Right now, I’m in this awkward season of life, TTC after pregnancy loss.  I’ve been here before, and I didn’t think I would be here again.  For those of you that don’t know, TTC means that Michael and I are trying again to get pregnant with the hope that the outcome will be a healthy baby.

But the outcome hasn’t been a healthy baby for me.  In the three times, I’ve been pregnant, all three have ended in heartache.  One early miscarriage.  Two unexplained fetal deaths.  So the basic experiences of TTC mean something different to me now.

Positive pregnancy tests bring hesitation instead of celebration.  Of course, I will be happy to be blessed with another pregnancy, but a positive pregnancy test doesn’t equate to a healthy baby, just the potential of one.  I felt this a little in my last pregnancy.

I have been told by well-meaning people in the past that my anxiety was a lack of faith.  But because of my experience, my faith tells me that no outcome is certain, the only thing that is certain is that God walks with me through it.  God has done many good things, put me in many wonderful situations and opportunities because things played out the way they did.  So I feel like trying again is a step out in faith, even if I am anxious about the outcome because there is no rational reason that it would be different this time.  All I have left is my trust in God that he knows what he is doing.

Knowing this, I still share the news early.  I want people to be praying for a healthy baby outcome.  The more, the merrier.  I love my online and IRL community supporting Michael and me through our pregnancies, so sharing early just makes sense.

During this TTC time, all my emotions are heightened and unpredictable.  I’ve noticed in this particular TTC season that there are days when it’s hard to be around kids, but it’s not every day.  I’ve been to museums and events for kids.  I’ve hung out with my friends and their kids.  And I’m completely fine.

And then one day, I hear one of my friend’s kiddos call her mama in a particular way, and I’m crumbling inside.  My thought train goes like this, “Aww isn’t that adorable….she’s so lucky to have a sweet baby like that….I hope my baby is like that….Can’t wait to hear them say mama…..Wait, I have two daughters….I will never hear them say mama…..*crumbles*”   I’m working on trying to stop this train of thought early in the process, but if I’m tired or over stimulated already, it’s pretty hard.

While I am looking ahead with anticipation, my grief is still very much my present, making time seem to go by so quickly and be frozen all at once.  Everyone’s kids are growing up, achieving milestones, and my daughters will always stay the same.  Especially those that were born around the same time as the due dates or stillbirth dates of my kids.  If born on their due dates, I would have a three-year-old, two-year-old, and a newborn.  But I have none of them, and trying again, though I whole heartedly want to, feels like a start back at the beginning, even though it isn’t.  This is the awkwardness of TTC for me.

I realized this month that my pregnancies will never be normal.  I have more doctor appointments, more tests, and more ultrasounds.  Ultrasounds that bring more anxiety than excitement.  I actually fear baby showers because when one was set in the last two pregnancies, within a week, the baby would pass (I don’t think there is a causation connection, but they are connected in a trauma sense).  The same goes with the baby registry.  I’m sure we will do another one, but we probably won’t sign up for them in person ever again.

I know that this isn’t a very upbeat post.  But it’s a little more of my truth that I felt I needed to share.  I know it helps me to know when other people feel this way, going through loss and TTC.  And I know God will use my words, one way or another.  So I keep typing them out, keep pushing publish because I want others to know that if they can relate to these words in any way, then they can know that they are not alone.