On Friday I was convinced I’d be back to regular blogging this week and yet here I am checking in on a Tuesday. Being a blogger is kind of weird sometimes because I want to be able to write like myself but when I go to type up a blog post that recaps our weekend, I can’t seem to write and share like myself because I simply don’t feel like myself right now.

I want to write things like, “We went to Patterson Farm on Saturday and pet adorable animals and saw donkeys, chickens, goats and pigs and it was great and amazing and Chase had the best time!” And you know what? All of that would be true! But then when I read it, the words read so different from how I feel inside and remaining silent somehow feels easier.

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I really was feeling better on Friday, the best I felt since our second miscarriage, probably. But then, on the way home from picking up a RedBox movie to watch during a lazy Friday night on the couch, I noticed I had a voicemail from a local number I didn’t recognize and knew immediately it had to be my doctor. Our test results from my D&C were due back last Thursday and I had a feeling she was calling with an update.

Before my D&C, I checked a box that said our results could be released over the phone but completely forgot about that and, in the interim, I decided I really, really did not want to know the sex of the baby we lost. This was something I figured I’d be able to mention to the doctor before our test results were shared. Ryan and I actually planned to be surprised by the sex of this baby on the day of the birth and I felt that knowing the sex now would just be too hard.

Knowing our baby was a boy would make me picture a mini-Chase and, as the mother of a little boy I love with all of my heart, I felt like it would be too painful to hear we lost a boy. Knowing our baby was a girl would confirm what I felt in my heart was true… that the second baby we lost was a girl and that also felt too painful. So I didn’t want to know.

I listened to the results on my voicemail from our doctor as she shared that we lost our baby due to a chromosomal abnormality.

She went on to explain that our baby had only one X chromosome rather than the two X chromosomes normally present in a female. Our baby was a girl. Our baby had Turner Syndrome, a condition in which only 1 percent of pregnancies result in live births.

A girl.

Our baby was a girl.

I knew it.

I started crying for the baby girl I would never get to hold. I started crying because I would’ve loved that baby so, so deeply with or without Turner Syndrome. No matter what. I started crying because I realized I had been slowly hardening my heart and trying not to focus on the baby we lost and focus more on why we lost a baby and now I couldn’t do anything other than picture our girl and long to kiss her cheeks, cuddle her and get to know her.

Much of this weekend was spent in the “should bes” and the “what ifs” and the “I wish” moments of grief, loss and pain. The completely unproductive thoughts that hurt and cause tears but the thoughts that seem necessary and somehow inevitable.

So rather than share a recap of our weekend, I’m sharing what’s on my heart again today.

Friday night was difficult because I truthfully did not think the test results would indicate a chromosomal abnormality, despite the statistical averages related to miscarriage. I wasn’t hoping for one thing or another from our test results – we just wanted information – but learning more about our baby somehow made me feel closer to her and unleashed feelings I realized I was trying to prevent myself from feeling… Feelings directly related to loving, losing and longing for another baby.

I have a list of questions for our doctor when we meet in person (many of them thanks to you and your comments, recommendations and experiences) since we don’t know what caused the loss of our first baby and I’m still a ball of anxiety.

But I wanted to let you know what we know at this moment because you’ve opened up to me and shared your stories and while this is personal and private, I am not nor have I ever been ashamed of our losses. I am sad and hurting but I am not ashamed and the emails and comments I’ve received from you guys keeps me open in this space when sometimes I want to close off and remain silent.

Writing is good for me and sharing feels right when I hear back from those of you who have been here or somewhere similar before. I know no one grieves or hurts the same way and there is no right way to grieve or express pain and sadness but I’m trying my best to find words that capture my feelings even though sometimes I feel like no words ever really could.

Once again I feel pulled to say thank you for reading. Thank you for supporting me even when I feel like I’ve exhausted all of the kindness and love I could possibly expect from you guys. Thank you for allowing me to share this deeply personal loss and experience on the blog. And thank you for continuing to encourage me to do so. You guys are the very best.

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I would like to continue to make this blog a place where women can share and support each other. If you’ve experienced loss or pain and found something that helped you through a hard time – a book, a quote, a friend or family member who did something simple that really meant a lot to you – please feel free to comment below to hopefully help others who may be hurting right now or give those who may know someone who is hurting an idea for something they might be able to do to show them love and support during a hard time. Thank you for your kindness toward me and each other in this space.

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