Pocket.

Whenever anyone asks me how many children Kit and I want, I always respond with “as many as the good Lord sees fit to give us.” In our hearts, we’ve both always thought four would be a good number for us. So one morning in early January when I took a pregnancy test that instantly turned positive, we were both overjoyed. Although I had a history of three prior pregnancy losses, I knew in my heart that this one was special. I refused to give in to the negative and anxious thoughts that tried to sneak in. I prayed in agreement with God that this little person was created on purpose for a purpose and I knew that He had mighty plans for this sweet one.

Because of my history, I covered this baby with prayer, and repeated positive affirmations for myself. I repeatedly told myself “it is safe for me to be pregnant.” I cleaned up my diet and started eating better than I probably ever have before, flooding my body with protein and nourishing foods to give this baby the best possible chance to survive.

When we told our three children that they were going to have a new brother or sister, their reactions were truly magical. I couldn’t believe how excited they all were and conversations about the baby that they affectionately dubbed, “Pocket,” and what life would be like once he or she arrived occurred multiple times each day. We discussed how we would rearrange the rooms, what the baby would do, and even how we would configure the carseats so everyone would fit in my mama-mobile. Their joy was contagious and they told everyone they saw about their new sibling.

Despite my anxiety, I reassured myself that all was well because I felt good. I had no cramping or bleeding, but I did have nausea, sleeplessness, food aversions, and other pregnancy symptoms. Everything was going great.

In February, I had my first ultrasound. We arranged childcare for our youngest daughter Luna so that Kit could come with me and see his little one for the first time. The ultrasound tech placed the wand on my abdomen and began asking me a lot of questions about how far along I was, how sure I was about my dates, my prior pregnancies, and so forth. Then she said, “this is where we should be able to see the heartbeat, but I’m not seeing anything.” She explained that baby was measuring small and that it appeared that there had been a heartbeat but that it had stopped several days prior. I asked her if there was any chance at all, and she said “No, I don’t think so.”

Sobbing, we were escorted to a private room to await the midwife. When she came in, she explained that because I hadn’t had any pain or bleeding and because we wanted to be 100% certain, the best thing to do was to wait and come back for a repeat ultrasound in a week. We went home that day completely devastated, and fully convinced that our baby was gone. The following week was somewhat of a blur, but over the course of the week I slowly began to convince myself that we would get a miracle and that when we went back the following week there would somehow be a heartbeat. We would be a testament to the power of faith.

At the next appointment, our ultrasound tech gently explained everything that she saw as she carefully measured and examined our small, still baby. No growth. No heartbeat. No hope. We discussed our options and plan with the doctor, and went home to grieve.

On February 15, 2022, our beloved Pocket, a baby girl named Celia, was born via D&C surgery. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, and I am completely devastated. I have so many questions that I know I’ll never get the answers to on this side of glory. I don’t understand why this keeps happening to us. Genetic testing confirmed that Celia had Trisomy 13 and basically had no chance of survival. Is this what happened to our other babies? Will this happen again? So. Many. Questions.

For now I just cling to what I do know: I know God is good. I know He cares for me and hurts with me. And I know that we will see all our babies again one sweet day.