Sea Glass Birds

I suppose we only knew for about a week and a half. Maybe a little bit more. But the excitement was instant. To be completely honest, we had just started trying and getting pregnant happened fast. But it was exactly what we wanted, and a lot happens in just that first week after you see that blue + sign on the test.

We told our families and a few friends. Buck couldn't stop talking about boy names. I started looking online to track my weekly progress. I mapped on the calendar when 12 weeks would be up and I could "safety" spill the news to everyone. I even had it all planned out how I was going to tell everyone. We told June. She said it would only be cool if she had a baby brother this time. 

I started planning out the sick weeks, knowing I couldn't take on too much feeling nauseous. I thought about buying some new jeans but realized I could instead pull out my maternity ones. 

But the worst part for me was that I had already written the baby its first letter from me. I started a brand new document, opened up that bright white screen, wondering who this baby was going to be and what words will fill those spaces as the years went, just as it has been with my letters to June and Hazel. I couldn't believe that I was starting a third chapter of letters. 

A third kid! 

While we were in Maine that following week, my heart was full the entire time. One evening as  I sat on the beach watching Buck chase waves with two little hands holding both of his I thought about it. Buck genuinely loves his girls and he is so good with them and for them. He makes having a another baby easy. I have no fears about it with him. With each kid he gets more and more involved and helpful. I don't feel alone at all. Before I was married I don't think I could ever imagine or fathom having three kids but once I found him and now that I am with him, there isn't a question in my mind.

Our last day there we got some souvenirs. There were these little framed art pieces made from a local artist, little families of birds made from sea glass. There were options to choose from, a family of two, three, four, or five. I looked back and forth from the family of four to the one with five. Was it too risky? I wondered. But no! A baby grew in me, traveled with me there. "We are a family of five now" I reassured myself. 

Two days later when the blood started to come I knew it wasn't good. "But these things happen Anna, you can't win all the babies" I tried telling myself. When I woke up in the middle of the night to find the blood no longer a warning but a cleansing of what was to be new life, I knew it was over. I woke Buck up. We prayed. I felt some peace. 

That following day and really that whole week I had to remind myself that it was okay to be sad. I feel bad having any emotion other than HAPPY since I have been blessed with so much. I mean, a miscarriage? Some women can't even get pregnant. Some have many miscarriages, some have still births. There are people fleeing war and terror and here I am feeling down because of some blood. But no, I thought of the letter I wrote, the sea glass birds, the blood test at the doctor's office proving I was miscarrying... and I allowed myself to cry. 

That night Buck's sister and husband took the girls so that we could have some time together. Buck and I shared many things together thus far- peace, happiness, fears, each others' burdens, sadness, yes- but that evening was new. In the quiet of our little living room, the bronze light pushing through the blinds, falling onto us, we took a sacred moment and allowed ourselves to share a sorrow. 

So we went to the store looking for something to plant. I didn't want anything dramatic or over kill, it's not like we need to do a balloon release every year for the rest of our lives; but I wanted to make something grow and live since I had lost my chance to do so for the moment. But of course the garden centers are filling up with fake Christmas trees already and we almost gave up until on our way out we saw some bags of flower bulbs. "Fall planting for spring blooming" read the bag. How fitting, I marveled.

 A little hug from a loving Heavenly Father, to be manifested in tiny purple flowers this spring. 

While I have to allow myself to grieve, I do find it healthy to look at my blessings and the positives of the situation. Lucky it was earlier on, lucky we got pregnant so fast. Lucky I have two kids already. Things like this do help keep perspective and not to get too doom and gloom over the whole thing. Because in the end, it could always be worse. 

I debated whether or not I should write about any of this. It's scary to proclaim "Hey world! Yes, I want another baby!" and to leave you all wondering if and when it may happen. But this is just as important to me as any other event that I post about. My friend Tanya said it best in a text to me:

"No matter how we view it, something began that was lost and deserves every bit of heartache for it. I'm glad, like you've said, it was early and small and 'easy' in terms of how these go, but still... small as the tiniest star we can hardly see in the dark, that tiny beginning representing something large as life."

For me the hardest part now is to stay vulnerable with hope. I want to protect myself now so I tried telling myself that I probably can't have anymore kids. I know that's drastic but I want to prepare now so that I can't get hurt again if this happens a few more times. But in the end that leaves me feeling more sad and empty. Yet keeping hope that I will be able to one day add another member to this family is scary because I am opening myself up to be let down again, to feel pain. But- isn't that what life is all about? To feel these things, all the things? To take the emotions in, no matter their character, and to let them build us over time into the person we are to be? 

So right now I am working on being vulnerable. As much as I wanted to pack away those five birds taunting me in their frame, I have left it up on the shelf I originally and proudly placed it on. Reminding me that it's okay to hurt, but to keep dreaming and to keep hoping.