Hello and Goodbye.

         Twice this year, we were given the gift of a new life, despite every effort of ours to prevent it. We knew it was all God’s plan, because it clearly wasn’t ours. We lost the first pregnancy at 7 weeks over Mother’s Day weekend. The pain felt almost too much to bear. Our hearts were ripped wide open. When we got pregnant again a few months later, we were mainly confused because we were the most consistent barrier method users there ever was. We felt a little less shocked because we knew this baby was just meant to be ours. We were supposed to have a fourth. We quickly, although cautiously, grew to love this baby; still holding our breaths every day until we hit the 8-week mark which I felt meant we were safe, since we’ve never lost a baby past 8-weeks before (5&7, but never 8). My belly quickly began to pop out which felt like a comforting reassurance that all was well, and this was going to be our rainbow baby. We weren’t sharing the news with anyone really, not even our kids, until we reached 12 weeks and felt the solace that came with hearing that heartbeat for the first time.

            The day finally came when I was 12 weeks, and I laid on my midwife’s bed (we’re on that level) while we eagerly searched for the heartbeat. Each minute that passed felt like a century. She tried so hard to find it for me, but just couldn’t get it. Naturally, I felt sick to my stomach, but tried to convince myself I just had an anterior placenta which was making it harder to pick up using the Doppler. I would go get an ultrasound and see the little babe squirm and hear the heartbeat and all would be well. As soon as I she squeezed the cold gel onto my belly and applied the ultrasound probe, I felt a sense of relief seeing how big and beautiful my baby looked up on the screen. It’s big head and face, long back, arms and legs filling up the screen made my heart skip a beat, but why wasn’t it moving? I remember seeing Jed on an ultrasound at 9 weeks, and couldn’t believe how much that tiny thing was squirming around. I quickly pushed that thought out of my mind as I stared at the screen. Any minute we were going to see and hear that heartbeat that I waited so long for. Any minute. That minute never came. Instead, the ultrasound technician’s face filled with sorrow and I heard the words I will never forget, “Unfortunately, I am unable to detect a heartbeat. I am so sorry.” I don’t know why I felt so shocked, because deep down I knew what she was going to say. All I could muster was, “Oh, okay” until I was alone in the room with my midwife. The wails and moans began to pour out of me from the depths of my soul. “Why?” was all I could manage to say. Why was this happening again? Why was I having to face this pain? AGAIN.

White roses from Nana to remind us of our babies in heaven.

            I soon learned that this was a pain that I hadn’t experienced before. Each pregnancy loss I’ve had has been so different, but this one… There is nothing quite like it. My body didn’t recognize the loss. I believe it didn’t want to. It was in denial, just like I had been laying on that ultrasound bed. Each day that passed, I swore my belly grew bigger. See, your uterus and sac will continue to grow just like it’s supposed to, even though the sweet life that filled it has been snuffed out. It was a painful reminder every day of the life that filled my womb. Our baby grew to be 11 weeks and 1 day when it’s heart stopped. Every day I battled in my mind with the idea of fast tracking the process so that I could “start healing” and wanting to keep this little babe in my belly where it was warm and safe and could possibly still feel my heartbeat. My now broken heart, which would let it know how much I truly did love it and wanted it. I ended up having a d&c scheduled for the 23^rd, two weeks after we found out our baby had passed. It felt like an eternity, but also scared me with how quick it was coming. After scheduling it, I quickly realized this was not what I wanted or needed. When I first found out, I thought there was no way I could see this baby leave my body. I wasn't strong enough. Every day that passed I knew a little bit more what I needed in order to begin healing. I needed to feel the pains of labor and hold my baby in my hand to feel like I was honoring this gift of the life we were given. I needed to know that my body had not betrayed me, and it still knew how to work just as it was designed to.

            Although it was the last thing I felt like doing, I prayed. I felt angry with God that He would allow this to happen twice now. Both pregnancies completely unexpected, and yet we were left to face this pain and heartbreak… twice. Within months of each other. I couldn’t wrap my head around it and I couldn’t understand why God would let this happen. I still don’t, and I don’t know if I ever will. I’ve been reminding myself that my God is the giver of life and not death, and this was not His plan for my baby. He weeps with me in my sorrow. He was the first embrace my baby ever felt, and that brings me some peace and comfort. I asked God that He would allow my body to bring our baby out into my hands on its own, in the serenity of our home. I prayed that I would be safe and there would be no complications.

            On October 19^th, 2018, at 13 weeks and 3 days gestation, I woke at 4:30 in the morning to what I thought was a gush of blood. I soon realized that it wasn’t blood, but my water which released. Moments later, my itty-bitty lime-sized baby was born right into my hand. In the quiet stillness of that morning while everyone slept, I held my baby for the first time outside of my womb. I had no pain or bleeding. I kind of lost track of time as I spent each moment relishing in the beauty and perfection of this tiny human. Our tiny baby boy. I soaked in his little face; eyes, ears, nose, tongue, and tried to imagine who he would have looked like. Would he have had his Mama’s eyes or his Daddy’s dark hair? I counted each of his tiny fingers and toes and sat in awe of how perfect he was. So small and SO perfect. I held his tiny hand on my index finger and dreamed of how it would have felt to have his hand wrapped tightly around my finger or to kiss his piggies. Would he think it was hilarious like his brothers and sister did when I’d sniff his toes and squeal, “Caca-Poochee”. I remembered how Joni's face lit up as we were sharing the heartbreaking news with them. All she heard was that there was a baby in Mommy's belly, which she had been wanting for so long. Hot tears of confusion quickly followed when it registered that the baby in Mommy's belly wasn't alive anymore. I thought about how I imagined our first embrace would feel like when a rush of oxytocin took me on that unexplainable “birth high”, holding him on my chest as he searches for the comfort of my breast. I so badly wanted to be able to comfort him like that, the only way I knew how to comfort all my babies, but I didn’t need to. He was already being held by the Comforter, and that thought comforted me. The labor pains began to kick in and my body took over to complete the job it had to do. I labored for a few hours in my bath tub. The contractions becoming closer and stronger, until finally it brought out the placenta.

"For You created my inmost being; You knit me together in my mother's womb." 

Psalm 139:13

            I felt so much peace and comfort being able to go through this mini birth and know that my baby was with me and his family. God answered my every prayer regarding how I wanted this part to go. In doing so, He reminded me that I am not forgotten. He still hears me. He still sees me. He still loves and cares for me and my precious baby boy. I am the only one to have laid eyes on him, and I feel like that is a special gift I was given. We plan to bury him with a tree in our yard so we have a new life to remind us of the one we lost. Chris and I decided to name him Shilo, meaning “to the One with whom it belongs”. And so it is. Our baby boy, Shilo Hope Latham, is with the One to whom he belongs.

-->