Meeting Josiah

Here is part 2 of the baby journey. For a full recap read part 1. 

We began fertility testing which led to an initial diagnosis of stress induced menopause (at age 28). My initial reaction was heck yes, I'm stressed... I'm trying to have a baby. (I didn't say heck, it was more like, Are you f'ing kidding me?!?! Who gets menopause at 28! Why is this happening to me?!? Let me just pitch my pity party tent right...here!!)

The doctor assured me that since we had success once before she was confident in medical intervention and I started cycle one of IUI. Short story... Clomid makes me sick (really sick, like throwing up think I'm dying, have the flu sick) Despite this I someone am able to still gain 30 lbs a cycle. 

The eggs were ready, brian provided his sample, the doctor did her magic... We waited two weeks and I was pregnant!!! (Queue the music, break out the baby blankets and start the And They Lived...)

For a few months we did live happily ever after, or ectasticly ever after!

Us finding out....

Brian finding out....

Confirming @ the doctor

Announcing the pregnancy

Hand on my belly for Easter pics.

It was glorious. I loved that little baby inside of me more than life itself. I had struggled, fought for and I thought earned this precious life and I could not wait to meet him or her. 

Then one day after checking my morning email at work I went to use the restroom and like so many other times in the months before I saw red on the toilet paper. My heart fell out of my chest, rolled down the four flights of stairs and down the fwy. I did what every girl would do in that moment. I called my mom. and then I called the doctor. They got me in at the next available appointment and as the image came through, we saw our little peanut and the doctor was able to register a heartbeat and watched it flicker. I sobbed tears of relief, tears or happiness, tears of love.

Our next appointment, there would be tears but tears  of the other kind. Eager to see my growing baby, the doctor's face dropped, she turned the the monitor away and maneuvered the machine this way and that before whispering "I can't find the heartbeat." I couldn't find mine either. 

She said it happens sometimes and for us to come back in a week to see what happens. A

We waited, we prayed and we hoped for that week. And as a sign, my belly grew. A week later on our 12 week appointment, the news wasn't any better. My belly grew but my baby hadn't. 

The doctor assured me I had done nothing wrong, and that miscarriages happen and sometimes our bodies know more than we do. She asked if I'd like to take medicine to have the baby now or if we would like to wait and see what happens in two weeks.

Two weeks went by. We prayed. We had friends pray, strangers pray and had healing hands laid on us in a moment that can only be described as divine. And my belly grew more. But we went back and there had been only growth to the uterine sac, and the uterus and our baby was still measuring small and heartbeat was erratic. When she asked again about a DNC, I asked if my baby had any hope. She said you're body is holding on but you'd need a miracle. We'd surely take one of those. She gave us another deadline and this time, Brian and I decided we couldn't keep waiting. If God was going to give us this baby we needed Him to show up now.

That night I had a dream, just me and God (because we are cool like that) and I was begging for my baby's life. The voice responded "His name is Josiah." I responded "Jo what? I don't like that." His voice came back more clear and a little more stern, "if you want this baby, his name is Josiah." I woke up.

I told Brian about my odd dream and about the name. He responded , "It means Jesus saves". We were in awe. I hadn't recalled hearing the name before but we knew that my lil guy in my belly was our Josiah. I prayed with every ounce of my being for God to let me meet my son, to hold him and to look in his eyes. 

Confident at our next appointment, we were devastated when the news wasn't any better. Josiah hadn't grown and my body was showing signs of early miscarriage. The doctor offered us some drugs that would help us pass the baby. She assured us, we wouldn't see any resemblences of a baby and I wouldn't be forced to flush my baby down the toilet (my biggest fear).

The night before we delivered, I wrestled with God. I pleaded with, I bargained with him, I yelled and cursed and then I repented. My fear and grief eased with the morning light. There had been no miracle for us. God had answered me even if it wasn't the answer I had wanted. His silence was overwhelming. I had felt abandoned and angry and so sad. So very very sad. Sad that I wouldn't ever know his personality. Sad of the memories and time we lost. Mostly sad that I wouldn't see my baby's face and meet the boy I loved so much. 

After taking medicine, i began bleeding heavily for most of the day, I grieved knowing I was losing my baby. Then the labor pains came, they were as painful as Remembered. The kind of pain that takes over your whole body and all you can do is release low archaic moan sounds. 

My mom had come to check on me and seeing me in the fetal position, she wrapped her body around mine. Cradling my defeated, broken body. She prayed, she talked to me, she absorbed my pain. And then I said, "I've gotta push."

I moved to the bathroom, feeling the pressure of what seemed like the world coming through me. I had so badly wanted to meet my boy. To look in his face. To tell him that I loved him and was proud of him for fighting. To tell him that his life had meaning. That he would forever be a part of our family.

I pulled my boy out just short of midnight. Although, the doctor said we wouldn't see anything. God answered this mothers' grieving prayer. I looked in my baby's eyes. I saw his face. I told him his mommy loved him and that I always would.

I handed him to his daddy and said. "I just delivered a baby on a toilet." The humor of the moment cut just merely slightly through the grief.

We buried our boy in our inlaws garden, just underneath the window of Brian's childhood bedroom. Our friend gave us a butterfly garden and the butterflies hatched shortly after Josiah's due date. We talk about hi often, Drew tells us weekly he misses Josias (that's what he calls him.) and asks when are baby is coming back from Jesus.

My heart still breaks and I look ever forward to the day I can see him again.