So, I haven’t really outed myself to many people in my “real life” and don’t have much intention of doing so, so let’s hope they don’t still check here on an even semi-regular basis.

After the turmoil that was my late-abortion in May, I am now 13 weeks pregnant with a baby that so far, looks perfectly fine. I found out I was pregnant somewhat by surprise, actually. I hadn’t yet returned to a regular “cycle” postpartum, and had some odd stuff happening so I tested on a whim one morning while my husband slept off his night shift. I had been convinced it would be negative and when I looked back 4 minutes later there was a line.

You would think I would be happy, right? Well, unlike normal non-loss moms who see that pink line and think “Oh my god! I’m having a baby!” it looks more like this: “Holy fuck, what if this one dies too.” Cue hysterical tears, and me shaking like a crazy person crumpled on my bathroom floor.

I proceeded to take one of these tests everyday until I was 7 weeks pregnant. I’m not kidding. You could not convince me that I was pregnant. The scan in which we saw a blob and a beating heart solidified that there was in fact a baby in there.. but still, what if it dies?

At 11 weeks pregnant I went for a follow up with the geneticist at the high risk hospital I delivered at. She said there was a very high likelihood that my husband and I carried mutated genes for the disorder. Its incredibly rare, and there are only about 48 cases reported in medical literature in 28 families. So, not very well understood, and fuck me right? It could still be a fluke, sure, but she put our recurrence risk at about 12-15% (but it was 25% every time if we were in fact carriers- which could not be confirmed unless we had a recurrence). This is one week before the scan that would show us if our baby had normally developed and mobile limbs (and whether or not this baby would die, too).

I spent the next week convinced I’d go into another ultrasound and see a baby with fixed limbs and eerie, terrifying stillness. I hadn’t considered what I would do if the news was good. I got up on that table and just wanted to cry. I warned the tech the possibility was very real. As she scanned, she told me baby was moving around so it could take a couple minutes but not to panic. Wait, what? My baby is doing what? Moving?! I couldn’t believe it. When she turned the screen toward me and showed me a rolling, arm moving, back arching, leg kicking baby on that screen I exploded into tears. I hadn’t prepared for this but it felt so damn good. Baby’s neck measured great (was way too large with our angel) and baby had an already visible stomach (something our angel did not have). AND THEY WERE MOVING. She got my husband from the waiting room and when he walked in I said through tears “our baby moves!!!”

When we got to the clinic and confirmed that baby looked fabulous and it was time to live in healthy pregnancy world I couldn’t believe my luck. I will honestly stick this up there as one of the best days of my whole damn life. The one and only time I’ve ever sat 6 hours in the hospital and not been even a little bothered by it.

I now look at the ultrasound pictures everyday and try to remind myself “Your baby is fine. This is a different baby, different pregnancy.” My point is, this stuff is not for the faint of heart. I spent weeks battling my thoughts and wishing I could be the mom who was on pinterest gathering nursery ideas and parenting tips. Instead, I’m the mom who avoided all talk of pregnancy, corrected peoples “when the baby comes” to “if the baby comes” (for the select few that knew), and made plans for how we’d build our family if this baby died too. I did this all while trying to grieve the loss of my son.

Even though I know that this baby doesn’t have what our son had, I still think about the fact that there could still be something wrong at the anatomy scan. Most would think this is negative, but loss moms get it. I won’t purchase any big ticket items until after that scan. When baby is fine at that scan ill move on to terror about stillbirth. Its an absolutely terrifying way to live I will admit, but I’m willing to do what it takes to have the family I’ve dreamed of. Loss included.

Ill correct the whens to ifs, field questions about my pregnancy with awkward, short responses, live with incredible anxiety in the time leading up to each appointment, spend nights wondering if my baby is still alive inside of me, and feel guilty at every good scan for this baby because my son never even had a chance.

I really am starting to believe this baby may come home with us – but some days the “what if they die” takes over and thats okay. Ill keep plugging through and hold the hope that this baby will live.