I remember the weather that day, it was warm and overcast and drizzling. The sky was a muddy shade of gray from the time the sun came up. My stomach felt hollow and I had to remind myself to take deep breaths all day to keep myself from passing out. I wandered around the house aimlessly, convinced I was going to lose my fucking mind before I had to leave for this appointment. Mike was going to meet me there. The last time we heard the heartbeat was 2 weeks ago, and although the baby was measuring a tiny bit smaller than they would have wanted, there was a heartbeat and we were hopeful. This was our first baby and we still couldn’t believe how lucky we were to get pregnant so quickly. A week earlier I had started to spot and I was terrified; but it wasn’t enough for the doctors to bring me in, and I already had another ultrasound scheduled in a week. So we just waited, and everyday felt like a month. I remember standing in the shower before that appointment, feeling the water wash down my back, and sobbing. Out loud, I said goodbye to my baby, while I gently touched my belly. I didn’t need an ultrasound to tell me that there wasn’t a heartbeat; my broken heart told me. I didn’t tell Mike I said goodbye. I felt awful taking away any shred of hope he had, and to say it out loud again, with the eyes of my father’s child staring at me, rather than the shower wall, it would have made my fear way too real. So I kept it to myself. I remember getting a text from my sister after I finished getting dressed that morning, and her saying that the reason I was so nervous was because of how much I already loved my baby, and she was right, but so was I. I remember how sweaty my palms were in the waiting room and how strange it felt to be sitting next to Mike. It was like we were on a terrible blind date. We sat in a sterile waiting room, where you felt like you had to whisper to each other, and all I wanted to do was scream and demand to have this over with, and for someone to make this better, and beg absolutely beg someone to tell me that I was wrong so that I could get rid of this awful feeling in my chest. But I couldn’t do that. So we just waited, and I watched Mikes knee bounce nervously and his work boot bend where the steel toe ended, and I stared at the outdates magazines, and I’m pretty sure we were there for 6 months, or maybe 20 minutes, I’m not sure, this is where it starts to get fuzzy.

We were called back to the room. The nurse asked me my date of birth on the walk back, she weighed me in the hallway, asked me to pee in a cup in the bathroom and write my name on it with a sharpie, and then showed us to the room. She handed me a gown, asked me to undress and told us the doctor would be in soon. We sat in silence. We held hands but we were silent. My throat was so tight that I wouldn’t have been able to speak anyway. The doctor came in, we faked smiles, and quickly exchanged pleasantries and so began the ultrasound. I know in my rational mind it took all of two minutes to complete, but it felt like hours. Feeling that internal ultrasound poke and prod my insides, searching frantically for signs of life. He never reached for the speaker button on the machine like he had two weeks ago, because there was nothing to listen to. He just said he was so sorry, and slid the wand out of me and the machine away from me, and slowly he removed his gloves while I sobbed on the table and Mike squeezed my hand with his face beat red, trying as hard as he could to hold it together for the both of us. Everything after that feels like it was a movie. I was completely out of my body.

I know the doctor said a lot of really compassionate and rational things after that but it’s like someone muted the movie at that point, I can see his lips moving in my memory but I cannot hear a word. The next thing I do remember is when I slid off of that impossibly loud paper on the table, and I fell into Mikes arms and just kept saying “I’m sorry”. I didn’t know what else to say; and I was sorry, and I wanted to comfort him, but I could barely keep myself upright, so all I could do was cry and pray that he knew that my heart was hurting just as much for him. Mike collected my clothes from the floor and handed them to me and I guess I got dressed on my own, I don’t remember any of that part. The next thing I remember is sitting next to the office manager’s desk. I don’t remember how we got there, if someone knocked on the door and escorted us or if somehow mike was told and he just guided me. But there we sat, in a dark office with a big box of tissues. ‘This is where all of the unlucky ones find themselves’ I remember thinking. In these very seats hundreds of Moms and Dads have that title ripped from them and they are handed back their first names, along with an appointment card for your D&C appointment. I’m assuming Mike told them what days worked for us to go into the hospital and have the procedure done, because again I have no memory of even speaking in that office. But I know I was there.

I have no memory of leaving the office, until I get into my car. I remember sitting in the driver’s seat and holding my phone, and I knew that my sister was waiting to hear how the appointment went since she was one of the only people who knew that we were pregnant. But I couldn’t bring myself to call her yet, so I did what I always do what I want to numb myself, and I opened Facebook. The first and only thing I remember seeing was a meme. It was a Mean Girls reference about October 3^rd. I had never seen the movie so I didn’t get it, but I knew that days date was October 3^rd, 2014, so I figured it was relevant. I closed the app and turned on my car and began driving home. I called my sister from the highway and told her as quickly as possible that it wasn’t good and tried to choke back tears and got off the phone as quickly as I could because I was afraid I was going to get into an accident, since my glasses had fogged up from crying so much.

We went out to dinner that night because I couldn’t sit in the house anymore, but I don’t remember what we ordered, outside of the red wine. I remember running into people we knew but I have no idea what the conversation was about or if we even talked. I don’t know if we got an Uber home or if we drove. I don’t remember a lot of those next couple weeks outside of the agony I felt, the absolute despair that crippled my ability to get off of the couch, or the phone calls and texts I would send to Mike telling him how desperately I wanted to just feel normal again. What I do remember; is how much work it was to put on a happy face the next weekend when I hosted family for a long planned girl’s weekend. I remember how exhausting it was to continue on with everyday conversations and show up at my parents’ house on Sundays for dinner and pretend like everything was ok. I remember not telling my parents that Mike and I lost our child. I remember holding that in for 3 months. That was the darkest and loneliest three months of my life.

I felt like a fraud, and with every passing day it felt harder and harder to break the silence. “How could you possibly tell them now, it’s right before Thanksgiving…Christmas…New Year’s Eve… Mike and Kristin’s birthdays…” my brain convinced me daily that sharing my heartbreak would only cause more heartbreak and that there was never a good time to do that. The guilt that consumed me was unrelenting, but the trauma of having to tell my parents I WAS pregnant, and now I’m not, all in the same sentence, I just didn’t think I could survive it. I was too fragile, too broken. I couldn’t think of telling them without picturing the t-shirts my sister had made for my 2 nieces to wear that said “Big cousins” on the front. That was how they were supposed to find out that they were going to be grandparents again. That was how they were supposed to hear that now both of their daughters were expecting baby’s weeks apart from each other. It was supposed to feel like magic. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. So I chose to stay quiet. I chose to slowly fall apart under the illusion that I was helping everyone else stay whole. I chose this because I didn’t have a blueprint to figure out this trauma, and I was in self-preservation.

I remember finally committing to tell my parents’ about our loss. I remember how terrified I was, how I beat around the bush for hours while they sat on our couch, checking in on Mike after his knee surgery. I almost let them leave, and then I looked at Mike and I knew that I had to let it out. I was met with nothing but love and compassion and empathy. My parents’ hearts broke for us, but they held it together so that we didn’t feel like we had to take care of them. They shared stories of others they knew who had experiences similar tragedy and all of them had a happy ending. The weight that was lifted from me the moment I shut the door behind them that night, was something I had never experienced before. I came face to face with what my brain had told me would kill me, and I survived. I was seen, and heard, and believed, and I lived through it. I was loved through it.

Sadly, we have had to repeat that heartbreak twice since our first miscarriage. Once this past July after carrying our baby for 10 weeks, and again in September after 5 weeks. None of these three miscarriages have been less painful, but the trauma of our first miscarriage was absolutely the most unrelenting. The three babies we lost, all left us in different ways, and at different times. But one thing they all have in common is the fact that the details surrounding the days we learned we were losing our babies, details big and small, are missing from my memory.

It wasn’t until last week, when all of the Mean Girls, October 3^rd memes started circulating again, that I was triggered into my trauma and reminded of that life changing and heartbreaking day 4 years ago. Because the truth is, it is only on that day and for maybe a few weeks after, that I remember the anniversary of our first miscarriage. That’s not the case with our second miscarriage because the day we found out was the same day as my nephews birthday, so that one is pretty permanent, but the loss we just had a few weeks ago, I had to look up the date the other day in my phone, when I thought about writing this blog, because I had absolutely no memory of the date. Now if you were to tell me four and a half years ago, “hey Jess, you are going to have three miscarriages, don’t worry you will have one beautiful healthy baby in between, but listen you aren’t going to remember the dates of two of those losses”, I would have thought you were out of your mind! How the hell could I ever forget a date that was so poignant in my life? What kind of woman would I be if I let something so tragically imperative in my life fall away? Well I can say now, that I didn’t let anything fall away. My brain chose what was relevant to keep without consulting me. My brain did what it believes its job is, which is to keep me safe and alive, and so when I ran into those traumatic situations it organized the memories in a way that would keep me as sane and whole as possible.

So why am I telling you this? Well one, I think it’s important to shine a light on miscarriages and loss in general, but this is really about shining a bright ass light on the reality that is trauma. Trauma comes into our lives with no invitation, and zero handbook. There are some forms of trauma, that as humans we will all collectively experience, one being the loss of someone we love deeply. For those of you who have lost a partner, parent, sibling, friend, or a child, I am sure that there are screenshots of the day you lost your loved one, that will forever be etched in your memory, and on the other side of the coin, I am sure that there are details and chunks of time that are missing all together. That is not because you didn’t experience those moments, it’s because that is how the brain works in the midst of trauma. Now if you are anything like me, there is also the compiled shame that comes swooping in when you realize that these moments in time are missing. So now you are dealing with the aftermath of loss and trauma, and low and behold shame and guilt want to join the party. It is no wonder why so many of us stay stuck for so long in the throes of grief and despair.

Just recounting all of this, reliving the dark details that lead up to my own trauma, it’s heartbreaking. But what breaks my heart on such a deep level is knowing that there are so many people living their lives everyday holding onto trauma, and having nowhere to unpack it. Not because they have no one to talk to, but because what they have to say will not be received the way that my trauma was. They will not have people cozy up next to them and throw their arms around them and share stories that have happy endings. They won’t have messages in their inbox after they share their trauma the way that I have, offering prayers and support, and love. Because their trauma brings with it layers of speculation, and blame, and shame and guilt. So that silence that I experienced for three months; the darkest and loneliest three months of my life, when I walked around feeling like a fraud, when I lived my life veiled with a phony smile and a fresh wound, that is the life that so many feel as though they are forced to live, forever. The thought of that makes me feel like I am drowning.

Placing myself in that scenario, picturing myself telling my parents, or family members, even strangers, that I had a miscarriage, and being met with questions like “well did you drink coffee, or lift anything too heavy?” “Are you sure you were even pregnant? I mean 5 weeks is barely being pregnant” “Did you go to the doctor or report this to anyone who would have documented this? Did your husband actually see you bleeding or did you just tell him that you were? Does your insurance company know? I mean, how am I supposed to believe you if all that I have is your word, don’t you know the proper protocols for this type of thing, as a woman and especially if you ever want to be a mother, you should be responsible enough to do all of those things regardless of how sad you were and how much physical pain you were experiencing.” “Ok, so say you did actually have 3 miscarriages, what were the dates of them? What was the weather like those days? Were you with anyone on the days following? Who else did you tell about these miscarriages? What do you mean you didn’t tell your parents? So of all people, you’re not going to tell your own parents who you saw every week sometimes multiple times a week, and you asked the people who did know to keep this secret for you? Are you seeing how this looks suspicious and how it’s hard for me to now trust anything that you say?”… The thought of having to face a battering ram of questions around the most horrific day of my life, just to validate that it happened, to someone who at  this point I know could care less about my recovery, it would be absolutely decimating to the core of my being. I mean, can you imagine? Shit, this is a fake fucking scenario that I just made up and typed myself and I am absolutely livid at my piece of shit brain for thinking it could speak to me that way.

And yet, here we are as a society, wielding our hammers in the air, with fists full of nails, boarding up the windows of homes engulfed in flames, with survivors attempting to flee from the fires that have burned them for far too long. Not because they deserve it, but because we aren’t equipped to help them once they save themselves. We aren’t ready to tend to their wounds and hear the horror that they have lived through, because it may ignite our own smoldered ashes that we built our foundations upon. So rather than help, and risk then feeling helpless, we abandon and we blame it on their not jumping out of the window as soon as the smoke alarms went off.

This is unacceptable, it is inexcusable, and it is reprehensible. We have no idea what anyone else is currently going through, what they have lived through, and the reasons why they dealt with it in the way that they did. But when we do have the sacred honor of being invited into someone’s trauma, and to be shown their scars and told the stories of how they found their path to healing, it is in no way shape or form any of your business to judge that person's choices. Because God knows, you would want and deserve that same human decency in return.

The season of life that we are all witnessing, is turbulent and it is intense. I have to imagine this energy was present around the time that civil rights were ‘instituted’, and when women were given the right to vote, and schools were desegregated, and the list goes on and on. We are riding the winds of change, and they can stir up some shit, and that is exactly what they are supposed to do. Things are being broken down, so that they can be built back up, using a blueprint that everyone can agree on. It is painful, and contentious, and full of emotions, but it is also beautiful and enriching, and exposing the rotting limbs of an otherwise healthy tree, that are long overdue to be trimmed in order to save the whole. I am in no position to tell anyone where they should stand on political or personal issues because truth be told it’s none of my damn business, but what I do feel like I have the right to request, is critical thought and empathy. This isn’t easy and it takes time, which are two things that our current society of ‘easy and immediate’, does not celebrate, but returning these two things to your everyday life, could quite literally save someone else’s. Taking the time conceptualize, analyze, and evaluate the information you are absorbing, so that you can come to a conclusion that is actually rooted in your own beliefs and values and not that of others who are trying to get a reaction out of you, will quite literally change the way you see and interact with the world. From my own experience, the hardest part of this way of being is having to sit in the discomfort of knowing that you didn’t live this way for so long, and because of that you have likely done some damage to others along the way. That, however, is how you get to really offer empathy. Because when you are willing to sit with your own pain and discomfort and offer yourself the grace that you deserve, you can freely offer that to those you come in contact with. May we all be so lucky to experience a world full of grace and love. God knows my baby earth-side deserves such a beautiful world.

I hope this essay finds you well. But if you are in pain, I hope you know that you are worthy of the beauty that is waiting to unfold for you. You are seen, you are heard, you are believed, and you are loved. All of my love, always. <3

-Jess L.

Original post can be viewed here.

Eleven years ago.  That's how long ago it was when I found out I was pregnant for the first time.  Like most I peed on a stick and saw two lines, this was old school as there were no PREGNANT / NOT PREGNANT sticks yet.  I was beyond overjoyed as we had been trying for almost 3 years.  I had taken two rounds of Clomid and at last, I was pregnant!  We told everyone.  I made my appointment with my OBGYN, Dr. Sandra Makela and she was as happy as I was.  As I laid there, I watched her face.  This amazing doctor of mine - her face said it all, something wasn't right.  She said that she needed me to go to a facility down the street that had a better ultrasound machine.  I was grateful that my mom had driven me to the appointment because I was starting to worry.  I waited, and while I lay there I listened to the female ultrasound technician tell me in the rudest most pointed way with a short laugh that "there was no baby" - a trick of my body.  It's called a blighted ovum also know as an anembryonic pregnancy.  It happens when a fertilized egg attaches itself to the uterine wall, but the embryo does not develop. Cells develop to form the pregnancy sac, but not the embryo itself.  There was no baby and my heart sank.  My sadness was so deep, I had wanted a baby, and by some cruel fate, my body tricked me into thinking I was pregnant.  I WAS pregnant, just with a baby-less egg.  It's a blur after that.  I went back to the doctor in tears, she comforted me - told me that it WOULD happen, I WOULD get pregnant eventually, we'd keep trying.  I was given something to induce a miscarriage - I honestly don't remember what it was - but I ended up having the miscarriage that night.  The hardest part was that my other half took the news and decided to check out, he didn't come home that night, wouldn't pick up my calls, was unable comfort me.  He drank his feelings into submission and I was left alone, shook and horrified.  He is a good man, but he was on the same ledge as me, we just dealt with it in VERY different ways.  That night I had a miscarriage - its so odd considering that there was no heartbeat, only an empty egg.  But let me tell you that miscarriage was real.  The pain was real.  I had to call my mom in the middle of the night to take me to the ER.  I was bleeding badly, having horrible cramping and - maybe it was partially my emotional state - but I was broken.  To think that earlier that day and for a week before I believed that I was pregnant - I believed that there was a little soul growing inside me.  Then I was crushed, bleeding, crying and embarrassed.  My body had betrayed me.  As I lay in the ER, full of morphine with my mom looking over me - a small part of my heart broke, that part never healed. But it was only a tiny part.  I felt guilty, my miscarriage wasn't as bad as others; women who had lost baby's with heartbeats, growing babies inside expanding bellies, or babies that are stillborn like my grandmother - going through childbirth only to immediately burry your child.  I realize now that it was for the best.  I reset my mind, made peace with the fact that somethings you don't blurt out to everyone because then having to tell them that there was no baby, no more pregnancy and that was a tough and awful experience, but a lesson learned.  A little less than a year later, we were pregnant again.  This time I waited, I waited until I saw a moving little mass on a blurry ultrasound, hearing the most glorious sound in the whole world - my daughters heartbeat.  We waited to tell everyone the second time.  We had patiently waited for four long years and I would wait for a little over 9 months, I was a week past my due date, and my baby girl didn't want to come out.  My amazing doctor came to the hospital in the morning before she went to work, she worked all day and came back that night to deliver my baby.  I am so grateful for that - that I didn't have to have a stranger delivering my daughter.  My daughter changed my life.  She made me whole, she made me what I always wanted to be, a Mama.  I get asked why I only have one and I laugh most of the time and tell everyone that I'm a "one and done" - but the reality was that my heart could not take more years of waiting, could not take the chance of another miscarriage, could not take that risk.  Sometimes I wonder what it'd have been like if it would have been easy to get pregnant - would I have a house filled with kids?  But then I look at my daughter, my one and only, and realize that I have my perfect family and I wouldn't change it for the world. Mamas are amazing, and yes, I'm calling myself amazing.  We're not always perfect, but we love and care and will ALWAYS be there for our children.  I will ALWAYS be there for my beautiful miracle, Gloria.  Thank you Sarah and Dr. Zucker for shining a brilliant light on an extremely sensitive subject and for creating a truly fantastic shirt. #ihadamiscarriage 

-Olivia

In 2007 I had a miscarriage early on in my pregnancy. During the first ultrasound a heartbeat wasn’t found and I was told to come back in a couple weeks to do another ultrasound, but less than a week after that I lost my baby...it broke me at the time but it also made me stronger...fast forward 7 years later to 2014 my rainbow baby was born a preemie at only 29 weeks old. Logan stayed in the NICU for 2 months. Pregnancy has not been easy on me...but I’m happy to say that my preemie, rainbow baby is now a happy and healthy 4-year-old!

-Christina C.

I love, love Halloween, but with all the events I attend with my three kids--from school carnivals to trunk-or-treats--I can't always be in full costume every time so I'm all about turning my daily mom faves into easy DIY costumes in a pinch!

The HIPPIE

The "hippie or flower child" is an easy peasy costume to achieve grab a favorite pair of old boot cuts or flairs pair it with one of our RAISE GOOD HUMANS graphics along with some Burks and top with a flower crown.

Shop this style: 

Universal Threads jeans /  Raise Good Humans tee / Scunci flower headband / Universal Threads Sandals

So BASIC

Nothing wrong with being "basic" and our Basic Mom tee is a fall fan favorite so grab those leggings, uggs and load up the PSL toss on a flannel and add some fake leaves to your hair for a totally basic on point costume.

Shop this style: 

Assets by Spanx / Basic Mom tee / Raising Tiny Humans travel mug / Tall Suede Winter Boots

The School Nerd

Classic nerd is always a fun easy costume and any former 90's mama surely has a plaid skirt on hand and of course some chucks.  Throw on your U of M tee add some tape to a pair of glasses and boom instant nerd who's totally head of the class!

Shop this style: 

 Plaid Skirt / University of Motherhood tee / Surf Shade Pretender Glasses / Mad Love Lennie sneakers 

The Tired Mombie

We loved the trend last season of all the mini mombies and seeing moms join in the fun with the exaggerated tired mom looks made for a hilarious and relatable costume.  Throw on our I BREED NON SLEEPERS tee or RAISING TINY HUMANS IS EXHAUSTING tee with your favorite sweats, slippers and shower cap for a tired and true easy costume.  Hot tip you can also basically roll right into bed if you wear this one...WINNING!

Shop this style: 

Jogger Vintage Wild Fable / Breed Non Sleepers Tee / Shower Turban / Xhilaration Khloe Faux Fur Scuff

I hope this helps you pick a Halloween costume you will love wearing to any event! 

• USE CODE: TREAT for 20% off our Tanks & Tees collection ends 10/23/18 * Free domestic shipping over $40*

XO,

Sarah

We tried for 8 months to get pregnant, everything was looking great, so on May 26, 2018 we went for an elective ultrasound just for fun. I was almost 10 weeks pregnant with baby #2. We were so excited to see our little peanut again after seeing a healthy heartbeat of 150 bpm at our 8-week appointment. When the lady couldn’t find a heartbeat and said the baby was only measuring 8 weeks she advised that we go to the hospital to confirm. Our hearts were broken. We drove straight to the hospital where after an extensive ultrasound and many hours of waiting our worst fear had been confirmed. Our little baby had passed almost 2 weeks ago and my body hadn’t realized it yet. It was a holiday weekend so I was given 3 options, wait until my body realized the baby had passed on its own, take the pills and pass everything at home, or have a D&C after the holiday weekend. I chose the pills because I just wanted it to be over with. It was the most painful and heartbreaking experience I have ever experienced. It felt like being in labor and I was throwing up from the pain. Thankfully a few days later an ultrasound confirmed that everything had passed. We were able to bury the baby under a memorial stone at my parents’ house. I had a strong feeling it was a boy, just like my first, so we chose the name Noah for him. I still struggle every day with the loss of my little boy. Some days are easier than others, but it still weighs heavily on me each and every day. We don’t have our rainbow baby yet, but hoping that someday it’ll happen to help heal these wounds. Baby Noah was due December 26, 2018 so Christmas this year is going to be especially hard.

-Aly M.

The road to motherhood can be far different from the one you envision; mine is that way, it is one filled with beautiful rainbows. In my 20’s the thought of a positive pregnancy test scared me. I wasn’t sure motherhood was a part of my journey. Every month I would breathe a sigh of relief with my first cramp or sign of my period. Fast forward to my 30’s and those signs signify something different, heartbreak. All those efforts were no longer needed, I wanted to make plans for a baby and a family. The months now brought promise and excitement. However, the months kept passing and that promise turned to doubt and disappointment. Then came a year and then two.  I felt like a failure. I felt I couldn’t get pregnant, something I wanted so bad. Wasn’t I made for this? All those misconceptions of how it could be so easy didn’t seem to apply to me. Was I always broken and unable to bring life? The despair becomes consuming. Will he stay? Will I have a family? The day finally came. A positive test. I went to the doctor and it was confirmed. We were bursting with excitement and shared our news immediately, I was five weeks pregnant. I loved it. I would wake up and place my hand on my belly in disbelief. I would talk to my baby in the morning, on my way to work, before bed. At my 8-week checkup though I was faced with a truth I refused to see. There was no heartbeat. They told me their prognosis and said we could follow up in a week. My mind circled with questions and fears. I felt so much doubt and confusion. I grasped at all hope I had left. My body still felt pregnant, there were no signs. Wouldn’t my body tell me if something was wrong? I didn’t believe it would fail me at such a pivotal time. It did. When I went back the doctor confirmed it again. I heard nothing she said, I refused to. Until she showed me pictures of what a healthy baby at this stage would look like and then she showed me my ultrasound. It was clear, my baby was not growing, there was no change. We scheduled a D and C. My body clearly was holding on just as much as my heart was. The procedure, the weeks after, they just seemed to go by slowly and painfully. Things were expected to go back to normal, but I wasn’t normal. Others try and console you. You feel alone. It’s a loss that leaves you feeling you’ve sunken into a deep abyss of solitude. My husband tried but he couldn’t understand. I felt alone and the commentary that followed seemed to just add to the heavy weight on my heart. You can try again. This tells us you can get pregnant. You just need to relax. None of these words were comforting. I cried. This hadn’t happened to other family members. So why did it happen to me, to us?  Months passed and I never felt healed but we were surprised with another positive test. My feelings were more of fear than joy this time. Doubt and uncertainty plagued me. I worried over everything and constantly feared another loss. 38 weeks and 2 days later though my first rainbow baby arrived. She is a fiery spirit with a curious mind and a loving soul. Two years later we found out we were pregnant again. I was shocked and scared and felt I needed to be cautious. I scheduled our appointment and checked my dates. We were about 7 weeks. Then the cramps came and I was panicked. I tried to do things as normal and not worry but it didn’t work. The cramps kept coming and I was filled with sadness as my heart came to a realization of what was happening, it was different though, my body knew this time.  My heart broke. I had my daughter with me now, time couldn’t stop, I had to be there for her. I thought I knew what to expect but I had no idea. I went to work that Monday and tried to do my normal routine. I was walking at work when I felt a drop. I quickly went to the bathroom and looked down in my pants to see that I was miscarrying. I didn’t know what to do, I was terrified. I silently cried. In my hands I held what was of my baby and I cried for my loss, feeling so helpless there in that tiny bathroom. Even now, putting it into words is a struggle. What words could truly convey the depth of the loss and struggle and confusion at that moment, or even now. We went to the ER and we waited hours. I had miscarried but hadn’t “passed” everything yet. I didn’t know it could, but my heart sank further. I still had days to go until I would “pass” everything. A constant, daily reminder of our loss, our child. I endured silently. Why did this happen again? Why this way? Time passes and I will have moments of peace, and then the questions will creep back in my mind on anniversaries, holidays, or special moments. I am blessed to say my second rainbow arrived a year later. My pregnancy with my son carried with it the same fears and worry but I was determined to silence those and to celebrate him every step of the way because that joy, excitement and love was what all my children deserved. I Love them all and with my first pregnancy I began my motherhood journey. These stories are a part of my motherhood and I need to OWN it. I am reminded every time I go to a doctor’s visit and they ask how many pregnancies have you had? My answer is 4, and although only 2 resulted in my beautiful rainbow babies I know I am a mother of 4 beautiful souls. It’s time to share our stories and let other mamas know they don’t have to be alone during these times.

-Aecha G.

Feb 6th that morning, I woke up late for me which was 8am.  A Thursday, the day I am usually off, the feeling of being wet woke me only to find myself in a pool of blood. I had only the week before found out I was pregnant.  I hadn't yet told anyone since I wasn’t even scheduled to go see the doctor to confirm until the pregnancy the following week.  My husband had been commuting to work as he normally did so I was home with our dogs alone in a panic.  I cleaned myself up and ran to the ER where they took me immediately and confirmed what I already in my heart knew, I had lost my little one.  I was so sad and I did what I normally do when in crisis, I retreated. 

I said nothing to anyone.  Why? Mainly I hate been asked how I’m doing. I hadn’t told anyone yet, so to go into detail I’d rather not.  I went home took a shower, cried, cleaned up my bed, cried more, Laid down on the couch and cried. Played with my dogs, looked myself in the mirror and said OK there’s nothing else you can do just pray and move on. 

Harsh I know, but if you know me, you know I don’t talk about feelings or emotions much, I have a very large wall up.  It takes a lot for me to trust it takes a lot for me to become vulnerable and I knew if I lingered in that space for long I would never come out. So I did what most people will tell you not to do, I suffered in silence.

Outwardly no one knew anything was wrong but internally I was so sad.  What Happened? What went wrong? The typical questions that all of us ask all of us that share this horrible event. I often wonder if my babe would have been the girl I never had. Eden that would’ve been her name. But I do what I normally do. Turn the page.

Doctors tell you to wait a while before trying again.  I didn’t. I tried in April, and where not successful, then in May we were successful. This time yet again we waited to tell our family with the exception of our parents and siblings.  

I prayed every night that my baby would stay with me, safe and healthy.  That my body would protect him or her, that my body would do what its supposed to do as a women, carry a child.

On Jan 31st, almost 3 weeks early my baby finally came in the form of a 7lb 8oz boy. (yes early and yes big) After 22 hours of labor he finally came to me, my sweet bug, my dinosaur loving big eyed boy! How I love you, my rainbow after the storm....

I don’t talk about this event, writing this blog is something I was reluctant to do. I will share photos of my rainbow baby proudly, but reliving the events of that day are just too hard for me. So they back they go, in that safe I keep in my heart where all things go that are painful.

-Marissa B. (read original blog here)

Hi, my name is Dana. My husband and I decided to try for a 3rd baby when our then youngest was 2. Since it had taken 3 years to get pregnant with her, we knew it would be a journey. About a year and a half later we found out we were expecting baby #3. We were so excited! At my first ultrasound they couldn't see the baby but assured me all the test were positive and had me do bloodwork to see how far I was. Once the tests came back confirming I was pregnant we began to let our friends and family know the good news! A couple days later my Doctor called saying the wanted follow up bloodwork to make sure my levels were increasing. After receiving the results, the doctor called and said that my levels were increasing just not fast enough. I kept getting asked if I was having any bleeding or spotting or pain, but I wasn't. I was told to prepare to have a miscarriage. For the next couple of weeks, I had to go in every 3 days to get my blood work drawn to see if my levels were still increasing, which they were. Right before Thanksgiving in 2015 I was told that my levels were high enough we could go get an ultrasound to see the baby! On December 3rd I went in for my ultrasound. My husband was at work so I had to take our two daughters with me. Once there the technician was having problems locating the baby, when she finally did and after bringing in help they confirm that I had an ectopic pregnancy. It was like the ground caved in underneath me. What made it worse was that the technician kept telling me look at that strong healthy heartbeat the baby looks so healthy. I was sent to go see my doctor who then told me to go to the emergency room right away for surgery. Sometime before having surgery my tube ruptured and I was bleeding out. Besides losing the baby I also lost my left tube and ovary and almost my life. About five months later we decided to try again for just a short amount of time. Nine months later, we found out we were pregnant with our rainbow baby. It was the best feeling in the world to see the healthy baby in the ultrasound and to hear the heart beating. She was born early, on October 13th 2017. She is such a blessing to our family and spoiled by her big sisters! Thank you for listening to my story!

-Dana P.

This picture below is my sweet Reese Claire-Blue Crocker. She was my rainbow baby after years of infertility and miscarriages she my hope after the storm. She carried two middle names because we also lost her twin in utero who we nicknamed Blue since we didn't yet know genders. Reese came into this world on December 18, 2017 and I was the happiest mom alive. I had tried for so long to carry a baby to term and at 37 weeks 1 day we thought we had made it. I had this gorgeous little girl like I had always dreamed I would. 

Then at only 2 days old she seized and our world was turned upside down. We were transferred to a bigger hospital in the NICU where she spent 5 weeks, and we learned her diagnosis of Congenital Disorder of Glycosylation. It meant a lifetime of challenges for Reese but she was a fighter. And we left the NICU with her ready to fight for whatever she needed. We learned as much about her disease as we could, got her into a case study at the National Institute of Health, and raised awareness as much as possible.

Then one day she stopped taking her feeds almost completely, and she was small so she couldn't lose anymore weight. I put my fears aside and brought her to the hospital for a gtube placement. While at the hospital she contracted rhinovirus, and due to her condition she couldn't fight it. At one week in the PICU on April 1, 2018 at 15 weeks old she passed. My rainbow was turning back into a storm, and I didn't know what to do.

She has been gone for six months now and it hurts so bad. In our little CDG community when a new little gains their wings it feels like losing her all over again. There are about 3000 cases ever reported worldwide so our community is small, but we are strong. Reese was our first rainbow, and my wife and I will try for our next rainbow baby in the future. For now we celebrate our beautiful rainbow Reese and all the love she gave us, and all the life she showed us. My forever baby...

-Alisha C.

After a year of trying to conceive, my husband and I visited a fertility doctor in a desperate attempt to begin our family.

Once all the initial testing was complete we were advised to try IUI (Intrauterine Insemination) with Clomid. After 3 failed attempts we were then told IVF (In-Vitro Fertilization) was our best option.

The thought of IVF sent my anxiety into overdrive! How is a person that is deathly afraid of needles supposed to work them into their daily routine? I wasn’t sure how I would survive this process. I remember after receiving the huge box of medication and needles I carried it into the doctors office and just balled my eyes out to the nurse. I was so scared and maybe it wasn’t just of the needles that I would have to do daily but more of the unknown. What if I did all this and it still wasn’t enough to make my dream come true?

Round One: After going through the long process of my first round of IVF I was so certain it had worked. I waited with excitement for the call from the nurse after going in for a blood test. The test came back NEGATIVE. How? Why? What now? Luckily I still had 5 frozen embryos so I didn’t have to go through the whole process all over again. It still meant lots of medication and needles but no retrieval.

Round Two: After the transfer I decided I didn’t want to wait for the blood test. I wanted to know the answer before anyone else. I didn’t want to be blind sided like the first time. That was too hard to handle. I took my first pregnancy test and waited a long three minutes in pure fear . It was POSITIVE! I was pregnant! I wanted to shout it from the roof tops. Of course I still had doubts. I took probably a total of 14 tests just to make sure. We wanted to wait for the blood test to confirm before we got too excited. Blood test was POSITIVE! We are really PREGNANT! We were so happy we told our close family after a few weeks. The blood test numbers continued to rise perfectly. We went in for our first ultrasound and the Doctor seemed happy with what was visible at the early stage. The next ultrasound was a different story. They weren’t sure but said there wasn’t much progress from the previous week. They said we will check again next week. That week felt like a year. I researched everything I possibly could. We went in and I was told I would miscarry in the next week. I was pretty upset to say the least. A week and a half went by and I hadn’t started to miscarry yet so I called the doctor and they said to come in for another ultrasound and they would see what was going on. Unfortunately I told Dominic I didn’t need him to come. The worst had already been confirmed so I felt it couldn’t possible get an worse. Well I was wrong. During the ultrasound I saw a flicker. Oh my gosh there’s a HEARTBEAT!

A million thoughts went through my head at that moment! Oh my gosh a baby! I knew they were wrong! I’m a MOM! Dominic missed the first heartbeat. It was just pure happiness of witnessing a miracle. After I caught my breath I had asked the doctor “Is that a heartbeat?” He was completely puzzled but didn’t look happy. I couldn’t understand. He then answered “Yes, but I’m sorry. The heartbeat is so faint the baby will not make it another week”. After seeing a heartbeat the baby became so much more real. It was hard being the only one to see the heartbeat. The next week when I returned hoping for another miracle my world crashed down and the heartbeat was gone. I was scheduled for a D&C the following day. I was completely numb with grief. I had never felt such a huge loss in my entire life.

Round Three: We still had 3 frozen embryos after the first 2 Rounds so we proceeded with a Frozen cycle and made a huge decision to transfer all 3. It was super scary but I didn’t feel like transferring just two was working out for us. So I tested at home and it was POSITIVE. This time I didn’t even get a little excited because there was so many hurdles we still had to overcome. Once I had blood test it was confirmed but my number was on the low side. Then I had to go back the following week and my numbers weren’t doubling. I felt like we were just cursed. How can this be happening again? This time I didn’t even make it to an ultrasound. I miscarried around 6 weeks.

At this point we were completely defeated. I had no embryos left. I would have to start over from scratch. I was at the lowest point of my life. Every single moment of the day I thought of the babies I lost. As crazy as this sounds, Not only did I think about the babies but I thought about my husband. I thought about how I couldn’t give him the joy of become a father. I didn’t want to hold him back from that experience. We had a follow up meeting with the doctor and because of the two miscarriages our insurance would now cover another round of testing. One of the test was of both of our chromosomes(Karyotype). When the nurse called with the results she said Dominic’s tests came back fine. My tests showed that I am a carrier of a genetic condition called “Balanced Translocation”.  She went on to explain what it meant and said it only affects fertility. I finally had an answer to what was going on but I wasn’t sure how we would proceed. She then went on to say we would meet with the doctor to discuss the next steps in the process.

A Balanced Translocation is basically two of my chromosomes had a piece break off  and swapped places. So for me a large piece of my 15 chromosome and a large piece of my 18 chromosome broke off and reattached to the wrong chromosome. Since I have a large break that means I will most likely miscarry early in the pregnancy. Some women with small breaks can carry further into pregnancy to full term and baby will then pass away of medical complications.

Once we met with the doctor he had discussed doing IVF with PGS (Preimplantation Genetic Screening) and said this is basically a way to screen the embryos to help prevent future miscarriages of embryos that are unbalanced.  The goal when doing IVF with PGS is to get the most eggs as possible to be screened. They increased all my meds. I was told with my condition 1 out of 10 eggs is probably balanced or normal. During my retrieval only 14 eggs were retrieved. I was pretty devastated with such a low number. The next day only 9 had fertilized and then we had to wait five days to see if any were still growing. On the fifth  day I was told only 4 embryos made it to be biopsied and sent to a lab for testing. At this point I was beyond crushed and already felt defeated. At the same time I knew this was my only option and I had to put my faith in this process. It was the longest three weeks of my life waiting for the results.

I remember the day they called. I couldn’t even take a breath as the embryologist said “I can’t believe I’m saying this because I have never seen this happen”.  I still couldn’t breath! What was he about to say? This can’t be good. He then finished with “Out of the 4 tested, 3 are Normal/Balanced Embryos”. At this point I was jumping up and down screaming. Since we had the PGS done the gender of the embryos is shown on the test results. Of course I had to ask. All 3 of the embryos were ……GIRLS!

-Calynn R.