Avery's 1st Birthday 3.13.11

A little over a week has passed since Avery's birthday and the celebration we had for her. I wanted to post sooner, but I really think the weekend surrounding the one year anniversary of her death and her birth really took a lot out of me. Recalling moment by moment happenings of those days in my last few entries was very emotional for me. So why do it? Well, I relive those days all the time still, just never in that much detail. And my biggest reason is because I don't want to forget one moment, and I don't want others to forget. When a mother goes through something like this, recognition and remembrance are the biggest things. They're so important. I still feel like there are people out there who know me, who still have no realization of how monumental the death of my baby is in my life. I still have "friends" who have yet to even acknowledge that she died. And I know there are people out there who believe that if you haven't spent time with your child on this earth, there should be nothing to mourn if they should leave before birth. Definitely not true. Maybe that's why I do this, why I spill it all here. I want people to know and to understand what Avery means to us, and what she will always mean to us... new pregnancy or not.

Without further ado, here is Avery's 1st birthday...

We all met at the cemetery at 3:00pm. The first thing we did was decorate Avery's spot. She got fresh flowers for the first time; she usually has fake ones. Daniel picked out the little caterpillar. We tied a 'Happy Birthday' balloon to her vase. The roses were from Daniel's family.

We reflected on what the day meant, my family and Daniel's, together just like we were a year ago.

Then it was time for the balloon release. The balloons were supposed to be pink and purple, but apparently, balloons in the 'purple' bin are blue. Oh well.

Seven balloons for the seven hours we spent with Avery the day she was born. For some reason, I had a hard time letting them go. I hesitated a little.

They stayed together for a little while, flying up so fast.

I started to cry, watching them float away. I was thinking about how this is not the birthday Avery should have been having. She should have balloons to bat around and we should be at home celebrating with her. We all watched the balloons until we couldn't see them anymore.

We spent a little more time at the cemetery, about an hour total, before we headed back to my parents' house for dinner. This is not the family portrait I had in mind for my daughter's first birthday.

My parents got us a little gift, complete with beautiful butterfly magnet attached. It was nice to get a present, but I wish there had been a stack of presents for a one year old to tear into.

They got us a Willow Tree figure. I love Willow Tree. I always wanted this one when I was pregnant with Avery. Now I'm glad I have it with this baby. But regardless of which pregnancy it symbolizes, this is my favorite way to be... By Daniel's side, carrying our sweet baby.

After dinner, we had cake. Daniel and I ordered this one from Publix (supermarket for those who don't have them). They did an amazing job. Better than we even imagined. 'Happy 1st Birthday in Heaven, Avery.' No singing, no candles. Just cake.

And it even came with the free smash cake since it was a first birthday. But of course Avery didn't get to smash it and make a mess out of herself. I wish she had. In fact, we still haven't brought ourselves to eat her little cake. It's still sitting in its container on my kitchen counter. Untouched. Unsmashed by chubby one year old hands.

Avery's birthday was a bit of a rough day for us, remembering how the day with her had gone. Her birth. Saying goodbye. Handing her little body off forever. It's a very hard thing to go through. We miss her everyday. Life will always be incomplete without her. It won't matter how much time goes by. But we are very glad to know where she is. Where the birthday parties are worlds greater than they could ever be here. And we will see her again.

March 13th - Bittersweet birth day

Today is Avery's first birthday. But there are no presents. No streamers. No candles. No girly plates and napkins. No little friends to come and play. No gathering laughing extended family. Because a year ago today, Avery was stillborn, coming into this world but already gone.

Of course, I remember every part of this long, heart-branding day. And of course, I'm going to share it here. It was Saturday. I'd been in the hospital since 6:30pm the previous evening. I had slept off and on through the night but awoke groggily before dawn. The nurse came in to check on me and see how I was progressing. She told me I was almost there and pulled the covers back over me. Immediately, I felt something. Not to be too graphic, but I could feel something sliding out. I told the nurse and she seemed surprised since she had just checked me. Sure enough, there was my baby girl, being born right there, all by herself at 5:05 am. I felt no pain physically. My sweet girl didn't hurt me at all.

By the time she was out, the midwife on call from my doctor's office came in. Avery had been born in the amniotic sac. At first I was alarmed because it made her look deformed and abnormal. The midwife cut it off of her and then let Daniel cut the umbilical cord, my mom at my side taking pictures for us. They wrapped our baby in a towel and handed her to me. I was crying, seeing her for the first time. She was perfect. Perfectly formed. Perfectly developed. Just small. Her body was a reddish color because she hadn't developed enough body fat to keep her from looking somewhat translucent. She weighed only 8.2 ounces and was just 8 1/4 inches long. She was only half the size she should have been for her age. But all the right developments were there up to 25 weeks.

I had to hand her off to Daniel so I could deliver the placenta. My labor stopped and I had a hard time with it but finally it was done. I actually got to see it. The midwife showed me how bad it looked, holes in it. At this point we had no idea why things had gone so wrong.

After Daniel spent some alone time with Avery on the couch, he brought her back over to. We marveled at her. Devastated and delighted at the same time. She looked like Daniel. She had no hair. It didn't take long for her peach fuzz to fall out. She had the cutest little round nose and the sweetest little lips. I looked into her tiny mouth and saw her little tongue and her gums. She was so intricate. In a way, it hurt more that she was so perfect. Because she was gone. One of the nurses helped me wrap Avery in the blanket that one of the nurses had given me the night before. She brought in several preemie hats and even the smallest was too big and had to be folded a few times to fit her. It was pink.

It seemed like seconds later that the rest of my family and Daniel's family arrived. For a while, we passed Avery around, everyone taking a turn meeting her and holding her. She was so tiny in our brothers' and fathers' big hands. It amazed me how little she was.

Daniel and I took took turns taking pictures of her as we spent our time together. Hours passed but it didn't feel like it at all. Looking back on the day, it feels like minutes. A nurse came and took her out of the room for a little while to do her hand and foot prints and for her to get her hospital photos taken. They turned out awful, by the way. They did a wonderful job of making her look like a dead baby. I didn't appreciate that the nurse had written "Demise" on the order form to indicate that my photos would be free. Thanks. It was bad enough already. I am very disappointed in the hospital, that they didn't know to offer me the services of Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep, an organization who comes out to photograph babies who have passed. What makes me more mad is that I already knew about them but in my grief, they did not come to mind. I don't think that was my job. Oh well though. No use in regrets. At least we have photos of her.

I was alarmed when Avery was returned to us. She looked a lot different since she'd been with us last. Her body was starting to show the signs of death and deterioration. It was very heartbreaking. I took her back into my arms, savoring and memorizing her. I wished it could last forever. I played with her little hands and feet, kissing them. I kissed her cheeks and her little lips. The thing I remember most is how cold she was. Her body was so limp and clammy, almost sticky in my hands. My instincts were to warm her, even placing her against my bare chest when I peeled part of my gown away. But nothing could help her. Nothing could fix my baby. After all, she wasn't even with us, though we were with her.

Toward the end, everyone left the room, leaving Daniel and me alone with our daughter. We were crying again, looking her over and loving on her. I looked at Daniel and said, "What happened to our little girl?" He looked back at me silently, but saying so much with his teary eyes. We took a few more photos of her until we realized we could no longer. Her skin was starting to peel and her color had changed. She looked so terrible, so devastatingly gone. When the camera was put down, we knew it was time to say goodbye to her. It wouldn't be fair to keep her longer. Plus, we couldn't bear to see her get much worse.

Our families returned and we told them it was time. They each said their goodbyes to her and then Daniel pressed the call button for the nurse. I hated hearing him tell her that we were ready to have our baby taken. It was so awful. So sad. So painful. And then, by God's perfect timing, our pastor, who is so dear to hearts, just happened to walk in the door. Had he been just two minutes later, Avery would have been gone. Pastor John was very broken for us. He led us in a beautiful prayer for Avery and for our healing. I cannot tell you what he said. I was staring down at my baby for the last moments, taking her in the best I could. I dreaded the end of the prayer because then I knew the nurse beside me would be taking her away.

At the 'amen' Daniel and I gave Avery her last kisses and told her we loved her. With everything in me, I forced myself to hand my baby to the nurse, knowing I would never feel her again. Never see her face again. Not here. The nurse placed her in the bassinet cart and to my horror, pulled a sheet over her, treating her like a dead body instead of our beloved baby, while she wheeled her out of the room, out of sight. I didn't get to take one last look at her. Then she was gone and we just broke down. All that was left were the stains of her leaked body fluids on my hands and my gown, and the deep agonizing gashes in my heart.

We all stayed in the room for another hour or so. I felt so tired but I could not sleep. My favorite nurse, Daniele, came in and sat in my bed with me, looking through our camera at all the photos of Avery. My aunt and two cousins came to visit. Finally we decided it was time to leave. I was not obligated to stay though I'd given birth just hours before.

I changed out of my gown, which I stashed in my bag since it had Avery's fluids on it and it smelled like her. When it was time to go, the nurse who'd taken Avery away returned. She gave me a sheet of paper with instructions on how to take care of myself and my new baby. The only thing that applied to me was the bleeding. I was angry and pained to read the first line of the sheet: "Congratulations of the birth of your new baby!" Wow. Thanks a lot. Rub it in. Really. She was nice, but her sensitivity to this very delicate situation was replaced with ignorance.

It was time to go. It felt strange to leave my room and go back out to the real world. It felt so strange. We walked down the long hall to the lobby and all I could think about was how empty my arms were. I was that mother that no one wants to be, that horror story that people hear about. The one that leaves the hospital empty-handed. It hurt. It ached. To put it lightly.

We spent seven hours in that room with Avery. Just seven. Most people get to spend a lifetime with their children, watching them grow and learn. First smiles and steps. Kindergarten, birthday parties, toys in the house, kid tunes in the car, child-proofed house, bedtime stories... The list is endless. An entire life with a child is not long enough... and all we got was seven hours. Seven hours filled with devastation and holding the shell of your child. And constantly I am forced to be bitter by the parents around me who take their children for granted, or those who take something as simple as their child's shots to make a huge fuss over. I wish Avery's biggest pain was a prick in the thighs. I wish I could hear her cry. But my baby faced death and lost. She may have suffered. Her life was taken from her before she even got to live. I still feel like people don't understand the magnitude of what happened to us and our baby. It laces every part of who I am. It has changed the way I think and the quality of life. She will always be missing. I will always know my little girl is absent, and will always wonder if people even notice.

So today is Avery's birthday. I know if she were given the choice, she would never want to come back here. Heaven is that amazing and I believe it. We will go to the cemetery in about an hour with my family and Daniel's and we'll decorate her spot with fresh flowers and we'll release seven balloons. One balloon for each hour that we got to spend with her. Seven hours. Just seven.

Happy birthday, my precious girl. I miss you more than words can say and I love you so much. I always will. Wish you were here. <3

March 12th - The day of waiting and induction

Today, last year, was another hard day. It was the day between the knowledge of death and the day of birth. We started off this day very weary and emotionally broken. I had not slept. We had to be at my doctor's office to meet with my OB early, around 9:00am if I remember right. (Times are the only trouble I have in my memory of these days. I recall the events perfectly, but minutes and hours melt together and I couldn't tell you what time many things occurred.)

It was very painful to sit in my doctor's office, waiting. The place where I had just been only three days before for a routine visit was now a place of torment. Pregnant women everywhere, while my baby lay dead inside of my womb. Of course, the office would have to be busy today. Finally, I was called back and Daniel and I followed the nurse to a room where we sat and waited for the doctor.

She was very kind to us and was visibly broken for us. She said she went through my chart over and over again to see if there was something she had missed but could not figure out why our baby had died. I could tell this was something that bothered her, that she felt she had failed us as a doctor. I didn't feel this was her fault though. According to ultrasound techs (at a separate facility) Avery was doing just fine.

We decided to go through with inducing and the nurse's assistant got on the phone with the labor and delivery department at the hospital just around the corner to set up a time. The first available delivery suite wouldn't be ready for me until 6:30 that evening. A long day of waiting. Waiting for the most bittersweet moments a person could possibly experience. The birth of a dead child.

We went back to my parents' house since they live no more than five minutes from the hospital. We took our places on the couch where we had sat all the day before and just cried and shared our thoughts. I broke down over and over again, thinking of all the things I had lost. First smiles, first laughs, first crawls, first steps, first words... So many things that some take for granted as just being typical life. Family frequently called my dad to see how we were doing. I couldn't bear to talk to anyone.

Then my dad was on the phone with his friend, who owns a funeral home. He would be the one to come and pick Avery up from the hospital. He wanted to know what our preferences were for the funeral. We had to pick what color her casket would be. (We chose white.) And then, he needed to know her name for the obituary.

At this point, we hadn't chosen a definite name for our little girl. Only two weeks before, at our last ultrasound, we were given an '80-90% chance' that she was a girl. Up until this point, we'd been considering Sawyer for her, but hadn't made it definite since I was afraid others would think it was too boyish. So when thinking about our sweet little girl, Sawyer just didn't fit anymore. I thought through my mental list of favorite names, back to the one we loved originally. I started to cry when I thought of it. "I want to name her Avery," I told Daniel. He immediately agreed. We decided to give her my name as her middle name, as a way to have a piece of me with her. Avery Nicole. We had just named our baby.

The day went on. So much crying. So much agony. Awaiting what was to come that evening. I hadn't eaten in almost two days. The thought of doing so made me so incredibly sad, thinking about how Avery used to share my food with me and now she no longer would. Regardless, I forced myself to eat half of a bagel, figuring I may need some energy for that night. Who knows how much pushing and labor I may have to go through. My attempt failed, however, because I threw it up almost immediately.

Suddenly, it was somehow time for us to go to the hospital. My parents drove us there and my brothers and Daniel's family would be meeting us a bit later. I had my mom check in for me and tell the front desk why I was there, but even she could barely get through the words. My amazing nurse, Daniele, appeared and called me to her side to show me to my room. She put her arm so lovingly around me and I just leaned against her and started sobbing once again. She knew exactly what I was going through. Not too many years ago, she had a baby girl who died shortly after birth. It felt nice to have someone there who understood this pain.

In my room, I had to change into a gown. I went into the bathroom and just started crying all over again. I had always dreamed of coming to one of these rooms to have my own baby, instead of just being here to visit everyone else's. Finally, I was here to deliver my baby, but it was all wrong. So wrong. She would not be coming home with us like everyone else's has. This was not the happy moment it was supposed to be, the excitement of bringing a crying chubby pink baby into the world, our eyes about to meet for the first time. No one would bring 'It's A Girl!' balloons or stuffed animals. No one was celebrating her life... just mourning her death before she was even here. When I think back on these horrific moments, I feel so insulted by some of the women who complain at the end of their pregnancy, who are upset that their baby hasn't come when they wanted them to, acting like it's a huge cross to bear. I understand that one could become impatient since it's uncomfortable to be that large and that pregnant, but there's a difference between being uncomfortable and being ungrateful. And also the people who sympathize with the ingrates and act as if the woman is enduring something terrible by having to wait longer. Really? If you are going to be pushing out a living child that you get to take home and watch grow up, then you deserve no pity. Go through labor to deliver a dead baby and leave the hospital empty-handed and then see how 'miserable' you feel. End of rant.

Once in bed, I'd been given the medication to begin inducing labor, which was administered in a very uncomfortable and violating manner (that I will not speak of) every three hours. It was probably about 7pm at this time. Daniele stayed with me even after her shift ended. She told us the story of her baby girl and even brought some humor into the room. I actually smiled. I felt guilty at first, but realized how amazing it felt to be distracted enough to show positive emotions. Another nurse, who'd lost a son due to preterm labor, came in. She had been one of the nurses who had tried to find Avery's heartbeat the day before. She brought in a crocheted blanket and matching hat for Avery to wear when she was born. I remember thinking that the hat looked so tiny and there was no way she was going to be that small, not according to her gestational age. I would find out later that that same hat would be much too big and we'd end up with an even smaller one.

Soon, my brothers, and Daniel's parents and siblings had arrived, followed by my aunt and uncle. Everyone just sat around, some trying to lighten the mood. I could hear a brand new baby just on the other side of the wall, crying. Every time I heard that little one, tears poured down my face. I knew my little one would never cry. She would come silently into this world, just as silently as she left it.

Every hour I had to get up to use the restroom. Every time I'd drag my IV pole inside and shut the door, all the emotions would flood in all over again. Maybe it was being alone that did it. But I would look at myself in the mirror, hold my belly and just hate and dread everything. I got extremely upset when I began bleeding. Pregnant women aren't supposed to bleed. But technically I wasn't pregnant anymore. This medication was taking my baby away from me. She wasn't supposed to be gone. Each time I exited the bathroom, my eyes fell upon the the little, wheeled hospital bed that the babies are supposed to sleep in. Seeing that pierced my heart every time. I knew my baby would not be using that. In fact, it would only be used to wheel her out of the room for the last time. Thankfully, I couldn't see it from my bed.

Hours passed and I could feel my contractions. They got more and more painful as the time went on. I wanted to brave them without any pain medication for as long as possible. I was allowed to have an epidural if I chose, but I knew I didn't want that. Not this time. I'd save that for a bigger baby, I thought. I remember thinking that I wanted to feel the pain. I wanted to hurt for Avery. I had no idea if she suffered but if she had at all, then I wanted to suffer some too. I waited almost seven hours before I finally asked for pain medication. I waited until they hurt bad enough to make me cry. I could no longer be distracted from why I was here.

By this time it was 1:30am. My nurse gave me some pain medicine and sleeping pills so I could finally get some rest. It had been a while since I'd slept. All of my family, except Daniel and my mom left for the night. I felt so tired but even with the drugs, my mind kept working. I wondered when Avery would finally come and what she would look like. I was so afraid of how much it would hurt to see her and so quickly say goodbye. Trading a lifetime with her for just a few hours. Eventually, I fell asleep, but it was definitely not peaceful.

March 11th - The hardest day

Today, a year ago, our whole world came crashing down. Last night, a year ago, I had the strangest feeling that something was wrong. Heart palpitations all evening. Worry. Out of nowhere, really. Then, it all escalated into tears and a small panic attack. I believe in my heart that that's when our sweet girl was leaving us for Heaven. My body and my heart knew. But my mind wouldn't until the following day.

It was Thursday, March 11, 2010... I had called my mom and told her my concerns. She thought it would be best to go to labor and delivery at the hospital just for peace of mind. After all, we did have a date later to see Dear John at the movies together. So Daniel and I went. I felt kind of silly, assuming I didn't know what I was talking about since this was my first baby. But I needed to hear that Avery was fine and I didn't care if they thought I was paranoid.

After an agonizing wait, which was probably not half as long as it felt, they called us back and hooked me up to a fetal monitor. Well, they tried to. They couldn't pick up a heartbeat and decided to go with a regular fetal doppler. Three different nurses tried their hand at it. None of them said anything but I could see it in their faces that this was not good. Plus I knew Avery. In the doctor's office, her heartbeat was always found so quickly. Still, I refused to entertain the thought that she was gone. I couldn't handle that.

They sent me over to ultrasound and I got on the table, actually feeling a little excited to see our baby on the screen. A part of me was still hoping that the doppler issue was a fluke and that the ultrasound would show us a healthy beautiful girl. But she was so still. She looked so cloudy, faded. Two different techs looked for a heartbeat. I could see the flatline across the screen as they typed 'NO FHT.' No fetal heart tone. They weren't allowed to tell me Avery was gone, but I knew it. The techs left Daniel and I alone for a moment and I turned to him and finally beginning to cry, I said, "I'm going to have to deliver her." His eyes welled up, "No," he answered, still not wanting to believe it.
The tech returned and told me to go to the restroom. I remember it so perfectly. I felt like I was in a dream. I closed the bathroom door behind me and looked at myself in the mirror. I whispered, "This is the worst day of my life." Then I added, "My baby is dead." That's when I started crying more. To say it, to admit it... I knew it was true.

They took us back to OB and had us wait in an empty delivery suite. I looked around the room, knowing I wouldn't be coming to one of these rooms with joy. I would come back here to say goodbye. In a few moments, a nurse, Daniele, entered the room. Her face said everything. I was already crying. She came right up to me, knelt down in front of me and just pulled me to her. That is when I lost it, sobbing and sobbing. And that's when she finally said it. She told me 'the baby is gone.' I really don't think I've ever cried that hard before or since. It was truly the most devastating and painful moment of my life.

Daniele and another nurse, Vicki, told us our options. We could stay and I could be induced to deliver right then. Or I could go home, meet with my doctor in the morning and decide when to come back. It was all too much, too soon. We decided to come back the following day. I couldn't part with our sweet girl just yet. The nurses left the room for a moment and Daniel called the pizza place he delivered for at that time to tell them he wouldn't make it in that night. I started crying all over again when I heard him tell his boss, "I just found out my baby died." It hurt me so much to hear him say that. I hated that he was hurting so much. But Avery is something we share together.

One of my biggest memories from that day is when I called my mom. I dreaded her answering because I knew I was about to shatter her world too. "Mom... she's dead," was all I could manage to say through my tears. "No, don't tell me that," she answered, immediately crying. I don't remember much else from our conversation, but I know I told her they couldn't find a heartbeat and the ultrasound confirmed she was gone. I'm sure I told her we decided to come back 'tomorrow' to induce and deliver. My father was appalled that I had to deliver a dead baby. But that was the reality of it.

After we left the hospital, we went straight to my parents' house. My parents and two of my brothers met us at the door. I broke down all over again when I saw them and they each hugged me. It all just felt so awful. More than awful. There is no word for it.
We spent the rest of the day and evening sitting in the living room. I cried all day and night, wishing I could be consoled. I just kept thinking about how my sweet little baby was dead inside of me. I hated it so much. I felt so much dread and sadness. I was afraid of what the next day would bring. So much pain. So much devastation.

I'll never forget how my dad wanted to try anything he could to help me. He ran out and got me a liter of Mountain Dew, my favorite drink of all time, and Doritos and a Butterfinger, which are a couple other favorites. I couldn't bear to eat, but I did allow myself to have the soda. I stayed away from caffeine through my pregnancy so it was nice to have it. Little good my caffeine avoidance had done.

That night, when Daniel and I finally got home, we got into bed. We cried for a while, holding each other so miserably. It was pretty late. Daniel is blessed to be able to fall asleep easily no matter what. I, on the other hand, was awake all night. I cried and cried. I pictured how the next day would go and what it might be like to see our baby. How would she look? Would it be disturbing? Would she look normal? Would she look beautiful and perfect? So many questions and worry. But most of all I was just afraid of how much it would hurt my heart to go through that. The labor to deliver a child is worth it, but to deliver a baby who is not coming home with you is a like a kick in the face.

Of all the days surrounding Avery's death and birth, this day was the hardest. Finding out that the baby I had waited my whole life to have was gone, was really and truly the very worst thing that I have ever been through. Sometimes I still cannot believe that this happened to us and that our sweet little girl is not here. Today is hard for me, reliving the day and remembering exactly how I felt to know our baby died. I will never forget that.

10 days

Ten more days until Avery's first birthday. If things had gone the way they were supposed to, Avery would be eight months old. We wouldn't be planning her birthday for another four months. But we are... Only it's not a party. And it's not the kind of birthday we want it to be. It's the rememberance that she lived and she was born, but she doesn't live anymore.

Daniel and I visited the cemetery today. I still read her stone over and over and I find myself in disbelief that this is our life. When I step back and look at my world, I can't believe that this has happened to us. Even a year later it still just feels so wrong and so unfair. And wow... I can't believe it's been a year.

This week last year, we celebrated two of my brothers' birthdays. Sam's is the 1st of March and Shaun's is the 4th. We found out Avery was gone on the 11th. I remember thinking back to this week and wishing we could go back. It was the last normal week of our lives. When Avery was still here. And now, a year later, this week of brotherly birthdays just brings me back.

It does soften the blow to be pregnant again. I have that hope back. My arms aren't just empty. But Avery's absence still hurts and I still miss her every second.

All coming back

Before I was pregnant again, Avery's life felt more like a dream. Like something surreal that may or may not have actually happened. The attachment to her life was there. The love for her life was there. But the reality of how it actually felt to have Avery alive felt so distant and foggy. Sadly, her death felt so much more real. More tangible. Because it's all we had left.

But now... Being pregnant with Avery's little brother or sister brings me back to what it was like to be pregnant before. No, I don't have some kind of confusion where I feel like Avery has come back or that I have regressed to my first pregnancy. I am very aware of my two separate children, and I don't have a problem differentiating between the two. But it's been almost a year since Avery died. And it was so hard to remember even remotely what it was like to carry life when I was surrounded with death.

The nausea. The exhaustion. The fear of first trimester miscarriage. Feeling nervous over every tiny pain. I did all that with Avery too. So afraid I could lose her. I never thought I actually would after I got through to that second trimester into the so-called "safe zone." All that to say that I remember more clearly now how it felt to have Avery here with me and to think that she was going to be here with us one day. That her arrival would be marked with joy instead of marred with devastation.

Being pregnant again makes me miss Avery more. She should be here to meet her coming sibling. In all actuality, this baby would not be on the way if Avery was here. Maybe that's part of the master plan. I know Avery gave her life to teach us what is wrong with my body so none of her other siblings would have to die for nothing. Maybe there's a huge purpose for this new baby. I don't know. I just know that everything is in God's hands. And I'm grateful that it's not in mine.

New blog

I started a new blog for my pregnancy with Avery's little brother or sister. If you are interested in reading, come on over. :)