For three weeks, I was in denial. I wasn’t ready to take another pregnancy test, get my hopes up, only to be disappointed again.
Just six months earlier, our little family had experienced the unexpected. A molar pregnancy -- the most rare form of miscarriage. So rare that most of the nurses had never even heard of it. As the doctor explained to Tim and me, a molar pregnancy happens when the placenta forms, but the fetus never does. So, there I was, confused, angry, and embarrassed, experiencing all of the symptoms of pregnancy-- but no baby.
After my dilation and curettage (D&C) procedure, my doctor warned me that I would need to wait until my hormone levels returned to normal before having another successful pregnancy. This typically takes about one year. So, you can imagine the level of anxiety I felt when I began to feel morning sickness and fatigue only six months later.
Peyton, who was just two years old at the time, would point to my belly every morning and ask, “Mommy, is there a baby in there?” She must’ve felt it all along.
Peyton, Tim, and I were in Cleveland when the anxiety began to get the best of me. The White Sox were playing the Cleveland Indians, and Peyton and I had tagged along for the road trip. At this point, I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to know, was I pregnant? If so, was this just another molar pregnancy?
TA must have grown tired of me wrestling with the unknown, because the next morning he had the White Sox’s team doctor set up a prenatal appointment with Cleveland’s team doctor (if you are a WAG or are in this crazy baseball world, you can imagine just how crazy this sounds-- seeing the opposing team’s doctor in the middle of a road trip?!).
The doctor must have thought I was crazy. Here I was, demanding an ultrasound (even pretty certain of how far along I was), but hadn’t taken a single pregnancy test. He chuckled a little, as he ordered a pregnancy test, which, to no surprise came back POSITIVE. He then recommended that I make an ultrasound appointment with my doctor back home in Chicago, but I knew I couldn’t wait. I needed to see the baby this time.
I laid there, with chills, in the cold ultrasound room. Waiting and praying. Praying and waiting. My heart raced as the nurse rubbed the cold jelly on my belly. I looked over at the screen, and there she was. Paxton Karter Anderson. Bouncing around in my belly, as if the world was already hers. I looked at Peyton and Tim, both of them, grinning from ear to ear. For the first time in six months, I felt a sense of relief.
Over the next few months of my pregnancy, I felt bittersweet feelings of excitement and fear. Excitement for the new love that would be introduced to my little family, yet fearful every day that something might go wrong.
Paxton was born on April 1, 2019 --an April Fool’s baby, three weeks before our due date (how fitting). When I finally held her after delivery, I felt that final lap of relief. My rainbow baby had arrived. Here she was, beautiful as ever, and safely in my arms.
Looking into her little brown eyes, I saw hope and I saw grace. I saw God’s promises again. I was reminded: He will never cause pain without allowing something new to be born (Isaiah 66:9).
I have so many brave friends who have shared their stories of infertility, and because of them, I am inspired to share my own. Miscarriage and infertility are rarely discussed, and that’s unfortunate. You really never know who might be living with the agony of infertility, and you really can only imagine those who might be carrying the anxiety of unsuccessful childbearing.
So, to the women who have dealt with infertility or pregnancy complications, I encourage you to encourage others. Share your story. You never know who you might inspire.
After all, you were assigned this mountain to show others that it could be moved.
XO,
Millennial Mom