Surviving a Rainbow Pregnancy

Primary Rainbow. Source: Listentoreason @ FlickrCommons

I've been quiet for a couple of months, and that's because I've had my head in the sand. The husband and I were blessed with another pregnancy shortly after Dragon Con, and after having a stillbirth and suffering two miscarriages, being pregnant again requires a great deal of concentration and introspection. This is a rainbow baby, the rainbow that comes after the storm of loss after loss after loss. This is also a rainbow baby due on the same day that I lost my son, almost two years ago.

This time is different. I'm on Lovenox and have to give myself a belly shot once a day at 10 pm. I'm on baby aspirin every morning. I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes at 14 weeks and that means four finger pokes a day and dietary adjustment (though thankfully in my case, that primarily means removing juice). It means every other week doctor visits and additional visits supervised by a MFM (Maternal Fetal Medicine) who specializes in cases like mine, where the woman can get pregnant easily, but doesn't keep it.

This time is different. I have had seven ultrasounds now, and all have showed wonderful growth and a growing happy, healthy baby. I will be 26 weeks on Tuesday, the point in time where I learned that my first child, Alistair, had died. As I sit here typing this, my little one is kicking happily away bringing tears to my eyes.

This time is different. I have more fear coursing through me than, arguably, someone going to war. I am terrified at every turn that I will lose this one too. That I will have grown too close to this baby to have it taken away from me. When people say "Congratulations" I stare at them blankly, wondering why they are congratulating me if I don't have the baby in my arms yet. When people ask me what I'm having, I say I don't know and I don't care, because just getting a living, healthy baby at the end of this is my primary concern, not whether or not it will be wearing pink or blue. When I found myself registering at Babies R Us yesterday, I wasn't walking through the store with a glazed happy look on my face, I was remembering when I had done this for my son and that he had died a few short weeks before his shower and I felt like with every scan I was jinxing things. Not to mention the music that they played just happened to be songs from when I had lost him.

But this time will be different. I will bring home this baby, healthy and breathing. I have a support network of friends and family both in person and online who are helping me through and holding my hand. And although I yearn to once again work on my novels, I know that right now all I am capable of is taking things one step at a time. If the bathroom doesn't get clean because I am crying, because it has been more than an hour since I have felt the baby move, it's okay.

I've learned that I'm a survivor, and regardless of what happens, I will continue to survive. My dreams of becoming published will still be there, and hopefully I can continue working towards that when my rainbow baby arrives at the beginning of June.