Christian Michael

One of the issues that pains me the most with this second miscarriage is that I have nothing tangible to remind me of this baby.  This time there are no ultrasound photos.  My children have not (yet) drawn any pictures of him.  I haven't even had any physical pain.  With my first miscarriage I had about 24 hours of contractions.  This time, nothing.  I lost the baby too early for any of those experiences.

I'll admit the thought crossed my mind that it might be better to just pretend that the baby never existed.  I wouldn't have to be sad about losing him.  In a few months I wouldn't have to think about how far along into the pregnancy I would be.  I wouldn't have to be sad in January when my arms are still empty.  Fortunately, one of my doctor's wonderful nurses, did just that with one of her four miscarried babies.  She knew that I would be tempted to do the same and warned me that it is better to remember, honor, and grieve that baby.  If I don't do that now - and in lesser degrees for the rest of my life - the grief will manifest itself in other, less desirable ways at some point.

So I will do my best to grieve this baby's short life and to remember the few memories I have.  Once the miscarriage had been confirmed, Jon and I named the baby.  Christopher Michael was suggested, but we ultimately went with a somewhat more gender-neutral Christian Michael.  Perhaps someday I'll write about the challenges of choosing names for babies whose gender is unknown.

Had Christian lived, I would have shared details about the pregnancy and his birth with friends and family in far more detail than anyone would have wanted.  Having known about this pregnancy for only 1 day before suspecting that I was miscarrying, I don't have any of those stories to share.  God, in his infinite mercy, did gift us with one memory - a humorous pregnancy announcement.  Here's the story.  Bear with me, it's all I have.

I started suspecting I was pregnant on Sunday, April 26th.  I had been experiencing my usual pms headache on Friday and Saturday, so I had pretty much written off this cycle as a flop.  On Sunday, though, I had one symptom that had me wondering.  Monday morning is when the girls and I do all of the shopping for the week so I decided to venture into the pregnancy test aisle at Target.  Infertility has given me a stormy history with pregnancy tests and almost always buy them at the Dollar Tree so as not to waste as much money.  Unfortunately, Jocelyn can read and I didn't want her to ask questions about why I was buying a pregnancy test.  I thought I'd have better luck tossing one into the cart at Target undetected.  It was even easier than I thought as the end cap for that aisle was chock full of licensed character chapstick and body wash that held her interest.  After hopeful Julie and frugal Julie duked it out, I left the aisle with a box of pregnancy tests in my cart.  The $1.00 off coupon affixed to the box offered a compromise both sides of me could live with.

Once we returned home, I locked myself in the bathroom to take the test away from the prying eyes of a four year old who has little regard for the privacy of others.  Fortunately I'd selected the rapid response test that gives a result in one minute.  Sixty-one seconds after taking the test, Meredith began pounding on the door frantically.  She needed to wash her hands because she was worried she was going to miss the lunch I had not yet prepared.  Stunned by the faint positive result that appeared on the test strip, I let her in and hurried off to call my doctor's office.

Later that afternoon, I dropped the girls off at my sister-in-law's house and went to complete the necessary lab work and get a progesterone shot.  As I left the doctor's office, the nurse asked how I planned to share the news with Jon.  I hadn't given it any thought yet, but I figured I had a few hours to come up with something good.  I didn't do anything exciting with either of the girls and I was so shocked to be pregnant after 2 years of infertility last fall that I couldn't focus enough to think of a fun way to share the news.  But this time, I would prevail.  After all, I have a Pinterest account.  Pinterest solves every problem.....except for the ones it creates.  That's another topic for another day.

I stopped by my sister-in-law's house to pick the girls back up and ended up staying and chatting for awhile.  By the time I got home, I had about thirty minutes to consult Google and Pinterest for baby announcement ideas.  There wasn't time to create a dinner menu composed of "baby" food items.  Writing on my belly with lipstick seemed tacky  -- and impractical.  I've had two babies and I'm not skinny.  Writing on lumpy fat rolls would not be easy, nor would it likely be legible.  I quickly discarded several other ideas.  In desperation, I resorted to the "bun in the oven" cliche.  I had some hot cross buns leftover from Easter in the freezer.  I grabbed one and tossed it into the oven.

When Jon came home a few minutes later, I complained about how I didn't get anything done.  Being the ever-supportive husband (or maybe he wasn't really listening to me?), he told me that was okay.  After he wandered into the kitchen, I repeated my complaint and told him the oven was to blame.  That got his attention and he questioned why the oven was the cause of my laziness.  I told him to look inside.

He did and, after a beat, asked "Why is there a roll in the oven?"

"It's not a roll," I replied.

"Okay."

Silence.

"It's not a roll, it's a ........" I prompted.

"Umm," he thought.

"It's a hot.......cross............" I hinted broadly.

"Bun?"  Jon guessed.

"Yes, and it's in the oven."

I raised my eyebrows in encouragement for him to put it all together.

"A bun... in the.... oven," he whispered slowly.

The eyebrows went higher still.  "Say that again."

"A bun in the oven?"

"Yes.  I didn't get my work done because there's a bun in the oven!!"

"I don't get it," he said.

As it turns out, Jon was not familiar with that expression.  I scrambled to come up with a  Plan B so I wouldn't have to just blurt out the news.  I ran into the bedroom where I'd been hoarding Kohl's coupons and gift cards in hopes of replacing my collection of ratty T-shirts later than week.  I handed him the coupons and cards and told him he could have them because I wouldn't be able to use them.  He still looked confused, so I continued to explain that I couldn't use them because I can't buy clothes right now.

The lightbulb finally went off and we celebrated.  I, of course, had to ruin the moment a bit by reminding him that we shouldn't get too excited because this would probably end in miscarriage too.  As I've said before, I'm a realist.  Sometimes that trait really kills a fun moment.  Fortunately, we were too excited to linger on that for too long.

And that's the one fun memory I have of Christian Michael.  The next morning I woke up and noticed that the one symptom I had was significantly less noticeable.  I knew in my heart that I was losing another baby.  Two days later it was confirmed.

After I lost the first baby I told myself I wouldn't get excited about another pregnancy, knowing that I would likely not carry the baby to term.  I'm so glad I didn't follow my own rule.  If I hadn't allowed myself to be a little excited and hopeful, I would have no positive memories of this brief pregnancy.  Should I ever get to experience another pregnancy, I won't be scheduling doctor appointments weeks in advance.  I won't be dragging out the box of maternity clothes any earlier than I need them.  There are lots of things I won't do because I know how the pregnancy is likely to end.  What I will do, though, is be hopeful and celebrate whatever moments I am given.  If there is time to tell my husband I will plan something fun.  If there is time to tell the girls and other family members, I'll make it memorable and be excited.  I will cherish any ultrasound photos and rejoice in whatever pregnancy symptoms the day brings.  If God is gracious enough to bless us with a fifth child, then the least I can do is be thankful and appreciative of that great gift for however long He allows me to be that child's mother.