Another baby? It’s complicated.

It’s my “blog-aversary” I guess. So says WordPress. Four years ago I started this baby….and wow does time fly. Four years ago I started this blog as a rant of the struggles of first-time motherhood. And now that little baby I was talking about is four. He knows how to write his name. He knows the alphabet and he can count to 100. That little baby is also a fantastic big brother and says the funniest and craziest things. It’s nuts how life works out and flies by all at once.

I’ve been in kind of a funk these days. I know I talk about my miscarriages often, and many of you who read this blog may be tired of hearing about it. I apologize, and want to kindly remind you that you don’t have to read what I write, it doesn’t bother me one way or another. But be warned, this blog does touch on my unborn babies.

I have begun the process of writing a book I once dreamed about. Both my husband and the readers of this blog have encouraged me to push forward and make that dream a reality. Though it won’t be remotely written for many years, it is in the works.  Writing on this topic has been something I have been passionate about. Miscarriage and the loss with it has been so taboo in our culture and I’m tired of it, and so are the other mothers out there who have experienced it. It’s just time to talk about it and not in a “everything-works-out” kind of way. It’s time that miscarriage is recognized as the anger and grief inducing tragedy that it is. It should be called out for what it is: a life altering, never the same again, event.

But, that is only part of what is on my mind today. Really, what my mind is mulling over is whether or not to have another baby. I want another baby. I crave it. I hated being pregnant with Lennon, but in the long run, it’s so worth it. But honestly, I am petrified. The condition I have, which presumably caused my previous miscarriages, only worsens with age, so each day that passes, each moment, increases my chance of miscarrying all the more. And honestly, I don’t know if I can mentally and emotionally handle the possibility of losing another baby.

Recently, my husband and I have started a small group within our church dedicated to the common bond of miscarriage. Because of this and the start of this book, I have been dwelling on and reliving my experiences more graphically than  usual on a daily basis. It does a number on one’s emotional state. I typically think of my lost children at least once a day, but lately, I have been graphically re-living every detail of their loss.

I have been trying so hard to soak in the moments with my four year old and treasure the fleeting moments of babyhood with my sweet Lennon. But always in the back of my mind is the craving of another child, and the reminder of those I have lost. It’s a tough place to find myself.

I tried to fool myself into saying I was done after two living babies. I have a beautiful boy and the most awesome girl. Perfect, right? But I crave another. A few weeks ago, I held a friend’s sweet newborn baby and was so happy to give her back once she cried, but now–now I long for that moment when you hold a new baby for the first time. I want to hear those sweet and unforgettable newborn cries. I want that first look into each other’s eyes. I want to mother another child. But I’m scared of the journey to get there. My heart cannot take another loss. My heart can hardly manage another pregnancy. The mere thought makes my stomach churn and my eyes tear up.

Pregnancy is a complete crap-shoot. You don’t ever know until the moment that beautiful, pink, screaming baby is placed in your arms, that everything will be okay. And there in lies the risk.

This is where I am, folks. Truly caught between a rock and a hard place. And seriously hoping time will tell.


I Take Prozac.

Let’s just get right to it. I take an anti-depressant. So what? There are millions of others just like me, and I’m SO tired of feeling ashamed about it.

I recently told my husband that I have no problem discussing it if someone else brings it up and is curious whether or not they need some type of medication or whatever. But…I didn’t want to openly share it unless asked directly. Well, I’m obviously chaining my mind. I think it’s a bit silly to be so ashamed and secretive about it. I’m a little tired of people talking about depression like it’s leprosy.  And I’m tired of feeling like I have it.

I was formally diagnosed with mild depression a few months ago, though I’ve known for years that something just wasn’t quite right. I’ve been able to deal with it most of the time on my own, but the older I’ve gotten, the more difficult it has become. I’ve tried the natural remedies, as I’m usually not a huge fan of medication, but you know what, sometimes it’s the only thing that works.

Some people take medication because they have high blood pressure, some people take it for arthritis, others for anemia, etc, etc. Well, I take medication for my brain. It’s the most important organ in the body, and mine needs a little balance sometimes. I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I tried to find that balance naturally, smelling things, essential oils, taking vitamins, the list goes on, but sometimes, you can’t heal everything that way. Sometimes, no matter how you change your lifestyle, your blood pressure still rises, am I right?

Also, for all my fellow Christians out there who are reading this and saying, “oh, I’ll pray for your faith. Just seek God and He will work it out.” Bullshit. Sorry. I have a solid relationship with Christ. I pray daily. I love him wholeheartedly. He gave me my brain. He gave me my personality. He gave me mild depression. He also gave me the courage to do something about it. Does your faith have anything to do with your inherited high cholesterol? No. So don’t address me like I’m some defective Christian because I take an anti-depressant.

Deciding to actually see the doctor about what was going on took a lot of pushing from my husband and a lot of resistance from me, because I too had the preconceived notions that I’d be admitting I was “a little crazy” if I started medicine. That was until I started taking it. I feel like me again. I feel joy. I feel excitement. I feel love. Yes, I get mad still. There are times that I still just need a good cry. But I relish the time with my son now. I don’t snap at him for asking me to play. I want to be around my husband, and I feel the way I felt about him when we were first dating. The only thing I have regretted about taking this medication is not doing it sooner.

How’s that for your Monday? 😉 Thanks for listening. Embrace who you are, every flaw, every shortcoming, every beautiful aspect. It makes you who you are, it drives your story, it gives you character. And you’re not crazy.