Thoughts...

I have been itching to write down my feeling. I really should start carrying a notebook because I have these thoughts that I want to remember and when I get a chance to sit down and blog, they are gone. It's hard to write on the computer when you have a monkey trying to "help" type. I really don't know how these "mommy bloggers" do it? I could do it at nap time but that is also my nap time as well.

Does anyone else feel like there is a dark cloud looming over 2013? I feel like everywhere I turn there is another story of poor prenatal diagnosis, babies and children passing away, marriages breaking up, cancer diagnosis, etc. I cannot handle it right now. It makes me a little terrified but also hopeful that 2014 will be a blessed year for everyone and that all these families can find peace. I admit I have sought out these stories a little for the sake of information and research but not most. I finally had to close my computer and take a break for a week because I just couldn't read one more story of heartache and grief. It was becoming too much for my heart and soul. I was internalizing so much of these trisomy stories, that I felt like I will never be happy again and that no baby will ever be born healthy again. I haven't gotten back on the computer yet as far as learning about what is going on with our baby girl. What is going on with her?

Gosh, it is so hard to accept that she is not well. On ultrasound, despite the fact she is small, you would never know anything is wrong with her. Typically, trisomy 18 babies have many problems you can see on ultrasound. Heart defects, failing kidneys, intestines outside the body, cleft palate, diaphramatic hernias, underdeveloped lungs. She has none of these. None. She is small and has a very mild club foot (which is common in twins). That's it. It's hard to know what to expect with the lack of problems. We were feeling hopeful after the fetal echo showed no heart defects but sobered up very quickly after the next ultrasound. We desperately want to have a crystal ball to tell us is she will make it to birth or not. We just don't know. All our wonderful doctor can tell us is statistics. Statistically, 75-90% of T18 babies will be stillborn despite the anomalies. The plan, or hope, is to get me to 37 weeks and deliver vaginally. My doctor doesn't want me to have to recover from a c-section (and neither do I), especially if she is born alive.

We are really trying to take it one day at a time. I'm searching for ways to connect with her and make the most of our precious time together. I'm struggling a little. I talk to her and her sister a lot. I'm slowly finding the joy in all of this because there is joy. She has her body and she will be perfected and resurrected. She will be watching over us and with us forever. But some days, some moments, I just can't help but think how much this sucks. I feel robbed of the joy I should be feeling. I'm jealous of anyone who is expecting a healthy baby. I'm even jealous of my former self a little. I look at pictures during our lowest infertility times and I think of how much easier that was compared to this. I think of the things I have to think about right now (infant caskets, funeral costs, saying goodbye) and laugh because I just don't believe this is happening sometimes. I've also realized that we haven't even really begun this journey. We haven't even lost her yet. No matter when that happens, I don't think I am prepared for that. We have the rest of our lives to remember her, to long for her, to wish she were here on earth with her family. Suddenly, I'm exhausted.

I have no idea what's in store. I'm just going through the typical phases of grief, though in no particular order. I understand that grief is not linear. One does not graduate from the first phase and move on to step two. I wish. One day at a time...