Miscarriage

Ashton’s Story

Gabriel

Hello Mamas!  My name is Ashton Koehlmoos and I’m the Mama to my angel son Gabriel and 3 earthy sons – Oliver, Mason, & Lincoln. 

Our story begins actually before my first was born as my husband and we navigated infertility. We didn’t know of his infertility until I had my first endometriosis removal and diagnostic surgery through PPVI. It was then we discovered that I wasn’t ovulating and my husband had a sperm count of five (low is considered 15 million). To say we were devastated was an understatement.

We continued to work through NaPro Technology to heal both of us. We underwent 3 surgeries between the two of us and I was now ovulating on my own with lots of other improvements and my husband increased his sperm count to 1.5 million. After 4 years of working with NaPro, it was evident that we would never conceive naturally with my husband’s sperm count. Infertility was beginning to affect our marriage so we chose to do 1 round of IVF as we has such a strong calling to pursue biological children. IVF was very successful for us and finally after 5 years, we brought our first child home.

Shortly after Oliver turned 1, we transferred who is now known as Gabriel (we don’t know the genders of our embryos). We actually transferred him secretly as we always hated how infertility robbed us of the opportunity to surprise our parents with a pregnancy. We found out we were pregnant right around December 2020. Shocked and so excited, we FINALLY felt our longest, darkest days were behind us as it seemed we only needed help with conception.

On December 21st, we got the great news that the pregnancy was viable at our 7 week appointment and surprised our families at Christmas time.

We moved to our current location in NW Iowa from SW Iowa. My husband and I both grew up here and wanted to be closer to family. So we changed providers. Everything was going as it should and Gabriel was always growing 3 days ahead of his due date of 8-7-21.

On January 18th, I heard his heartbeat for the first time via my doppler. I was 11 weeks along. At my 12 week appointment, my doctor had a hard time finding the heartbeat in the room, but I wasn’t worried since I had found it at home before our appointment. We went back to a room with an ultrasound machine which confirmed everything was okay and he was still growing 3 days ahead.

As we were approaching the 15 week mark, we still hadn’t told “the world yet”. And this is where I struggle. We don’t really know why. It wasn’t that we didn’t want to, but COVID restrictions were still rampid and we weren’t really seeing anyone. In coming up with clever ways to share, I saw one where a Mama and the other child shared a number but one was weeks and one was months. Oliver was turning 15 months in the same week Gabriel was turning 15 weeks – perfect! I suggested it to my husband and he loved it.

So on Saturday Feb. 13, 2021, we shared with the world. Before we took the picture though on Friday the 12th, I told my husband that I wanted to check with my doppler just to “be sure”. Immediately I found his little heart thumping away. Little did I know that would be the last time I would hear his little heart. 

For 10 days, we basked in the love and congratulations from our family and loved ones. The next weekend, my parents were over and we were sharing all our plans of how we would adjust our home to a family of 4.

Monday Feb. 22nd was my 16 week appointment. I vividly remember assuring my husband that he didn’t need to come. “They are just going to get my weight, measure my tummy, check my blood pressure, check via doppler, ask some questions, and have me pee in a cup” was what I told him. 

My mother-in-law was coming over to watch Oliver for me. And as I was scrambling around trying to get ready, something just felt off. I wanted to check doppler as that was “my thing” before appointments, but ran out of time that day. I remember telling myself that I was only feeling off because I ran out of time and that this was a time I needed to lean into trusting my body. I shutter now what I would have been like had I tried. I REALLY think Gabriel protected me in that moment.

In my appointment, the doctor again couldn’t find the HR, but I thought absolutely nothing of it because this happened last time. We made small talk as we walked back to the room. I again felt the feeling I had at home, but took a deep breath and said “no, trust your body”.

I got up on the table, got the goo and immediately knew that what was on the screen wasn’t right. The baby was lifeless. Then simultaneously, the doctor said the worst sense known to mankind, “I’m sorry, but there is no heartbeat”

This is where my memory gets fuzzy. Despair and disbelief washed over me. For some reason, the first thought that came to me was “we have to untell our news”. The doctor left and got a nurse. I couldn’t speak. I somehow got out that I needed to call my husband which she did for me.

I then got taken to a formal ultrasound room – the one with all the baby pictures on the wall. And the first thing the tech did was shut off the big TV I could see. I was trying to see her screen out of the corner of my eye. I remember asking what the gender was, but she said she couldn’t tell with how he was lying. As she was finishing up, I asked if she had any pictures, and when she was all done, and she put her hand on my shoulder and said “Oh honey, why don’t you take a few days to decide if you want them. If you do, you can always reach out”. She then left the room and there I sat for over an hour alone.

I now know how wrongly I was treated and refuse to ever be seen there again, but in the moment, I was too in shock to realize how wrongly I was being treated let alone recognize it and or fight for what I needed.

The ultrasound tech then asked if she could give me a hug and then left the room. And there I sat, completely alone with babies and happy mothers all around me. My husband worked 50 min away from the hospital and I sat alone in the room until he got there. I remember feeling desperate, longing for someone to hold space with me. I tried calling my mom, but because I was in the middle of a hospital, I had no reception. Texts weren’t going through, and I wasn’t able to learn where my husband was.

When he arrived, they brought him through a different door than the one I had. They let us be and we clung to each other and we wept and I told him what I knew which wasn’t very much. We then again sat….and sat….and sat.

Finally, the doctor came in to explain we couldn’t deliver there and the baby needed to come out that night (again, wrongly treated) and that we either had to go to Sioux Falls or Sioux City. He wanted to know if we had a preference. We said no and agreed that whoever got back first is where we would go.

Thankfully by the grace of God and Gabriel, Sioux Falls got back to him first, but not after letting my husband and I sit alone for over an hour. At this point, it was almost 5pm and my appointment had been at 1pm. Sioux Falls wanted me to come up the next day to be seen by their team since our pregnancy was IVF and they dealt with those all the time, “We know what to look for” is what they said. That felt fine to us as we only wanted to get home and squeeze Oliver.

Before we left, the doctor asked if he could pray over us. We agreed. And that was the very last we ever heard from him again. Not hearing from him after my delivery was the nail in the coffin for me to never ever return. More on this at the end of my story.

That night, I contacted a mentor and friend only because she was the one person I knew who had experienced pregnancy loss. I had no idea 1 in 4 experienced loss. To my surprise, I also learned that she was a bereavement doula and had recently supported a Mama who experienced the loss of her twins at 15 weeks and delivered in the same hospital I would be just a few months earlier. She was able to explain to me all my options and that I could deliver my baby if I wanted to. She was also able to walk us through what the COVID procedures looked like since it was early 2021 at that time and precautions were still in place.

That night, my husband kept asking if I was sure if I wanted to deliver this baby. He felt that a D&C may just be better so I didn’t have to go through anything. But when I was stating my reasons, I cried out that “He’s a BABY Andrew, a baby with bones and a spine, I can’t just let them scrape that out of me.” And I’ll never forget the look on his face. He didn’t realize how formed the baby was because the last time he saw the baby it was a little gummy bear bouncing around. He looked at me and said, “I didn’t realize that.” Again, goes back to how poorly we were treated. They should have ran another ultrasound when my husband arrived.

We spent the rest of the night talking through names as I felt that was most appropriate. If I was going to deliver this baby, it was going to be given a name. Except this time, it felt so strange picking out 2 names for a child that was deceased versus last time – when we did this for a child we brought home. I can’t tell you what we picked out for the girl’s name, but my husband landed on “Gabriel” for the boy’s name. He shared the meaning and I cried…it was perfect because all I could imagine was someday him bringing us our rainbow baby when the timing was right.

The next day, we met Dr. Boyle and his team of angels. I got the ultrasound pictures of him that I wanted and the tech walked us through everything she was doing and looking for. She too couldn’t tell his gender based on how he was lying, but confirmed he was still 3 days ahead in gestation, so he passed away right before my appointment. After she closed the door, the first thing my husband said with tears in his eyes was, “It is a baby isn’t it?!”

We didn’t have to wait long before Dr. Boyle walked into the room. And the the first thing he said to us was that this baby was causing me no danger and I could take my time – all the time I needed – deciding how I wanted to deliver him. He encouraged Mamas in my situation to deliver so they could see a potential cause of death and to get the closure.

Already knowing we would deliver before he even said that, we went in on Thursday February 25th for our induction set to begin at 8pm. That day, I asked my husband to take some maternity pictures. I didn’t want to, but knew I would regret not taking them (and I’m so glad I did).

Surprisingly, that night I was able to get some sleep in the hospital, but nothing….nothing was happening. I honestly didn’t know what to expect though as I kinda imagined it to be over in a few hours. But almost 24 hours passed and my body wasn’t responding to the cytotc well. I was beginning to worry about a D&C, as I did not want another surgery because I had had so many through infertility and didn’t want to increases chances of not being able to get pregnant in future. The nurse assured me through my tears that my body just wasn’t ready to let Gabriel go yet and that a D&C wasn’t even on the table.

That conversation must have been the safety my body needed as about an hour or so later, I began having contractions. It was around 7-8pm. I didn’t want medications for the pain. I’ve always wanted a unmedicated birth and didn’t get that with Oliver. But honestly this time, I wanted the pain. I wanted to feel something if I was going to do this.

At around 8:30, the contractions were really picking up so I moved from my standing position to the bed on my hands and knees. The nurse with with us for the last 45min or so guiding me through. She needed to step out quickly because she knew I was close to delivering. Shortly after she stepped out, I could feel my body pushing and before I knew it something huge came out of me. I remember crying out to my husband “what was that? Can you see it?!” And he said “it’s here”.

At that moment the nurse came rushing back in with the doctor. It was 8:47pm. They sat me back and there I saw a ball of mass. I had delivered everything completely and “en caul” birth. The doctor praised what a good thing this was as that meant the placenta was inside too which meant a D&C was still completely off the table.

Still not knowing the gender the doctor walked us through everything as she cut open the sac and there lied our baby. “A little boy” she said and my heart wrenched. I wanted a daughter, but knowing he was a little boy and what a joy Oliver was, my heart broke even more. She continued to look through everything and all looked as it should.

She placed him in a blanket and handed him to me and my husband. “Perfection” is all I can say. Every feature was there. The only thing that was slightly off was 1 of his ears was sitting a little high, but it’s around 16 weeks where the ears lower into their proper places. But what stood out to me the most was his little hands and the wrinkles he had on his knuckles. Everything about him was complete perfection.

My parents brought Oliver up so he could meet his little brother as that was something I insisted on. I wanted that 1 family photo because he would always be apart of our family. A priest came in to bless him. By the time we went to bed that night it was around 1am and Gabriel spent the night with us at the foot of the bed. That morning we had breakfast with him and held him a little more. While my husband showered, I snapped photos of him so I would have them. I didn’t want to, but I’m so grateful I did.

When it was time for him to go, it didn’t feel real. It almost felt I was in a fairy tale and he was here and we were going to take him home. I sobbed and cried out as they rolled him away as the funeral home was there to take him to be cremated.

As the nurse was doing our discharge stuff, she brought in a clay heart with his hands imprinted. I cannot tell you how much comfort that gives me still today in helping him feel real.

A few days later, we brought him home and he sits on a special shelf in our living room where he can see everything. 

A few weeks later, we got the call from genetics that everything came back absolutely normal and no cause of death was found. So while we will never know, my Mama guts tells me I wasn’t on enough progesterone support as I’ve needed that in some capacity throughout all my pregnancies, especially early on. And that my doctor decreased my dose 2 weeks prior at a time when it should have been increased. Needless to say, I went back to my first provider for all my subsequent pregnancies.

Circling back to my trauma and how I was poorly treated, I never again heard from my doctor who told me my baby was gone after we had delivered. Both hospitals I worked with were under “Sanford” care, so he should have been notified when my charts were updated in MyChart. When I got a hand-written note from the doctor who cared for in the first night, it was the nail in the coffin for me to never return.

I can’t really tell you how I got through the next few weeks and months because there was just so much anger. “Why us?” cut so deep after having gone through infertility. I kept asking “Haven’t we gone through enough already?” It took a lot of therapy, journaling, and self-reflection to realize that God had us the entire time. Exactly 6 months to the day, I walked into another hospital to transfer our now rainbow baby – Mason. Was was born on 5-2-22 (backwards 25 and 22 was the date we learned Gabriel was gone). 

I continue to share his story and spread education through my business – Resilient Mama Fitness & Lifestyle – where I help Mamas navigate their fitness and lifestyle through the journeys of pregnancy and postpartum. I really have a heart for helping the TTC Mama and Mama with an angel(s) navigate their fitness journeys because of how much more difficult they are emotionally and how no one talks about the role that plays. To honor Gabriel and help other loss Mamas, I created a 100% Free Guide called Gabriel’s Guide which is a guide to help Mamas navigate the “What Comes Next” in both the emotional and physical healing. It includes education and resources, as well as a free 6 week training program to help return to fitness. All things I wish someone would have handed me after loss. I built it with the help of my bereavement doula and therapist to ensure the next Mama is getting the care she deserves. 

If you’re still here, thank you for reading our story.

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Coping With Loss

A letter to my baby

December 27, 2024

Every year, near the anniversary of my miscarriage, I write a letter. The first year, I was pregnant with my oldest daughter and made a video for her. In 2021, I wrote it to my pre-miscarriage self. In 2022 and 2023, I wrote letters to Anthony; my son I miscarried at 10 weeks and 5 days in January 2020.

Here’s this year’s letter.

______

Hi baby,

Five years.

I cannot believe it’s been five years since I met you.

Lost you.

This year feels like a milestone for us. Not a good one – milestones just mean I’m further from you. This year has me feeling like I’m being carried forward but my arms keep reaching back for you. My grief used to consume and bury me. Now that I’ve resurfaced, I’ve learned to swim, but I swim on my own.

This year, you will turn the age I always have pictured you as; five. The tall little boy with brown hair and blue eyes I see in my head every time I hear an earth side boy say “mama!” continues in my imagination. And this year, he feels real.

I have been hit recently with the harsh reality that I get to watch your sisters grow up because I never got to watch you. It is so strange to love all three of you more than anything in this world, and to know that the three of you can never coexist in the same place. The family of five I pictured in my head forever incomplete, forever wondering if you were the third baby I was meant to have.

I know, mommy’s gettin’ all serious. You’re only 4 and a half. Let’s talk about something else.

Let’s talk about how much I miss you.

I miss you when I desperately search for rainbows when it rains and the sun peaks through.

I miss you when I see your name.

I miss you when your sister grabs your giraffe stuffie Mima and Papa got you for Christmas. The one I cried opening knowing my pregnancy symptoms were fading, knowing something wasn’t right.

I miss you when someone asks about the letter A on my necklace, the flowers tattooed on my back, the number of times I’ve been pregnant.

I miss you every day.

As time continues to separate us, know my hand will always be reaching back for yours. Now more than ever, I know my place as your mommy; to continue to speak about you, uplift other families like ours, and continue to love you and your sisters with all my heart.

I love you so much, buddy.

Love,

Mommy

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Coping With Loss

A letter to my baby

December 27, 2023

Every year, near the anniversary of my miscarriage, I write a letter. The first year, I was pregnant with my oldest daughter and made a video for her. In 2021, I wrote it to my pre-miscarriage self. You can read the 2022 letter here.

Here is this year’s letter.

—-

Dear Anthony,

Hi bud. Today is four years since you started to leave. Four years since I knew something was wrong and no one listened. Four years since I cried for grandma (your sister calls her “Mima.” Maybe you would have too) because I saw blood. Four years since that awful ER visit where the ultrasound tech told us stories like ours “didn’t have a happy ending.”

And it didn’t.

But somehow, after four years of mourning you, carrying your sisters, and feeling the ebb and flow of this awful grief, I’ve been able to find joy again.

Don’t get me wrong, the missing you doesn’t go away. My heart still aches whenever I take out the Christmas decorations and think of how your dad packed them all up while you slowly slipped away. I still feel lonely when I’m surrounded by family during our yearly beach vacation, but am thinking of you on what should’ve been your birthday. I still run to the window when the sun comes out after a rainstorm, searching for a rainbow. Looking for a sign of you.

But the thing that has surprised me the most is the mother I’ve been able to become despite that grief. Despite the worry and frustration and waiting. It made me strong.

You made me strong.

You did this.

I will never understand why you couldn’t stay. I wonder when your sister K will start to wonder who you are, who this “Anthony” is that we pray for every night. Why we have books about babies that don’t make it earth-side and brothers who are angels. This year, she saw your ultrasound picture on the Christmas tree and asked. I told her I had another baby in my belly named Anthony before her. He was her brother. She said her usual “oooh!” and then moved on to the next ornament. I know the questions will continue (as they always seem to do with her) and I look forward to continuing to talk about you. I want them to know how special it is that they made it here. How wanted they were. All three of you were so, so wanted.

And you, my boy, are so, so missed.

I hope you saw me heal this year. Your littlest sister helped, I had no idea it was possible to be that calm during a pregnancy. Maybe you helped too.

But no matter how much I “heal” or how much time passes, I want you to know that the space I have in my heart for you sits right next to the space I have for those girls. All three of you changed me in a way I never knew possible.

I am a better person because of all of you.

I am still so grateful for those 10 weeks we had.

I am so grateful to know you.

And I love being your mom.

Love you forever,

Mommy

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Miscarriage

Stephanie’s Story

For 2023, I thought and prayed about what my “one word” would be for weeks. The word that was continuously on my mind was “heal.” Healing emotionally, spiritually, and mentally. For me, part of healing includes writing my story and acknowledging the trauma that I have endured.

In April of 2017, I received my first positive pregnancy test. I had waited and waited until two days before my period was due to take my test. I woke up at 4am because I was so full of nerves and just needed to know. I remember watching the tracker on the Clearblue digital test as they slowly, slowly, slowly blinked on and to my shock, the word “pregnant” showed up and I was so excited.

This pregnancy was picture perfect. Great HCG rise and strong progesterone increase from the start. Before my 8 weekappointment, I remember just breaking down in tears from worry about whether or not we would hear a heartbeat at our appointment and thinking how would I ever survive a miscarriage. Thankfully, when we got to our 8-week appointment, we heard a strong heartbeat and I immediately broke into tears.

Fast forward to January 2018, when I was 39 + 6, and I was induced (by my choice) and my sweet 8 pound, 8 ounce baby girl, AG arrived with a great delivery. Now that I know her personality, there was nothing stopping her from taking this world by storm!

After she was born, I went back to my regular birth control that I had been taking before we tried to get pregnant with Annalee. All was going according to plan until November 2020. I was late. On birth control, I was never late! My husband thought I was losing my mind, when I told him I was going to take a pregnancy test. To be honest, I thought I was a little crazy too. I remember going after work, getting a test and taking it right away. Again, the slow blink…pregnant. On birth control.

Panic set in. We were not planning on getting pregnant. We had a strong willed almost three-year-old, how could we do this? We were at war with ourselves. Obviously, we were going to love this baby no matter what, but how could we manage it all?! This wasn’t what we had planned. I went in for my routine blood work. HCG rose normally, but my progesterone took a nose dive. I knew this wasn’t how my levels were with AG and in my gut. I started taking progesterone supplements and had my next blood draw, my levels had increased. I began to feel cautiously optimistic, but my anxiety was off the charts. We started formulating a plan to surprise our parents with a Christmas announcement!

At about 6 weeks pregnant, I started spotting. I called my doctor and they suggested increasing my progesterone dosage. I began doing that, and the bleeding stopped. In my heart, though, I knew what was happening. At 8 weeks, we went for our first ultrasound. My husband drove and I cried in the car the whole way to the appointment while listening to “Thy Will” by Hillary Scott. The wait felt like forever to be called back for the ultrasound. The ultrasound tech put the wand on my stomach and we watched and waited. The silence was deafening. Our baby, our Little Bean, had no heartbeat.

After the hardest moment of our lives, we were sent to the waiting room to wait to see my doctor-where I sat with visibly expecting mothers. (This is a part of maternal care that needs to change! Mothers experiencing loss, should have a separate waiting area.) Because of how early I was, we had to wait another week to see if Little Bean’s timeline was off. The only way to describe this wait is excruciating. Instead of telling our parents that we were expecting, we had to tell them we were miscarrying instead. We went back the following week, and there was no progress. It was then that I was given the option to let things progress naturally or a D & C. I opted for a D & C because it was only a few days before Christmas and I did not want to taint Christmas for my daughter in any way.

So, 3 days before Christmas, my D & C was completed. Because of COVID, I was completely alone. My husband was only able to drop off and pick up. This just personified to me how lonely I felt in this moment.

One of the hardest things that I have done is to grieve one child, while still trying to muster the strength to parent my living child. Because this wasn’t our plan, emotions were all over the place. We had gone from panic, to acceptance, to excitement, then to gut-wrenching heartbreak and grief.

Looking back, I realize that to process my grief, I focused my energy into trying to get pregnant again and three months later, I was pregnant again! From the start, I was hopeful, Google told me that back-to-back miscarriages were rare. I went in for routine blood work again. First draw looked great! When my second blood work came in, I was shattered. My HCG more than doubled, but my progesterone once again, dropped. How could this be happening again? Thankfully, my doctor scheduled me an early ultrasound at 6 weeks so that I did not have to wait until 8 weeks. Again, the wait…gel, wand…and silence. It was like déjà vu. Because of how far along I was, we had to wait to confirm that it was another loss. A week later, there was no progress, and I opted for my second D & C.

After the second D & C, my primary care physician reached out to me. Because of the computer systems used for charting by the hospital and physician’s office, he was able to see my records. I will forever be grateful for his proactiveness and encouragement for running blood work! He had his nurse call and start the process and I was able to get in for any appointment in two weeks to begin bloodwork. At this point, I was grateful that I felt something was in my control again. All my bloodwork came back normal, but his proactiveness encouraged me to reach out to my OB for more fertility specific bloodwork. Upon completing the bloodwork with my OB, I was diagnosed with MTHFR. This diagnosis is controversial in the fertility world of whether or not it actually contributes to miscarriages or not, but the treatment for it is simple – a daily aspirin.

Fast forward five months post D & C, in October I found out I was pregnant again! This time, there was cautious hope. The chance of three consecutive miscarriages, according to Google, is 1%. Routine bloodwork gets completed. First round looks great! Second round, HCG drops. I was completely broken and hopeless. I opted to miscarry naturally this time. No one prepares you for the moment of passing your baby and the feeling of emptiness that comes instantly. Three babies gone. At this time, I asked my OB to refer me to a fertility specialist.

During our first appointment, she threw the “kitchen sink” at me. I began taking several vitamins and iron supplements to see what happened. 

January 2022, our pastor preached on Romans 12: 12, “Be joyful in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer.”

January 2022, the test reads pregnant. I remember going to tell my husband the news – with zero excitement. Not because we didn’t want this baby, but because we were so numb to hope at this point. At the fertility clinic, they only tracked the HCG because I started progesterone supplements at the positive test. HCG rose quickly! Now the wait begins…

Every single day, we prayed for this baby. This baby was covered in prayer by so many people.

On February 10, 2022, we went for our first scan. I had accepted that we would once again hear silence.

BUT GOD

After seconds that felt like hours, we heard our baby’s strong heartbeat. I will never forget that sound. After the doctor left the room, I lost it.

Pregnancy after loss is complicated. Even when you have good news, anxiety creeps in every day. My fertility doctor, thankfully, understood this and allowed me to come in for a scan every week until 10 weeks. Then, she lovingly weaned me from weekly scans because she knew that I was going to have to be on regular doctor appointment schedules when I was transferred back to my OB. There was not a day during this pregnancy that I did not worry. 

At my 36 week scan, baby was already estimated to be nearly 9 pounds. At my 38 week scan, baby was estimated to be almost 10 pounds! Due to baby’s size, I opted to schedule a c-section. However, baby had other plans. At exactly 39 weeks, my water broke, on a Sunday where I had no idea what doctor would be there. BUT GOD. Once I checked in, I asked the nurse who the doctor on call is – my doctor! Because of when I had eaten lunch and how fast I was progressing, I was unable to proceed with a c-section. When my doctor’s shift ended, the director of OB care came on shift. Together, they arranged for an additional team of nurses to be in there due to baby’s anticipated large size.

After 14 minutes of pushing, our sweet baby boy, RG, was born…weighing in at 11 lbs 5 oz! His size did bring some minor complications for both us, but after about 30 minutes, my baby was FINALLY in my arms.

Stephanie G.
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Coping With Loss, Miscarriage

Dear Pre-Miscarriage Me,

Hey! How’s it goin’? Been a minute…almost two years to the date since we’ve been together.

I’ve been meaning to write you to see how you’ve been, but it’s been a little hectic. These two years have gone by so slowly but simultaneously have passed in the blink of an eye. “The days are long but the years are short,” they say. But we’re not really into clichés, so I’ll just cut to the chase.

I don’t want to give too much away, but I know what you’re wondering, the only thing you’ve cared about since May of this year…do we have a baby yet?

The answer is yes.

Just not the one you’re pregnant with.

I know, this is so hard to hear. I am so sincerely sorry.

I want to tell you that there wasn’t anything you could’ve done to prevent this, even though deep down, I think you already know that. Still, in the moments in the upcoming weeks when it’s easy to think “maybe if I didn’t exercise” or “maybe if I drank more water” or “maybe if I ate less gummy worms and pancakes,” the answer to “could I have changed this outcome” is, and always will be, a resounding “NO.”

I want you to know that your intuition was right; something wasn’t right. You knew all along. And that is because you have been a great mom since you saw that positive test a few weeks ago.

You’re going to go through a lot within the next two weeks. There will be a lot of miscommunication, pain, and brief moments of hope. In these brief moments, really take a second to look around you and appreciate how you have immediate access to everyone you need: Preston. Mom and Dad. Your family. Stella. You were in the right place. This isn’t a coincidence.

Some of the interactions you have within these two weeks will define the trajectory of your life for the next few years. I know, heavy stuff. We don’t need to focus on that just yet, things are heavy enough these days…(speaking of, just a heads up…might want to stock up on disinfecting wipes, hand sanitizer and face masks. Oh, and toilet paper. Don’t ask questions, just do it. 2020 gets weird.)

What I want to focus on is the woman you’re about to become.

I want to tell you how you started those two weeks as a woman carrying a baby but ended them as a true MOTHER. Someone who did everything she could in her power to do right by her baby. Someone who fought for answers and worried and prayed for her baby’s well-being. Someone he would be proud of. (You always thought it was a he, didn’t you? Spoiler, we stick with this and name him Anthony. Yes, like Grandpa. Cute, huh?)

I want to tell you how your strength came through. For your husband, for your family. For the baby that slowly exited your body, not wanting to let go just yet.

You didn’t want to let go either, mama. I know. I still can’t let him go even now. I’m not sure we ever will.

You’ve taken this pregnancy in stride. Your pregnancy journal, weekly bump pictures, and contact with medical professionals was all the right thing. You’ve always done the right thing.

I see the dreams you have for him slipping away as your nausea decreases. Deciding on which room to transform into a nursery. Thinking of the shelves Preston will make for his books, the onesie he’ll wear when you take him home from the hospital. The years we’ll spend celebrating his birthday at the beach because it will fall during our family beach week.

In a few days, you’re going to tell your high school friends that you’re pregnant. You’re going to give them homemade ornaments that say “the best friends get promoted to aunt” and they’ll scream and flood you with hugs. This will be the last sure announcement you give for your pregnancy. (Those friends will still hang that ornament on their trees in years to come. Not that this will surprise you, they always show up for you. I can’t wait for you to see how other people show up for you, too.)

You’ll stop feeling sick abruptly. You’ll bleed. You’ll cry. You’ll go to the ER. Doctors will make you wait and lack compassion. You’ll cry some more. And then, you’ll wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Until a week goes by.

And the waiting ends.

And so does your journey in this pregnancy.

But in this, something is born.

What begins is the mother you’ve become,

With the strength and fierce love for both of your babies;

One in your heart,

and one in your arms.

I am so, so proud of you, Britt.

So is he. And so is she.

We all love you,

Britt, December 2021

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