Somewhere Over the Rainbow

Somewhere over the rainbow

Way up high

And the dreams that you dreamed of

Once in a lullaby

Someday I'll wish upon a star

Wake up where the clouds are far behind me

Where trouble melts like lemon drops

High above the chimney tops

That's where you'll find me

Oh, somewhere over the rainbow bluebirds fly

And the dream that you dare to,

Oh why, oh why can't I?

A “rainbow baby” is one who comes into a bereaved family’s life after losing a baby through miscarriage, stillbirth, or death of a newborn. As rainbows represent renewal in the face of a storm, rainbow babies too represent hope in the midst of the despair of losing a child. Hand in hand, rainbows and rainclouds are reminders that there is beauty in life and loss.

Eighteen months have passed since Matilda and Milo were born and he died. After the babies came to us, we didn’t know if we would want to try again for more children. The extent of what we went through to get to bring Matilda home was obviously colossal. We soon recognized though that she is worth every second of the pain we have endured. The realization that we wanted more kids came to us relatively quickly, but figuring out how we would get there was more of a challenge. We met with our reproductive endocrinologist and fast decided that we had to let him go. We then interviewed a couple of others at different clinics and were ecstatic to find one who extended us the care and compassion we have always wished for and deserved. Saving money for an egg donor IVF cycle is no small feat, so even though we found our new doctor, we agreed that we needed time. We also thought it would be beneficial to wait until spring or summer of 2015 because that would make Matilda about three-years old when the baby was born. With a plan in place we went on with our lives, adjusting to an ever-growing toddler, learning to balance being working parents, and still grieving our precious Milo. But then as painfully and excruciatingly as our babies were taken from us, our rainbow baby as gracefully and quietly entered our lives.

In April my first cycle returned after weaning Matilda from breastfeeding. I offhandedly asked Mark one night what he thought about trying to get pregnant on our own. He nonchalantly said “yeah, we can do that.” We joked about being one of those couples that magically get pregnant after years of infertility and loss. So we sort of gave it a shot that first month. I downloaded an app on my phone to tell me when we should do it. Things got busy, I got tired so my grand plan to try to get pregnant was quite simply half-assed. Some time went by and 30 days later I had some spotting, which I thought was my second period. I was thrilled because I never have normal cycles and thought maybe my body had figured out how it should work after all of the hormones of pregnancy and breastfeeding. A couple of weeks later though some more spotting came, which was strange because the only time that ever happened was during my pregnancies. And then I was nauseous. I hesitantly decided to buy a pregnancy test. Mark was in the car when I bought the test; I told him nothing about my suspicions. I was acting strange all day and finally he asked what in the world was wrong. I confessed. We did the test and waited. When it was time, I looked at the test and immediately said, “Yeah not pregnant…but they should really make that line more intuitive so people don’t get confused.” I had never had a positive at-home pregnancy test before. Mark snatched it from me and said, “No, it is,” as if to say, “No, it is pregnant,” but I don’t think he could say the word. It was too scary. We sat there shocked. For a long time. Even after taking a second test. I was already six weeks along. Although my mind was in denial, I think my body knew from very early on that I was pregnant. There were a couple of strange incidents. One night right around the time the baby would have implanted, I was startled awake by a very quick sharp pain and I thought, “that was the baby.” Another night, I dreamt (embarrassingly) that I was giving birth to raspberries (Matilda’s favorite food).

I am 17 weeks pregnant this week. We had our appointment with the perinatologist for the first time last week. The anticipation and appointment were full of post-traumatic stress. This was the one where we found out Milo would die last time. But like magic, the ultrasound revealed that the baby is developing normally. And he’s a beautiful boy. Just like that, all is perfect. No selecting an egg donor, no saving thousands of dollars, no months upon months of stressful IVF, no heartbreaking news. Just like the most breathtaking rainbow you could possibly imagine.

Every day I struggle to get my mind around how this is happening. Writing this post is challenging, as I don’t easily have the words to describe what this experience is like, so counter to all those pregnancies of the past. I am so very thankful but so full of questions. Why did this happen now? Was I finally good enough? Am I a martyr to the cause of infertility and loss who finally gave enough to be deserving of a break? I never begged for this miracle, never so much as gently requested it. I am proud to be infertile, proud to be a mother of angel babies. My journey has made me stronger and more giving than I ever could be without it. I never wanted to be one of those women bragging about getting pregnant if their husbands so much as breathed on them.

Despite my questions and my uncertainty regarding why and how this is happening, there is one thing that is very clear to me: Without one doubt this baby boy, this miracle, this rainbow baby is a gift from our Milo. There is simply no other explanation. Despite my incredible fear, I feel him with me more so than I ever have before, telling me, “this is your time, Mama” and “everything is going to be okay.” And so hand in hand I walk, with my heartbreak and my hope on my way to what could possibly be my brightest days ahead.

   

Photos taken by my dear friend Gloria Soliz in Estes Park 8-17-14