We nicknamed our first baby “Lemon” before we even knew we were pregnant. I wrote “Lemon, come to us!” on the chalkboard wall in our kitchen. After just four months of trying, we were absolutely ecstatic to find out that Lemon did indeed come to us in April 2010. As soon as I saw that blue cross appear, I began laughing out loud. I was giddy with joy. While we carried on like most expectant parents–telling our family, talking about names, dreaming of the future that was finally within reach–the truth is, I worried a lot. When I was alone, I cried. I worried that we shouldn’t have shared the news so soon. I kept using the words “maybe” and “if.” My husband called me morbid. Looking back, perhaps I just knew.
At 11 weeks, 1 day, we found out that something had gone terribly wrong for our sweet Lemon. He or she just wasn’t prepared for this journey with us. After some spotting, I was examined by my midwife and told that my uterus just wasn’t where it should be for 11 weeks. And that, “often times, babies just stop growing.” A few horrifying hours later, an ultrasound in a cold and miserable hospital revealed that our first baby had stopped growing at 7 weeks 2 days. I decided to wait it out, and three days later I miscarried naturally at home.
I spent the rest of the summer trying to remain positive. Just 11 days after we received the news, I celebrated my 28th birthday. I told myself that by the time my next birthday rolled around, we would be parents.
My husband and I are incredibly luckily, because on September 12th we found out that we were being given another chance at parenthood. I wouldn’t have to suffer through my due date, feeling sad and barren. Instead, on January 3, 2011, I enjoyed the 20 week mark of my second pregnancy. I’m due in late May. But if this little girl needs more time, I’ll be just as pleased to meet her in June…a few weeks before my next birthday. Just like I told myself.