normal pregnancies – so it’s important for the placenta to be examined after birth and hCG levels checked around 6 weeks after delivery.
The doctor told me that a molar pregnancy occurs in about 1 out of 1500 pregnancies. Basically I lost the baby lottery. I had planned everything out in advance, but ended up with an Easter basket full of ants.
One of the biggest lessons I learned was that no amount of planning can ensure a good outcome. If I do become a mom, it will be in God’s timing, not mine. When that time comes, I know in my heart it will be EGGStra special. ☺️
HAPPY EASTER to you all!! 🐰🐣🤗
Ecclesiastes 3:11 He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.
To you, this may seem like a strange place to start telling my story, because it’s not the beginning and hopefully not the end of my journey. Instead it marks a turning point in my life and the reason I am sharing my story with the world. Later I will tell you how I got here and where I’m going, but this was the defining turning point.
I woke up on this Good Friday and started my day with some coffee and scripture. I poured myself into verses about Jesus’ crucifixtion and as I read this verse it reminded me of something I said through tears on the darkest night of my life.
Matthew 27:46 “And about the ninth hour Jesus cried out with a loud voice, saying ‘Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?’ that is, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?'”
Tuesday, January 17, 2017 – The darkest night of my life.
That afternoon, I had been to my 11 week checkup appointment with my obstetrician. About a month prior we had seen our precious baby’s heart beating as our hearts burst with pride and love. On this afternoon, a nurse tried to find the baby’s heartbeat with a doppler. As she pressed the wand against my stomach and several minutes passed, I felt nervous and could feel my own heart start to crumble inside me. She reassured us it was common to not pick up the heartbeat on the doppler this early and sent us along to have a sonogram to make sure everything was okay. As I lay on the table, the tech pressed another wand against my belly. An image popped up on the screen and I saw our lifeless baby laying at the bottom of my womb. I had lost our child. Looking over at my sweet husband and seeing tears fill his eyes, I could feel my heart breaking inside my chest. The tech looked at us and said she was sorry but our baby no longer had a heartbeat. She called in the physician who took some measurements as I sobbed in agony. He explained that I’d had a missed miscarriage likely due to a chromosome defect. “Nature’s way of taking care of a problem.”
Everything from then on is a blur. They whisked us through a secret hallway back to my obstetrician’s office. In the 10+ years I’ve been going to this office, I’d never know such a hallway existed. It’s the hallway of sadness…the one they take you through so you don’t scare the happy and hopeful patients in the lobby. The hallway that transforms your life of happiness into despair. We scheduled my D&C for the following day and left for home.
In the darkest night of my life, I cried out to God asking why he had He had forsaken me. I laid awake sobbing for hours. I begged God to give me my baby back. I asked God why He had taken my baby from me. I angrily questioned why God would put the desire to be a mom in my heart only to take my baby from me.
Though I didn’t find answers that night or in the following days, I know that God was with me and comforting me. Counting my tears. Carrying my burden.
I will never forget the moment I heard that my baby’s heart had stopped and mine kept beating. There will never be a day I don’t think of my baby and mourn the life it never got to live. The only thing that comforts me is knowing that the first thing my baby saw was the face of Jesus.
God doesn’t make mistakes. He’s rebuilding my heart one piece at a time and making beauty out of the ashes. It’s Friday, but Sunday is coming….