Dear Analin,
I thought I had learned a long time ago to keep my wishes simple and attainable. Now, to me, attainable is still pretty high. For example, it was always okay to wish to marry a prince as they exist in the world, but wishing for a telepathic unicorn was probably beyond a wish's scope.
Yet, there I was last night, the clasp of your necklace hanging in front. As I moved it to the back, I wished for you.
11:11 on the clock. I wish for you.
Twinkle, twinkle little star.
I always alter my wish to the more sensible side. I wish you are happy where you are and your brothers are happy here. That they grow healthy and live long and that I get to see it.
It always starts with you.
Now here we are at Thanksgiving, the day to be thankful for those wishes that have come true, and for the possibility that more will. I am, and I do, but I miss you so much. Today a bit of that hurt is leaking out.
The funny part is, just yesterday I marveled at how well we were doing. We have our moments, but we are still living life and enjoying each stage. Joshua is doing amazing in school. Sebastian is basically potty training himself. You would be toddling around, but you aren't and that has to be okay. Sometimes it is. Sometimes, a bit of the hurt leaks out.
Just a little bit. The pain is bigger than a lifetime, after all. But we need that release, that gradual leak when it gets too big to handle. Like on birthdays and holidays and random, slap in the face, I-wish-you-were-here days.
I was slapped in the face today. I'm not sure why I'm surprised. Holidays are pinpointed moments, time where family comes together. Of course it's more obvious on these days who is missing. Yet, I was surprised. Because yesterday, I was a super woman and happy and excited for the holiday and thrilled our house is already decorated and sparkling with lights and glitter.
Today I'm just a girl with a broken heart.
One day. One day, my sweet, I'll sit down and write to you about excitement and what we would have done with your future in a bittersweet glow. Maybe. I hope so.
Today I am thankful I got to know you. I am thankful your big brothers talk about and love you. I am thankful your daddy knows when to sit beside me and when to let me sit by myself in the quiet. I am thankful for the joy of the holidays and the excitement I'm sure will return.
And I will wish. It doesn't matter that this wish is impossible. Sometimes, wishes should be out of reach so we learn to reach higher. I am thankful for that, as well.
I love you, beautiful girl.
Mommy.
Thursday, November 27, 2014
Monday, November 3, 2014
Post-Loss Infertility
Dear Analin,
Your biggest brother wants another baby he can take care of. Sebastian is almost 3 and is getting self-sufficient and it's causing a bit of a power struggle between the two of them.
To be honest, Daddy and I have been ready to try for another baby for a few months. We are healthier than we've ever been in our lives - a gift from you. Since we lost you we've been eating better and exercising more, if not regularly.
After losing you I started reading a lot of books on female health in particular. I've learned a lot - enough that I'm upset and frustrated I didn't know this information before now. Because, as it turns out, losing you has resulted in a side effect that is relatively common to women after they lost a pregnancy.
I have post-loss infertility. There is a surprising lack of information on this type of infertility when you look at how often different support groups talk about it. Then again, it's probably not all that surprising for many reasons, such as it's women's health, it's a 'secret' affliction, there's no pill to fix it, so there's no reason to pay attention to it. In fact, the information I've been able to gather about it has been more from personal anecdotes than any medical sources.
What I found suggests post-loss infertility appears differently in different women for reasons no one really knows, though I'm sure emotional health has something to do with it. For me, my luteal phase is not long enough or strong enough. That is to say, I may release an egg, it may be fertilized, but I'm not making enough of the hormone to allow said egg to implant for long, if at all. So right now there can be no baby, no matter how hard we try or wish for one.
Before, with you and your brothers, getting pregnant was so easy. Yet another change we were not prepared for. One that fills each month with a roller coaster we never thought we would be on.
I'm working on fixing it through my diet and herbs and other supplements. We aren't to the point of seeking infertility help yet. One of the things I've learned in the last year is how to chart my cycles, and the charts tell me my luteal phase is improving. There's no way to tell how long that will take. There's no reason to go to the doctor if my body is fixing itself in it's own way.
There will be fear and worry, more than we probably expect. But boy, your daddy and I are ready to give you a little sibling, to teach them about you as they grow, to fill our family with more love than loss. To hopefully find a physical healing apart from the emotional one, another step on our grief journey.
No one will ever replace you. You are our first daughter, our third baby, the fantastic girl we barely got to meet. Maybe, one day, more letters will fill this blog - letters from big brothers and little siblings yet to come.
One can hope.
I love you so much, sweetheart.
Mommy.
Your biggest brother wants another baby he can take care of. Sebastian is almost 3 and is getting self-sufficient and it's causing a bit of a power struggle between the two of them.
To be honest, Daddy and I have been ready to try for another baby for a few months. We are healthier than we've ever been in our lives - a gift from you. Since we lost you we've been eating better and exercising more, if not regularly.
After losing you I started reading a lot of books on female health in particular. I've learned a lot - enough that I'm upset and frustrated I didn't know this information before now. Because, as it turns out, losing you has resulted in a side effect that is relatively common to women after they lost a pregnancy.
I have post-loss infertility. There is a surprising lack of information on this type of infertility when you look at how often different support groups talk about it. Then again, it's probably not all that surprising for many reasons, such as it's women's health, it's a 'secret' affliction, there's no pill to fix it, so there's no reason to pay attention to it. In fact, the information I've been able to gather about it has been more from personal anecdotes than any medical sources.
What I found suggests post-loss infertility appears differently in different women for reasons no one really knows, though I'm sure emotional health has something to do with it. For me, my luteal phase is not long enough or strong enough. That is to say, I may release an egg, it may be fertilized, but I'm not making enough of the hormone to allow said egg to implant for long, if at all. So right now there can be no baby, no matter how hard we try or wish for one.
Before, with you and your brothers, getting pregnant was so easy. Yet another change we were not prepared for. One that fills each month with a roller coaster we never thought we would be on.
I'm working on fixing it through my diet and herbs and other supplements. We aren't to the point of seeking infertility help yet. One of the things I've learned in the last year is how to chart my cycles, and the charts tell me my luteal phase is improving. There's no way to tell how long that will take. There's no reason to go to the doctor if my body is fixing itself in it's own way.
There will be fear and worry, more than we probably expect. But boy, your daddy and I are ready to give you a little sibling, to teach them about you as they grow, to fill our family with more love than loss. To hopefully find a physical healing apart from the emotional one, another step on our grief journey.
No one will ever replace you. You are our first daughter, our third baby, the fantastic girl we barely got to meet. Maybe, one day, more letters will fill this blog - letters from big brothers and little siblings yet to come.
One can hope.
I love you so much, sweetheart.
Mommy.
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