New Beginnings

Disclaimer: This post is very honest. The witty wife hasn't been feeling her wittiest.

In 2013, I was determined to keep a blog. We can all scroll down and see how that worked out. I decided in 2015, I was going to pick it up again. I had a lot of exciting things to share and I was eager to begin writing again.

The past year and half has been a whirlwind for the Tanners. We had a big move, I got a new job at a wonderful school, we purchased our first home, and then December 14th, 2014, we found out the best news of all: We were pregnant. Pregnant. Somehow, we were going to be parents. We were having a baby.

Over the moon.

I cannot pen the words to describe the nervous, giddy, euphoria we felt. We shared the news with our families over Christmas and New Years, and with close friends and co-workers soon after. How could we not? Baby Bean consumed my thoughts. We dreamed and planned about the upcoming months and years. We discussed nursery colors and baby clothes. Boy or girl? Blue eyes or brown? Blond or brunette? Strong-willed or easy going? Who will he/she grow up to be? Will he be like his daddy? Will she look like her mommy? Please, God, just let him/her be healthy!

January 15, 2015 was our first prenatal visit. We were scheduled for our first ultrasound. I was almost 11 weeks pregnant. I couldn't wait to have hubby get out his phone so we could make a video of Bean to send to our family. I couldn't wait to take my little printed out picture to work the next day.

The visit was perfect. Everything was looking great. Symptoms were all lining up on schedule. Cramping? Some. Sense of smell? Yikes. Nausea? Double yikes. Yes, that first trimester is a doozy, isn't it.

Then the ultrasound. When I saw the picture on the screen, I knew something was wrong. I know what a 10 week old baby should look like. Why did my baby look so little? Why was he just a little peanut? Maybe she actually needed to zoom in so we could see better? Why couldn't I hear the heartbeat? There was no heartbeat.

The doctor calmly told us that Bean looked more like a 6-7 week old, as she fruitlessly searched for the heartbeat that wasn't there. Was there any chance our dates were off?

I knew then and there. She didn't have to tell me. I've been charting for months. There is no way Bean could be only 6-7 weeks. The dates did not line up. I knew already in my heart that Baby Bean was gone.

We were scheduled for a follow-up ultrasound, but based on the my doctor's sympathetic pats and the nurses sad glances, I could tell they knew the same thing I feared.

I felt like a zombie in the clinic, but I broke down as soon as we got in the parking lot. Again, I'm not sure if I am able to put into words the crushing grief I felt then and feel now. My baby was gone. My baby had died.

Why?

I don't know. And I don't understand.

I don't have much to say about that weekend between ultrasounds. One of the hardest parts was I still felt SO pregnant. I was still so fatigued and constantly naseaous. But feeling pregnant when you know the pregnancy is not viable is heartbreaking: It is a cruel joke. The weekend was emotionally draining, but I am incredibly thankful for my wonderful husband and the solid foundation of our marriage. I know this hasn't been easy for him either. We both wanted Bean so much.

We talked. We cried. We prayed.

And then we cried some more.

At our ultrasound Tuesday, we had our fears confirmed, as we were sure we would. Baby Bean had indeed stopped developing. We had experienced a "missed miscarriage." I wasn't showing any signs of miscarrying naturally on my own, so we opted for the d & c. We were just in desperate need of closure for Bean. I took the week off work and had surgery Friday.

I went back to work yesterday. Physically, I am feeling good. My pregnancy symptoms have almost completely disappeared and my body is healing as it should. Emotionally, I bounce between acceptance, anger, and sorrow. I feel getting back into routine has been good, as throwing myself into work is a good distraction. I do know we are able to move on. This is simply another chapter in our life story and while I do not understand why it happened to us, I firmly believe it was for a reason. That does not mean that makes it all better.

I've decided the pain won't go away, but it will become tolerable. I am taking it day by day.

It's easy to say "It wasn't meant to be" or "It was God's will" or "It'll happen for you in time." While these may be true, these words are empty to a mom that will never hold her baby in her arms. I will never hear him laugh or cry. It doesn't seem fair, because it isn't.

I am thankful for salvation and the promise of heaven. I am thankful that I know our Bean was born into the arms of Jesus, where he never had to experience the fear or darkness of this world. I am thankful that Bean has 6 great-grandparents in heaven, who will hold him and love him until that someday when I will finally get to kiss his sweet face.

I will always remember my first child, my Bean, and cherish those precious weeks I had the privilege of carrying him. He was with us for only a moment, but is in our hearts forever.