I tell my story so that those with similar situations in their past, present, or future may find comfort and strength.
On October 20th, I officially found out that I was pregnant.
I'd had inklings for a couple of weeks, but finally got that big plus sign, a week and a half after getting a negative.
We were delighted. We had had clear instruction from God that trying for a family was something we needed to begin right away after marriage, and we followed with faith and excitement.
On October 29th, we told the family, and they joined in our joy.
Around that same time, I started getting sick. *yay morning sickness.*
Then I got more sick.
I missed a lot of class and e-mailed my teachers to keep them informed as to why I was missing.
I spent a lot of time right here:
I reached 8 weeks at the beginning of November and took my first bump pictures (no bump yet, but I was excited to get one!)
Kyle took some too. (I love this silly wonderful man.)
The toilet and I were still very close friends. So close, in fact, that I lost 7 pounds in about two weeks. I didn't know this until my mom (smart woman) finally told me "I'm taking you to the doctor today" when she came to visit, bringing me an ICEE because that was about the only thing that sounded moderately appealing and was the only fluid I'd managed to keep down for a while. My hubby said that he would have made me go in the next couple days if my mom hadn't taken me.
See, I didn't recognize how bad I'd gotten.
This was my first pregnancy, and the only up-close experience I'd had with it recently was a dear friend/boss whose pregnancy was life-threatening and who needed a feeding tube to stay alive because she was so sick. So I thought my puking 3-4 times a day and barely eating or drinking anything was normal.
Nope.
We ended up in the hospital on November 10th, where they pumped me full of 2 IV bags of fluids and nausea meds, giving me a prescription to take home too. I didn't even have to pee until midway through the second bag, I was so dehydrated.
But, before they hooked me all up to tubes and things, the doctor gave me the first bright spot I'd had in a while: an ultrasound and a listen at my little peanut's heartbeat.
No words can describe the relief, joy, and fulfillment that brought me. I'd often said to the baby (yes, talking to my stomach) while hanging out by the toilet, "It's okay, baby. I don't mind being sick. It just means you're growing in there."
Seeing that little flicker on the screen and hearing that heartbeat made it so much more real. There was a reason I was so miserable and sick, and it was all worth it.
From there, things started to pick up. We went to our first official doctor's appointment on November 17th, where we both got to see our little baby wiggle its teeny tiny legs and hear its strong, sure heartbeat.
Based on measurements, our baby was a little over 9 weeks old, younger than we'd originally thought. We adjusted our due date for June 21st and pinned the pictures of our little peanut up by our bedside.
My nausea medication was helping, and I slowly emerged from the zombie-state I had reached when so dehydrated/exhausted. I began doing research and building a baby registry. A few close friends received our good news.
I reached 12 weeks and took more pictures (as did Kyle). I was surprised at how much of a bump I already had, and I was delighted!
On December 7th, my sweet dancers performed at the Dickens Christmas Festival, where I revealed (via "Pregosaurus" shirt) that I was expecting.
They were delighted and so sweet, and over the next couple of days I told the other dancers I taught.
It was becoming so much more real, and I was excited for my family's Christmas card and Kyle and I's own reveal via social media.
We took pictures with these adorable stockings, but decided to wait for the reveal until after our appointment on the 15th, so we could have a more updated ultrasound picture to share on Instagram and Facebook.
A day after I hit 13 weeks, we woke up, drove to Spanish Fork, and went to our appointment.
It was there that we learned that our little baby had died about two weeks ago.
Instead of a heartbeat, we were met with silence.
It is impossible to describe all of the emotions that we felt over the next few minutes. After explaining our options and answering some questions, the doctor and nurse left.
Kyle and I held each other and cried.
But there is a God in heaven who has a plan for us.
There is a Savior who knows our every heartache, who feels our every sorrow.
And there is a Holy Spirit that brings instruction, comfort, and peace.
See, way back at the beginning of October, just a month after being married, Kyle and I were watching
General Conference, and during one talk about trials, I received the very direct and distinct impression that Kyle and I were going to lose a child.
We didn't know how, when, or what to expect exactly, but we knew the Lord had a reason for warning us, and that reason was to make sure we remained faithful and knew that it was all a part of His plan.
When we found out I was pregnant, I brought our revelation up again, wondering aloud if we would find ourselves wondering with every pregnancy, with every child, if that was the one we would lose.
The answer, of course, was yes, but we also knew that we could not allow fear to enter our hearts, for fear and faith cannot coincide.
We reasoned together that having this warning from God in the back of our minds would only cause us to love our children more closely and more deeply.
As we held each other in that doctor's office, Kyle and I were met with an amazing peace.
Our child was still in heaven. All of our children were, being watched over and taken care of by our ancestors and loved ones who have passed on.
We had started to make a body for one of our children, but something had gone wrong. So, our child waits in heaven until a better, working body can be made for him or her.
In no way does this mean that this experience is easy for us or without pain and sorrow.
But neither is this experience one without hope or joy.
I am so grateful for God's plan.
I am so grateful that Kyle and I were sealed together forever in God's temple, so that our family is bound in way that death cannot break.
I am so grateful that this experience better equips us to serve and strengthen others who experience similar sorrows in their own lives.
I do not look at these pictures without feeling loss, but neither do I look at them without feeling immense love and gratitude and hope.
Above all, I feel an even stronger love and connection to my dear husband, who has been a rock to me in ways that previously only the Savior could be.
Merry Christmas, and may you find strength in all the Lord sees fit to give you.
If you think our story could help someone else, please share it with them.
If you have questions or need to talk, don't hesitate to reach out.
May you feel, every day, every minute, how much God truly loves you.
