I hate having to share this update. It's not the one I had hoped to write. My head has been full of double rainbow baby dreams. As nervous as I was, I really felt like this was meant to be - having twins I mean.
But Baby B (we called her Bebe) stopped growing about 2 weeks ago. By the time we had our scan she was gone. No heartbeat. No hope. She's faded away - a vanishing twin. Her loss brings my angel baby count up to five. FIVE. How can that be possible? It just doesn't seem fair that one person should have to lose so many babies. I know it's even worse for some people, and that it could be worse for me. Every time I look at C, or feel his warm little cheek against mine I remember what a miracle he is. But still, the losses hurt. A lot.
While I cried for Bebe the ultrasound showed us images of Baby A (who we call Niji) kicking and waving her tiny arms. She's big and strong and healthy looking. I should feel relieved for Niji, but losing Bebe has stolen my confidence. I find myself over-reacting to every gas bubble or muscle spasm. I'm terrified of losing them both.
We go back in two weeks for another scan - during which our doctor will look for clues that could indicate birth defects, genetic abnormalities, or anything that would lead us to believe that the baby was, as our doctor put it, incompatible with life. He said that with anyone else he would gladly assume that Baby A is rock solid - but our history makes him more cautious about choosing optimism.
That's not to say that he is unkind or unhopeful. He's neither, really. He just wants me to understand exactly what kinds of risks we have ahead of us, because of course, nothing is guaranteed. No-one has to tell me that. The sentiment is pretty much tattooed on my heart at this point. NO PROMISES.
It's awfully hard to know how to feel right now. I'm absolutely depressed, but I'm not hysterical. I think the responsibility I feel to keeping even-keeled for Niji's sake is stopping me from completely losing it. But it's hard to get out of bed, or to care much about feeding myself or focus on the positive. I wish I could take Niji's health for the miracle that it most likely is, but my thoughts just keep drifting to a tragic outcome. I'm scared again - and I hate being scared.
What does give me hope is Niji's uncanny ability to make her presence known. It makes me hope that maybe she's just like her big brother - determined to be here. Last night I was laying in bed, waiting for sleep and letting my grief carry me away for a few precious moments. Suddenly I felt a familiar sensation spinning in my belly - like a goldfish flipping over and over. It was like she was saying "MAMA!! I'M HERE!!! ARE YOU WATCHING??!!"
I see you, little one, and I love you. I hope I get to meet you. I hope I get to keep you. I'm sorry you lost your sister. I miss her too.
