This weekend has been weird. Friday, I had my repeat betas and they were great; doubling within 44 hours. I have my third beta on Monday morning and when we get those results back we will scheduled our first ultrasound.

Ugh. First ultrasound; It brings tears to my eyes and a lump to my throat. The last time I had an ultrasound with a baby in my ute, she was dead. No heartbeat, no movement, no life. To go to another ultrasound and possibly hear a heartbeat is so, so, so intimidating. It’s absolutely frightening. I want to be excited, please don’t get me wrong. It’s just causing me anxiety, and I feel zero joy right now.

I want to feel excited for this baby; for Landon and Kenley’s little sister growing inside of me. I am just having a really hard time right now. I figured I would take a test, see 2 lines, and cry. Nope, didn’t do that. I figured when I got my first beta back I would feel so great that the number was “this high” or “perfect“, but I didn’t. When the repeat beta came back more than doubled, I figured that I would feel some reassurance…But, you guessed it, I didn’t feel any. I literally just feel empty, which is so ironic because for the first time in 7 months, I’m not alone anymore…even when I am.

I’m guarded.

I don’t want to be.

I honestly don’t know if I will ever be ok during this pregnancy. If this baby is my “Rainbow baby” (side note: this word cuts through my heart like a knife. Kenley was my rainbow. She is supposed to be here, and be my fucking rainbow) I will love her with the same love that I have for Landon and Kenley, I know that. It’s just so unfortunate that the joy of any future pregnancy is shadowed by the fear of loss.

It is unfair.

I don’t care how childish that sounds, it’s the fucking truth.

This is all so unfair.

I miss you, my sweet girl. I am trying to be strong, I swear it to you. I try every. single. day. Sometimes it’s just too much.

The days where it’s too much end with me crying in bed, asking your daddy to promise me, to swear to me that he will bury your urn with me when I die.

No one should ever have to utter those words to their husband in the dark through tears.

Life is so incredibly fucked up.

the process.

When Landon was born, he was incredibly difficult to handle. He never slept…ever. He was colicky, had a dairy allergy so he needed the most expensive formula available (of course!) and he was just all around “rough”. Being our first child, I’m sure that we handled things a lot differently than we had planned to handle them with K. I know for a fact we did.

Landon stressed me out beyond belief. It was so bad at a point around 4-6 months that Shane and I seriously considered never having more children. If all my children were going to be this hard, nope. Not going to happen. I went from working since I was 14, to being a stay at home mom. One of the most difficult things I’ve ever done, but the hands down most rewarding job I’ve ever had. I would never trade my choice to stay home for ANYTHING. Eventually things eased up as we become more stable in our life. We lived in our house longer, Shane got settled in his job, etc.

When Landon was two, we decided that we were ready to try again. I had my IUD removed, and we were both a little intimidated by the possibility of getting pregnant immediately like we had with Landon. So, we decided to just “see what happens” from February 2013-August 2013. It seemed like our timing was always perfect. What was happening? Why was I not pregnant yet? At the 6-7 month mark, I had my annual exam with a new OBGYN here in Columbus.

I met with her and told her we had been trying, and I just had a feeling that something was wrong. It had been nearly 7 months of perfect timing and nothing was happening. She told me that until it had been a year, she refused to run any testing on either of us. That didn’t sit well with me, so I went looking for someone else who would take me seriously. I found a woman who agreed to test me. She ran the normal work up, and also ran a test called “Anti-Mullerian Hormone”. When I went in to discuss the results I expected to hear everything was fine; I was wrong.

My AMH level was .58- Normal ranges for a 27 year old woman are 3.20 for the 50% percentile. I was SO far below that. I felt like someone punched me in the gut. I cried and asked what the hell it meant for my fertility. My doctor explained to me that low AMH levels are related to the amount of eggs left in your body. Some doctors say that you need to examine the other pieces of the puzzle to come up with a real conclusion. My other labs came back within normal range, so that was a plus. My doctor said we could try Clomid for a month and see how my body responded. As I had never heard of this infertility DX, or Clomid, I agreed. Ahead we went.

I became pregnant, and miscarried at 5w6d. The pregnancy was ectopic. I ended up in the ER with nurses dressed in full “radioactive” suits (for lack of better words) giving me two shots to kill all living things in my uterus/fallopian tubes. I was terrified. Shane was terrified. This was one of the most painful things I had experienced. This is the time that I found out about my TCF friends. People who had been through what I had, and were continuing to try for a child after a loss/multiple losses. I was given INCREDIBLE information in my early days after our first loss. I will forever be thankful for the women who helped me through the darkness.

We tried again and again…and again and again…Clomid failed me. Letrozole failed me. I was sent to a Reproductive Endocrinologist (RE). It was so intimidating. I was now educated on what the RE would do for us. When we had our first appointment, the RE told me he suggested that we go straight to IVF because my AMH levels were so low. Punch to the Gut. Thousands of dollars to have another child? How is this happening to us? He told us that he would be willing to try one more cycle of Clomid (6 cycles lifetime max due to increased risk of Cancer after that time frame) with an IUI (Intrauterine Insemination). I decided that we needed a mental break, and we benched ourselves until January 2015.

This was my last cycle on Clomid. My body responded too well. I went in to be monitored and I had a 26mm follicle (they want them 18-20mm). My doctor told me that it would be useless to do the IUI because the follicle was too big, and probably bad. We canceled the IUI. We were instructed to try on our own, and just see what happened. I ended up pregnant again. My pregnancy tests were very light; They never got darker. I went in for an ultrasound and blood work. A chemical pregnancy was confirmed- another miscarriage. We were heartbroken. Again? How is this happening to us AGAIN. I once again leaned on the women from my board for support and help.

In March I returned to the RE to discuss our plan. He pushed for IVF; I pushed for an injectable medicine cycle with IUI. He told me that he would do 3 for me. He warned me they were expensive (meds+$500 for a cycle). Somehow my insurance covered my Follistim @ $60 copay, instead of the full price. It was an error somewhere; my insurance does not cover fertility medication to be used in any Assisted reproductive technology procedures. My body responded very well to this protocol. I had a 23mm follicle. We triggered my body, and the IUI was set for 36 hrs after the shot. IUI’s are supposed to be “simple”. The catheter is inserted, and the sperm is deposited at the top of your uterus near the fallopian tubes. Piece of cake. Nope.

My cervix was angry, I guess. It took my doctor, and 3 nurses to get the procedure done. 5 minutes turned into 20, and a lot of pain. But finally we were done. Shew. I went home, and had to wait for 2 weeks to take a pregnancy test. The dreaded two week wait. The time where your body and mind play tricks on you and you feel completely insane dissecting every single twinge and pain hoping for a “sign” that you’re pregnant finally. I took a pregnancy test every day after my procedure to test and make sure my trigger shot left my system in a timely manner. It was gone at 7 days past IUI. 8 days past IUI was negative, or so I thought.

My test sat on the counter all day. I came home after like 8 hours and noticed there was a line. Evap line I thought (but hoped I was wrong). I threw it away, and waited for the next morning. I tested. There it was. A real line. Not a squinter, it was there. I was pregnant! That was the first day I knew about my beautiful little girl. That was April 26th, 2015. Things from there were perfect; the entire pregnancy was uneventful. We watched my hcg levels rise appropriately. We heard her heartbeat. We watched as she turned from a blob, to a shrimp, to a gummy bear, to a little human with arms and legs. At 10 weeks we had blood work to test for genetic abnormalities and gender.

When I got the call, the nurse asked “ok, I have the results, are you ready?”. I was so freakin ready. “It’s a girl. Congratulations!”

The most beautiful words I had ever heard. The most beautiful words I will ever hear.

I was having a daughter. I knew at that moment her name would be Kenley. I knew that I would love her forever. I knew I would be her best friend until the day I died. I knew I would do everything and anything for her. Even though she’s the one who died, that will never change.


19 weeks.


A friend from my support board sent this to me the other day. We had been discussing moving through grief. I’ve notice myself feeling in a bad fog on some days, and absolutely terrible on others lately. This picture just really hit home to me. I think I’m looking at my grief trying to find a way to “walk through it”, but in all reality I’m never going to be “through” my grief. Our daughter died. Landon’s sister died. There will always be a shadow of grief over me, over our little family.


I can see myself in certain stages of grief. Sometimes I feel in the loneliness/isolation/depression area. I will want to be alone just to cry. Just to feel sad. It’s not like I’m wanting to be alone so that someone will say “oh, what’s wrong?” or give me pity, I literally just need to be alone. At that time I have zero desire to be around another human being. I’m beyond thankful Shane understands that.

Today Kenley has been gone for 19 weeks. It does not seem possible. How have that many weeks passed by without her here in our arms? She should be here in a baby swing while I’m struggling to get laundry done or something. I just can’t believe I will never have her. I will never hold her again. I will never get to kiss her sweet head again, or smell her baby smell.

I know it sounds so fucked up- like I only want her. Shane and I are planning to try for another baby, but that baby will never be Kenley. The baby will bring us happiness, and we will love that child more than our own lives…but it will not be Kenley. The harsh reality is that everything I did to prepare for Kenley is now for nothing. She didn’t get to use her bedroom, she will never use it. She won’t grow up here. She won’t beg me to paint her walls a different color “because pink is for little kids”, or ask me to buy her some outrageously expensive comforter that shows off her personality. I don’t get that with her, ever. 

Instead, I wear a necklace to remember her. I wear a bracelet that says “mom of an angel”. I have the fox that she was cremated with tattooed on my arm.  It’s just so hard to wrap my head around.

I’m extremely close with my Mom, and Sister; They are my best friends. We talk all day, every day. Growing up I just always thought being close to them was normal, but as I got older I realized that some people aren’t fortunate enough to have a great relationship with their mother/sisters. When I found out Kenley was a girl I was SO excited– This is it! I finally have her. My forever best friend. When I found out she died, I lost more than just my child. I lost an entire future filled with “my forever best friend”. I didn’t get to braid her hair, or paint her nails. Seeing Landon cuddle up with Shane, and seeing the look of pure joy in Shane’s eyes when that happens, makes my heart ache for her a little extra.

Life will continue to go on. The weeks keep passing, and I feel like nothing has changed…except everything has.