“We need to get that debris out of there.”

After I gave birth at home to my tiny but perfectly formed miscarried baby, those words still make me recoil.  It didn’t matter how amazing I thought the hospital was or how well they worked with my birth plans for my other children.  After their response to my loss, I was never going back.

{important fact: not everyone’s response to our loss is equal.}

About three months later, when I was about 10 weeks pregnant with my “subsequent/rainbow” pregnancy, I supported a client delivering at New Birth Company, a brand new local birth center.  It was so brand new, in fact, that most of the building was still under construction.  I fell in love immediately anyway – it was exactly what I had envisioned of a birth center.  I worked alongside an amazing midwife, and the lovely birth that the mama had just solidified my desires for me.   Then, after the mama’s birth, the midwife said that she wanted to find my baby’s heartbeat!  What a tremendous surprise and wonderful blessing!  I came home to tell my husband not only how amazing the birth went for the mama, but that I got to hear our baby’s heartbeat!  I told him that I definately wanted to birth there.

{important fact: not all birth centers are created equal.  Neither is every midwife.}

But, they didn’t take my insurance.

So, my children’s pediatrician recommended his friend, an OB.  Both are Christian, and I fully trust (and adore) my pediatrician, so I felt confident in the switch.

The first couple of months of the pregnancy were wrought with complicated feelings, as I explained in Irish Twins.  I really enjoyed the OB, and we discussed many of the feelings associated with subsequent pregnancy after loss, and it was nice to be open about my Christian faith and how it plays a part in my life, my pregnancy, and my healing.

At my 12 week appointment – the same week my miscarried baby died – the nurse couldn’t find a heartbeat.  I looked at my husband and the tears, oh the tears, they just spilled out as I gasped for air.

 Not again, Lord.  Please, please, please, not again.

So, I walked the long hallway, clutching my middle, praying and clinging to hope, as I was led to the ultrasound room.  Paper gown tucked, warm gel applied, and…..

…..swoosh, swoosh, swoosh, swoosh…..

…the beautiful sound of a perfect, tiny heart beating!  The ultrasound technician told us we were having a girl, but my husband quickly laughed it off.  I didn’t.  I was so overwhelmed with joy at the site of that beautiful, swishing heartbeat, and in the back of my mind, the thoughts, the wondering, of which gender my baby was, just made it all even more wonderful.

Just around the same time as we celebrated and mourned the due date of our fourth baby (November 2011), we also found out the gender of this one, our fifth baby.  The ultrasound appointment was uneventful which was a tremendous blessing.  Finally, the ultrasound technician printed out the photo that revealed the gender, placed it in an envelope, and handed it to my husband.  Then, we left.

My husband dropped me off at home, where my mother in law was spending time with our crew of kiddos.  He left and headed to the local baby store, where he opened up the envelope to discover the gender.  He laughed later and told me that he read it several times, making sure he didn’t get it wrong.

He selected some gender-specific items along with a green and yellow gift bag.  He came home and placed the bag in front of me…

…I pulled off the yellow tissue paper, and asked my oldest son what color he saw…

…and he exclaimed…

“PINK!!”

I was elated!  I screamed, and my one year old started crying, poor guy.  With three little John Wayne’s in the house, it was the first time we’d ever had pink!

Several weeks later, I submitted my birth plan with one of the OBs.  I am used to advocating for myself and helping my clients do the same, but I wondered how things would go at this particular hospital.

At 36 weeks, I began having prodromal labor.  I never did have sporatic Braxton-Hicks contractions with this pregnancy, but instead had series of contractions for several hours at a time.

I posted a little about this on Facebook.  The midwife from New Birth Company posted a reply,

“I wish you were delivering here with us!”

Oh, how I wished too!  I told her that I would, but that they don’t take my insurance.  She replied, “Yes we do!” and that was it.

I switched providers at 37 weeks.

I had a 37 week appointment with the OBs early in the morning.  I kept the appointment, and ironically, of all days, that was the day that one of them went over my birth plan with me.  She pulled it out of her papers: printed on pretty pastel paper, written in a pretty font, was my plan.  It had my name, my husband’s name, and my daughters name at the top, a scripture in the middle, and a few “wishes” at the bottom.

“And she said, ‘With the help of the Lord I have brought forth a child.'”

Now, however, my birth plan had marks written all over it.  Arrows, question marks, and conversations between doctors littered my few wishes.  The OB began to explain to me that I could have something close to my birth wishes if I were to deliver between 9am and 5pm, but if my labor starts going past 8pm and she has to start waking people up to come support me, she would become more aggressive in moving my labor along.

I have worked with the most high-risk hospitals in my area, and worked with the strictest policies and most rigid medical practices to bring my clients a comfortable blend of safety, interventions when necessary, but also comfort and joyful memories.  I had never encountered such a rigid interpretation of birth wishes before.

I asked if I could have my birth plan back, so that I could revise it.  She told me that I could not have it back.

{important fact: not every hospital is created equal.  Neither is every OB.}

A couple of hours later, I had my first midwife appointment.

She and I agreed that we were not expecting it to be very much longer before my daughter would be born.

I continued to have bouts of prodromal labor.

April 19 came, and I had another midwife appointment – it wasn’t planned this way, but it sure was a blessing.  April 19 was my miscarried son’s first stillbirthday.  In the midst of grief and joy, I was able to be surrounded by people who knew the situation intimately, who were the first to find my daughter’s heartbeat, and who understood the mix of my emotions.  And, I got to hear her heart beating again.  Of all days, it was very encouraging.

…..swoosh, swoosh, swoosh, swoosh….

What a beautiful sound.  After the appointment, I spent time at the cemetary.  It was the right place to be: sitting, crying, chatting, praying.  I needed to be there.  Processing.

April 20, her “due date” came and went.  I was still pregnant.

On the morning of April 24, I woke up to a deep, clear voice that penetrated right down to the center of my soul:

“My peace I give you, not as the world gives.”

The contractions felt pretty regular, but I had had enough prodromal labor that I didn’t keep track of their frequency.  They were definately manageable.  I logged online, and found an issue that I attempted to help resolve, while I supposed the contractions began to increase in intensity.  I held onto the message I received that morning, and just figured that God was speaking comfort to me to let me know that I can give as much as I can to resolving the issue, but that ultimately, it would be Him, in His timing, that would show the answers for anyone who took a little time to look for them.  As the issue only seemed to escalate, I logged offline and remembered that God was speaking peace into my heart.  Ironically, somebody sent me a message just that morning saying that she had a dream the night before that I would be online trying to resolve a conflict while in labor.  And, that’s exactly what happened.

At about 4:30pm my husband pointed out that the contractions hadn’t yet subsided as they had before, and he wanted to call the babysitter.  I wasn’t ready to leave yet, so I procrastinated.  The sitters came at about 5:15, and my husband was very eager to get me out the door.  I stalled, and he started to raise his voice.  I raised mine right back, and he said, “Honey, I’m just excited!  Now, let’s go!”

{important fact: even if you are sure of what is going on in your own labor, you can be wrong.  And, of course, not every husband is created equal, either.  Mine happens to be pretty amazing.}

I called the photographer.

The contractions were 10 minutes apart.

In the car, the next contraction was 9 minutes later.  We drove in the opposite direction of the hospital.  The next contraction was 8 minutes later.  We drove past another hospital.  The next contraction was 7 minutes later.  Then 6.  Someone cut us off in traffic, and my husband said, “Let me know if I need to drive on the shoulder.”  I laughed it off.  Then 5.  We drove past one more hospital – the one where we were told our fourth baby was “debris”. The next contraction was at 4 minutes.  I laughed as I began pulling my pants down a little, as the elastic on the pants band was right where the contractions were at.

We arrived at the birth center.  He walked in first, while I had a contraction on the sidewalk.  I walked in casually, and enjoyed a few pieces of a chocolate bar as the midwife came in.  A pregnant mother was signing in for a birthing class, and I laughed to her and exclaimed,

“We’re having a baby today!”

I look back on that now and realize that the lady probably thought I was totally crazy.  The midwife came in.  She checked me, and said,

“You need to let me know when you have the urge to push.”

Really? I went to our beautiful birthing suite, changed into my gown, while my in-laws got settled in.   I had a pretty strong contraction while changing, and heard the voice again through it,

“My peace I give you, not as the world gives.” 

The contractions were intense, but still manageable.  I knew God was leading my baby girl out to me.  When I came out of the bathroom, I knew this was it and told my husband, “We’re almost done.”  The midwife snapped a picture of me in my gown…

And then,

I asked if someone could dim the lights, I leaned over the bed and whispered,

“I’m pushing.”

And then, quietly and simply, our beautiful daughter was born.

The birth was so fast that the photographer never made it.

The midwife snapped a photo of us together moments after we met our daughter for the first time.  What a blessing that this very first photo turned out to be so unexpectedly pretty!  Later, a sweet friend of mine from Treasure Beans even edited it a little by writing the caption on it.

Then, the staff baked a chocolate cake, we all sang Evelyn “Happy Birthday”, my tiny, sweet daughter and I shared a lovely herbal bath together,

and then, we went home.  Mommy, Daddy, and little Evelyn Mae.

That night, Evelyn listened as I whispered stories to her, telling her all about her brothers – the three that she would meet the next morning, and the one whom she won’t meet until Jesus says it’s time to.

{important fact: pregnancy is the time when we mothers are the most interested and the most vested in our birth preparation.  Whether you are expecting a live birth, preparing for a known stillbirth, there is a difficult diagnosis involved, or you are pregnant with a “subsequent/rainbow” baby, use the time wisely.  You will likely not get every single thing you desire during or for your birth (we had all sorts of special things we had planned on using during the labor but didn’t get to), so it is best to learn now, as much as you can, about what your options are.  If pregnancy automatically equals hospital birth for you, take some time to visit the birth centers and midwives in your area.  It will give you a chance to consider including some special natural options into your birth wishes.  If you are hoping for a home birth, take a maternity tour at your local hospital just so that you will feel familiar with those surroundings.  Even if you don’t utilize their services, when else are you going to get such a chance to ask questions and get information?  Get to know all perspectives and philosophies surrounding birth.  And, regardless of what birth experience this is for you, or where you are planning on delivering, visit with our doulas and consider inviting one in on your plans and experiences.  In the end, it was extremely important for me to pray about my options and lay them all out before the Lord.  I let Him speak into my heart of mixed feelings, of anxiety and hope, about what the best plan was for my baby’s arrival, and it made all the difference.  He gave me peace, and not as the world gives.}

When two babies are born nearly a year apart, they are said to be Irish twins.  This happens when one baby is conceived three months after the other was born.

I already have one set of Irish twins.  The older of the two is going to be three years old, and the younger is heading to be a two year old.

At first, they were 5 clothes sizes apart; while one was wearing 0-3 months, the other wore 9-12 month clothes.  One was very much a brand new baby, while the other was a toddler.  Today, I can manage to get them both to wear the same sized clothes, although one is exactly a head taller than the other. They get jealous and fight with each other.  When one cries, the other cries louder.  When one laughs, the other comes running to see what all the fun is about.  They push each other down, wrestle each other, and they hug and snuggle each other too.  They love each other.

My newest baby is also an Irish twin.  She was born in April, and is the brand new baby in our home.  Yet, she is a totally different kind of Irish twin.  She and her Irish twin will never be mistaken for fraternal twins when I go grocery shopping or when I take the children to the park.  She will not have the same competition to cry louder than the sibling immediately older than her.  The two of them will not squeeze into our little children’s couch, one pulling a blanket over the other ones lap, to snuggle with their sippy cups together and watch a cartoon.

You see, last April, I gave birth to my miscarried baby.

There is a person missing from our family in our family photos.  There is a carseat missing in our car.  There is a missing stack of folded laundry, there is no leaky sippy cup dribbling on the floor where one should be, there are no memories of scooting, rolling over, lifting his head, tasting his first solid food, wrapping his tight little hand around his grandma’s finger or smiling big for his daddy.

There is an ache in my heart where fondness should be.  And yet there is hope also, where presumption would surely have otherwise resided.

My heart, and my life, are forever filled with an ache and a hope that would have never otherwise been.

I should have been pregnant with my miscarried baby until November 2011.

I became pregnant with my daughter in July 2011.

What is it like to share a pregnancy – to share time that belonged to another of my babies?

It was lonely – shortly after my natural miscarriage, I took a home pregnancy test to confirm that it was in fact, negative.  It is a terrible feeling to long for him, to miss him, to dread seeing the one, lonely line on that test, and yet knowing that the single line meant that my body had safely completed the birth of my tiny baby; to see so simply and matter 0f factly that to the rest of the world it was all over, and to know that in my heart, life without the presence of this child had only just begun.

It was angering -having to face a perfectly timed menstrual cycle, exactly 28 days following the miscarriage.  To see that my body could naturally, instinctively, do what it was supposed to do, and yet it couldn’t protect my sweet child – I felt like my body had cheated me.

It was confusing – when I saw the two pink lines for the first time with this pregnancy, where they should have remained with the former one, was bittersweet.  I was not expecting to be nor was I trying to get pregnant.  My heart was constantly challenged from the months of July to November, as I wondered what it would be like – how could I possibly prepare myself emotionally – if I not only experienced a second loss, but during the same time that I would have still been pregnant with my first miscarried baby?

It was humbling  – these two babies could not have both lived here on earth.  While traditional Irish twins are born a year apart, it is because the second is conceived three months after the birth of the first.  It would have been virtually impossible for me to give birth to one child in November 2011, and the other in April 2012.  God knows when we will be born – each of us.  He knew when my miscarried baby would be born.  He knew also when my daughter would be born.  Neither of these births are an accident or outside of His purposes.  They are both important.  So while I know of the impossibility of both of these children living here on earth, I am confident in the hope that one day they both will in fact reside in eternity together.  As impossible as it is for me to have my 5 children here, it is most certain that all 5 are made in the image of God Himself, have purposes, and have the opportunity to enter Heaven.  In fact, one is already safely there.

It was a gift – God picked the timing.  In the same month that my miscarried baby would have been born, November 2011, I also learned the gender of this baby, my first daughter.  It was a gentle, pleasing buffer from the heartbreak, the agony, the despair that overcame my heart.

It was a challenge – as if I hadn’t grown enough through the experience of losing my child, of first laboring and delivering and then burying my dead baby, I mentally prepared for facing April 2012.  April, the month that held the first anniversary – the first “angelversary” – the first stillbirthday of my miscarried baby.  April, the month I discovered that my baby was dead.  The month I saw him, motionless on the ultrasound monitor.  The month I prayed desperately, deeply, for the most important miracle of my entire life – “Please God, please, give a flicker of life.  Please let him stir.  Please don’t tell me he is gone.”  The month I understood that God didn’t ignore me, even though His reply seemed to be only silence – eery, overwhelming, my-life-will-never-be-the-same-again silence.  The month that I was told that my dead baby didn’t have value and that I could discard of him as I wished.  The month I waited for labor to begin, the month I hated myself, the month I dreaded what the end of labor would bring.  The month I knew I would face my dead child.  The month I met him – saw his perfectly formed, tiny body.  Counted his miraculously beautiful toes.  Cried over him.  Folded him into his final, miniscule bed, drove to the cemetary, saw the hole in the ground.  The hole that would hold my child.

Yes, this very same month, only one year later, is when I planned and prepared for the birth of my miscarried baby’s younger sister.  I planned to experience labor again, anticipated what the labor would bring, hoped for who I would meet at the end of it.  It is the month that I anticipated counting toes again and marvelling at God’s perfect design.  It is the month I hoped for what the end of labor would bring.  The month I knew I would face my dear child.

Would God give me this child, to enjoy in this lifetime?  Would I be able to hear her crying, bring her to my breast for comfort?  Would I clean her tiny little poopies and snuggle her in warm pajamas?  Would we need the carseat?  Would a grave hold her, or would her mother?

It is the month I knew I would need to be submissive to God’s will, and be ready for whatever outcome He ordained for our family.  I would need to let God remain in control.  I hoped – oh, how I hoped.  I hoped and wished and prayed that this April would bring joy rather than more heartbreak.

I planned as though God would give our daughter to us in this life.  And yet I accepted that His plans may be very different than that.

I didn’t have the control.  Much like the births of each of my other children, in fact including her Irish twin, I could only participate in the ways that have been permitted for me.

I prayed.  I planned.  I hoped.  I submitted.  I labored.  And then, I met her…

April 2012

April 2011

We give back to you, O God, those whom you gave to us.  You did not lose them when you gave them to us and we do not lose them by their return to you.

Your dear Son has taught us that life is eternal and love cannot die.  So death is only a horizon and a horizon is only the limit of our sight.  Open our eyes to see more clearly and draw us closer to you that we may know that we are nearer to our loved ones, who are with you.  You have told us that you are preparing a place for us: prepare us also for that happy place, that where you are we may also be always, O dear Lord of life and death.

~William Penn