Four Weeks

It has been four weeks since we we discovered that our baby is a little girl. We immediately began imagining our lives with "one of each", a little sister for Eli, just what we were hoping for. Within the hour, though, those dreams were shattered by the news of her multiple abnormalities, likely heralding a devastating diagnosis. By the end of the day we had been assured that this was a baby that would not make it - she probably had Trisomy 18 - and that if she somehow survived to term, she wouldn't live more than a few days. Within 3 days, we had a definitive diagnosis - worse than they had thought: Triploidy - carrying even narrower odds of survival to live birth.

Four weeks.

Each Friday feels like an ugly anniversary - another week gone by since our pregnancy took this dramatic turn. I try not to ruminate on it every Friday, and I'm generally pretty good at distracting myself, but today was tough. I'm beginning to feel like, as our planning and arranging and "doing" for her winds down, I'm getting worse at coping. Or maybe it's just that as my pregnancy progresses and I've spent more and more time bonding with her, the reality is growing more difficult to bear.

At 19 weeks when we first learned of Gracie's diagnosis, I hadn't really felt her move yet. I'd had such a busy semester that it was easy for me to sometimes forget that I was pregnant from time to time! And as I have described here before, I hadn't really "bonded" to her in a meaningful way. Now, at 23 weeks, I feel her move throughout every day. She is constantly reminding me of her presence. I have also gotten dramatically more uncomfortable, with random belly pains, Braxton-Hicks contractions, swollen legs, and that "crowded" feeling in my abdomen that I don't remember feeling with Eli until at least 35 weeks - more persistent reminders that I am, indeed, pregnant. Then there's the "obviousness" of my condition - my belly is only getting bigger - which brings on the comments from strangers with increasing frequency. She is always on my mind, which means that the reality of our situation is frequently bringing itself to the forefront of my thoughts.

"Our situation" in and of itself has also bonded me more strongly to her. I guess it's my protective instinct (which admittedly didn't kick in right away), but knowing that she is sick makes me feel that much more loving and compassionate and sympathetic toward her, much like you feel when your toddler has a fever and is feeling yucky. You want to snuggle them, care for them, "mother" them. I suspect that her diagnosis has made me even more attached, even more desperate to hold her and kiss her and make it all ok.

I'm so glad that I have come to this place of acceptance - at least an acceptance of her, which I didn't initially feel. But along with that acceptance has come an ever-growing bond to her and an exponentially inflating love, which is leading me exactly to where I initially didn't want to go. I didn't want to allow myself to really bond with her or to really love her. My own self-preservation instinct was working to protect me, I suppose. It didn't take long for my mothering instinct to win out over self-preservation, but now that it most decidedly has, I am left broken wide open, raw and vulnerable. We all are, as mothers, whether our children are in the womb or out in the world.

Four weeks in, I feel a deep ache growing inside of me. It's a kind of desperation. It's all becoming more real to me, as the reality becomes unavoidable and settles into my consciousness, and I can feel my "peacefulness" slowly being replaced by an unsettled feeling. I thought I had reached a certain level of comfort with all of this, but I'm growing less "comfortable" by the day. It's starting to hurt. A lot. It has always hurt, but I can feel the pain changing. Something big is coming. I think that maybe I'm about to go through a turning point in this grieving process - probably something necessary, but at the same time terrifying. At first I thought that these "bad feelings" I've been having were related to Gracie's condition, and that I was about to lose her (I've been checking for her heart beat with the doppler somewhat compulsively these past few days). But I just have this sense that she isn't going anywhere just yet. I'm beginning to believe that she's going to surprise us all. And it's not because I've necessarily been hoping for that - like I've said, I vacillate between different outcomes and what I think is most desirable or best for all involved. I just have the sense that she's sticking around. I could be completely wrong, but that's how I feel. I really think that all of this discomfort is related to my grieving process and not any kind of "sign" of impending doom.

For many reasons, I'm afraid. But I'm also ok with experiencing this process. I know that the only way to make it to the other side is to go through it - there's no going over, under, or around it. I also know that grieving for her is a big part of loving her, by virtue of the life that God has chosen for her. He has chosen to limit her time here with us, so being her mother means experiencing this painful process of simultaneously getting to know her, growing to love her deeply, and letting her go. That isn't supposed to happen all at once, but it's what we will have to do, and it's all we'll have. I've said it before, but it's an important reality of which I must often remind myself: This pregnancy, and maybe a few precious moments or hours after birth, are all we'll ever have. If I hid myself from it all, feared it, refused to embrace it and commit myself to experiencing her life in whatever ways I'm able, I would be missing out on the only opportunity I will ever have to be her mother. Just carrying her isn't enough, and if I settled for just giving her a warm place to live until she passed away, I know that I would come out of this experience with tremendous regret and a feeling of emptiness.

Four weeks in, I find myself on the cusp of... something. I'm not sure what. I just know that whatever is to come, it's all integral to the experience of being this sweet baby girl's mama, a gift that has changed my life and a blessing that I never would have understood until I experienced it. I really can't explain, from a practical standpoint, how I've come to feel this way about a child that I've never gotten to meet, but I couldn't possibly feel more sure that she is worth every ounce of pain.