Remember how just 6 weeks ago I wrote this post? Yeah, well it's finally caught up to me. This carrying-a-human-being-in-my-belly thing.

I'm no longer basking in the glow of pregnancy. I feel huge, which makes the fact that I have another TWELVE weeks kind of disheartening. How in the world will my baby have room? How will I breathe? How will I walk?

I'm officially in the 3rd trimester (!) and this little boy is proving to be just as active as Ethan and Aiden were in utero. Yes, I did confirm that this baby is indeed a boy (this may be the one time in history my mom was proven wrong)...

Don't get me wrong, as uncomfortable as I am, I am equally in awe of the amazing ways a body accommodates a growing baby. When I'm sitting very still and Hudson begins his frequent dancing it amazes me that I can look down and physically see my belly rise and fall with his movements. The pain? The discomfort? Doesn't matter in those moments when I'm reminded that 'HEY! There is a BABY in there!' ("Like" More Skees Please on Facebook to see video of Hudson's belly dance)

In other news, I recently made a huge decision regarding my pregnancy.

I broke up with my doctor.


Yep - after several months of just not feeling great about the care I was receiving, I finally decided to take matters into my own hands and search for a new provider. It was kind of scary - the prospect of leaving the doctor that I have been with since our move to Texas. After all, he is the one who has seen me through infertility, two miscarriages and finally getting pregnant. Ironically, it wasn't until I was actually pregnant that I feel things began to go down hill.

From the moment I got pregnant, he seemed uncomfortable having me as a patient. Maybe it's my history of preterm labor that scared him or having had a child with a surprise diagnosis at birth. Or, perhaps it is all in my head. I'm not really sure but in the end it doesn't really matter. His perceived lack of confidence and/or patience didn't sit well with me.

I confessed early on that I was going to be nervous this go around. Surprisingly, once we got past the 1st trimester my nerves settled. I love my high-risk OB and have been reassured through multiple screenings and ultrasounds that this baby looks 100% healthy.

But comments like "you don't need to call me with questions once you hit 20 weeks - if you can afford it, just go straight to the Women's Center" and "besides, this baby isn't even viable at this point" when I was 18 weeks along seemed a bit uncaring. I want someone who is interested in being there for me. Who will take my phone calls - as frequent as they may be - and at least try to answer some questions without sending me straight to the hospital for someone else to deal with me.

I want - no, I deserve - someone who recognizes that telling a patient who spent a year trying to conceive and who suffered two miscarriages that the pregnancy isn't "viable" yet might not be the most encouraging way to go about things. These insensitive comments, along with a few other incidents that brought about some trust issues, led me to take the giant leap of faith at 27 weeks along.

I'm happy to report that I've met with and selected a new doctor and am very confident in my choice! One less thing to stress about :)

Have you ever left a doctor after a period of time?

The week following my miscarriage was a struggle for me. The only other time I can remember feeling that emotional, that unglued, and that so completely hopeless was when Aiden was born. I kept telling myself all the cliche supposed-to-make-you-feel-better phrases:


Yada yada yada...blah blah blah

But the truth is, most of those are right, it's just hard to believe them - and even harder to hear them - when you are in the very heart of the despair that's bringing you down.

I constantly had a million things clogging my head and pulling me in opposite directions. All of which were keeping me from pulling myself together. I felt sorry for myself, then was disgusted that I couldn't realize the blessings I'd already been given. I felt physically and emotionally exhausted, then extremely guilty for not being "present" for my kids. The negativity spun around in my head all day, every day, until I made a desperate plea for help.

I called my mom :)

Even though my husband has been AMAZING throughout all of this, there are just some things that only a momma can make better. A few days after my subtle (not-so-subtle) hints, my wonderful mom had boarded a plane and was at my doorstep.

Honestly...I am blessed.

Ten days later my spirits have been lifted and my faith restored. Maybe it was the extra time my husband had allowed me to have to myself while he took on extra responsibilities at home. Maybe it was my mom being by my side to kill time and listen to me ramble. Or just maybe, it is true that time heals all wounds.

I am truly grateful for all the ways people have shown support - through phone calls, emails and by just being there if and when I need to talk. For now, we are gonna take one day at a time. One foot in front of the other. And I am going to continue to pray for baby #3.

* DISCLAIMER * Writing for me is therapeutic and while I struggled with the decision to open my laptop and "lay it all out there", I ultimately decided it is what I need to do. The below may very well be one of the most personal posts I've ever chosen to share in such a public format. For that reason, I want to both forewarn my readers ahead of time about it's subject - miscarriage - and ask that all comments remain private (if you want to get in touch with me, please email me at moreskeesplease@gmail.com). I appreciate your support!

Fortunately, despite all the health issues I had been dealing with a few weeks ago, this blog post's title is metaphorically speaking. I do not have a hole in my heart. In the literal sense at least.

Unfortunately, the events of the past few days have left a huge gaping hole in a place deep inside of me that can only be compared to effecting the most vital organ in our body.

On September 29th, 8 days after my 30th birthday and 13 months after we first began trying, I found out I was pregnant. On October 9th, I learned I should prepare for a miscarriage. One would think that 11 days is not enough to grow attached to something so small inside of your body. One would be wrong.

Thursday, September 29th

I feel a little different. I wait until my husband slips out of bed in the early morning for his run, then perform the ritual that has begun to overtake my life...peeing on a stick. I place it on the bathroom counter, brush my teeth, prepare myself for disappointment and peek at it with one eye still closed as if that will somehow skew the result (hide the "NOT" in front of the "PREGNANT" if it should appear?) But there is no "NOT". I pick it up and put it down a million times, instinctively resting my hand on my tummy. In one instant, joy. Complete and utter joy. Then a split second later, I'm shaking with fear of all that could go wrong. It is an unfortunate and unfair response for someone who has experienced infertility and having a child with a disability. However I quickly turn my thoughts to how I will share the news with Ricky, who will be returning any minute. The boys wake up first and I pour them a bowl of cereal with my shaky hands. The front door opens and I try to act normal. As usual, Ricky chases the boys around attempting to give them a sweaty hug, then he retreats to the bedroom to head for the shower. I follow him. I ask him nonchalantly what we had engraved on the inside of his wedding band, as if I couldn't remember myself. He touches his ring and replies "At Last" and our wedding date. I smile and say, "That's right babe. At last. It's happening for us."

I call the fertility doctor who emails me a lab slip to go get things confirmed with a blood test. We drop the boys at school and I go there right away. Four LONG hours later, she calls. "Congratulations, you're pregnant!" She tells me my "numbers" (HCG and progesterone) are both within normal range. Relief. I finally allow myself to feel excited, pushing the fear a little further back in my mind, although not gone.

Saturday, October 1st

We had been in Dallas since Friday morning for a golf tournament benefiting CCA. We stayed Friday night in a hotel, then headed back first thing Saturday morning, forgoing plans to attend a dear friend's inaugural Oktoberfest event. I had to go back to the lab to recheck my numbers, to ensure everything was proceeding normally. How can you not be fearful in this wait-and-see game of blood work and phone calls? I knew that because it was a weekend, I would probably not hear anything until Monday which killed me. I sent an email to my fertility nurse letting her know I had gone to the lab and asking what I already knew, thinking that if she somehow got the results before then, she'd know I was very anxious to get them and call me that day instead. I did not hear back from her Saturday. But it wasn't Monday either.

Sunday, October 2nd

My phone rang as we were getting ready for church. When I saw the number, I wasn't excited. The only reason the doctor would be calling at 9am on a Sunday, I thought, would be to deliver bad news. I was partially right. She informed me my HCG had doubled, which was good, but that my progesterone had dipped from 18.1 to 16.2. That number was still within "normal" range but should have increased. The decrease could have been insignificant, but to be on the safe side, she recommended I begin taking a progesterone supplement once/day. This Rx had to be filled at a specialized pharmacy downtown that didn't open until 10am. I stayed home while Ricky and the boys headed not to church, but to pick up the medicine that was hopefully going to "save" this pregnancy.

Tuesday, October 4th

Blood work reveals my progesterone had risen from 16.2 to 16.8. Doctor advises me to begin taking the progesterone supplements twice/day.

Thursday, October 6th

Back to the lab for a numbers recheck. I prayed with all my might that we caught the issue early and all was okay. Had a meeting at the Ronald McDonald House following the lab visit, then aimlessly walked around Target gripping my cell phone in hand. When it buzzed, it startled me. My heart pounded as I answered. "Hi Taryn, this is Keria from Dr. Burger's office" she started.  I stood in the band aid aisle choosing gauze for Aiden's still unhealed groin incision when she told me my HCG was good, but my progesterone had only risen slightly to 18.1. I searched her voice for cues that would help me understand whether to be positive. She offered little more than to just continue what I was doing until my next numbers recheck on Tuesday. TUESDAY! I have to hold out 5 days to know more?

Friday, October 7th

Ricky and I discussed everything and were determined to be positive. The numbers went up, that's what they were supposed to do. And that's what they would continue to do. We began talking about life with 3 kids and when to tell the boys. "This is it, I really feel like this is it" he said to me the night before. We sat in the car that evening waiting for the photographer to meet us downtown for family photos. "Let's tell them" I said. "Let's tell the boys right now." We had stopped ourselves several times over the past week, hesitant to get their hopes up - allow our hopes to be up that much. But I had prayed about it and I felt like all was going to be fine. So we did.

That weekend I began to feel pregnant. I was so attuned to my body that I felt little twitches (my uterus expanding?) and the slightest waves of nausea snuck up on me throughout the day. Ricky would touch my belly and ask how baby was doing. The boys would say "Goodnight baby" as I tucked them in at night. I had finally succumbed to the happiness that is knowing you are making a home for a living, breathing human inside your very own body. I was on top of the world.

Tuesday, October 11th

I had made plans to drive an hour south of Austin with my neighbor Abbi for some shopping at one of the best outlet malls around. Abbi is also expecting and at just 5 weeks ahead of me, we were so excited to snag some off-season deals at the maternity store for when our bellies would be big in the spring. I completed my blood work that morning and headed to San Marcos shortly after. I figured the shopping would help me keep my mind off of the waiting for the results and honestly, at that point, I was not expecting anything but good news. I spent 30 minutes trying on clearance rack maternity clothes. In the dressing room, putting on the padded, fake "baby bump", I just couldn't believe it was finally happening. I liked how I looked with a belly. I had forgotten how beautiful I felt when I was pregnant 3 and 4 years ago. I felt a little guilty spending the money on maternity clothes - especially since it is so hard to shell out so much for articles of clothing you only wear for a few months - but I purchased my flowy tanks and summery tops as I asked what the return policy was, you know, just in case.

The shopping had worked up our appetite. Abbi and I joked about being two pregnant ladies in need of some food...like now! We headed to the car where I noticed a silver Camry parked next to us. "Look, it's Ricky. He followed us here to see how much money I am spending" I joked. Not two minutes later, my cell rang and Ricky asked if I'd noticed he was parked right next to us. He had driven to San Antonio earlier that morning, and was on his way home when he remembered we were going to be at the outlets right off the highway, so he stopped. We all had a good laugh when I told him what I had just said, and he came with us to Chili's for lunch. As we asked for a table for 3, my phone rang again. I stepped outside the front door to answer the call. "Hi Taryn, it's Keria..." I promptly cut her off and said "Yes, I know" before she dragged out her greeting. And then I knew. She was calling to let me know that my progesterone had doubled, which was wonderful, but my HCG level had dropped by over 100. "So I lost it?" "Yes, I am sorry."

She continued on to say that I should stop the progesterone and prepare for a miscarriage. Prepare? How in the hell do you prepare? I felt ill. We asked Abbi to drive my car home, the one with the bag of newly purchased maternity clothes, so that I could ride back with Ricky. I was numb.

The rest of the day was a blur. I went from one extreme to another emotionally. I felt like putting on my tennis shoes and running until I could not physically take another step, but also wanted to crawl into bed and not move for days. I wanted to rush home and get the boys from school - hold them, hear them laughing - but then the thought of seeing them and having to tell them the news seemed too much to handle. I felt angry and crazy and embarrassed. I felt broken.

Just a few days ago, standing sideways in front of my bathroom mirror, I'd lift my shirt to marvel at the life growing inside of me. My mind was constantly thinking about how amazingly blessed I felt to have gotten pregnant after wanting it for so long, naturally no less! I began thinking about if it would be a boy or a girl and how we would decorate the nursery.

Now, I find myself having to decide which underwear to put on that will hold the Alaska-sized pad where the life inside of me will be expelled. It's been 2 days since I've stopped the progesterone and still nothing. I pathetically allowed myself to fall prey to denial - maybe the last lab results were wrong, maybe I really am carrying a viable pregnancy. I know that's not the case, but this waiting is torture. I just want it done. Over with. I want the bleeding to begin so my healing can too. So my delusional thoughts that perhaps they were wrong can subside. I need closure. But then, I'm not so sure that will ever come.

I know I need to pick myself up and move forward but I simply don't know how. I cannot understand why I've had to go through this. It sounds so pathetic - why me? But I have to wonder what lesson God is trying to teach to me that I haven't already learned? I got through having a child with a rare syndrome. I am strong, I know, but how much more can a person take? Is it wrong of me to think that I've already dealt with my fair-share of struggles? Is it bad that I feel like getting pregnant easily and without complications is something that I deserve? Am I wrong for feeling that I am being punished? But for what?

I would have been 6 weeks on Sunday. Eleven weeks during Thanksgiving. Sixteen weeks on Christmas Day. I had already made the weekly notation in my At-A-Glance. I can't bring myself to check my calendar for upcoming commitments because of it. Perhaps I should just throw it away and start fresh.

As I type, I am beginning to feel small pains and cramps. I pray this is the beginning of the end and that the end is swift and smooth. I pray that I am strong enough to overcome this challenge and that it doesn't chip away at the person I am, leaving me bitter and un-whole.

Let's face it, moms usually don't make themselves a priority. Between keeping the house in order, tending to the kids, and working outside of the house (or in my case, volunteering duties), there just aren't enough hours in the day to get to the "Take care of yourself" item on the to-do list.

Sure, there are little ways we attempt to make that happen - a glass of wine after the kids go to bed, a walk around the block, a chat on the phone with a friend - but what I'm referring to here is the stop everything and focus on yourself kind of time. Without making it an extremely conscious effort, that is often impossible.

And then something happens that pretty much makes that decision for you.

A few weeks ago, I reached up to give my husband a hug. I wrapped my hands around his neck, relaxed my back and the next thing I know, I'm lying on the floor with Ricky above me asking "What just happened?"

I had blacked out.

I've experienced that feeling where you stand up and feel dizzy as the blood rushes through your body too quickly. This was not that. I lost consciousness - albeit just for a few seconds - but that short instant sent fear coursing through my veins. When I came to and saw panic smeared across Ricky's face, I was extremely worried. I wasn't sure what had happened. I wasn't confident that it wasn't going to happen again. He called 911 and as we waited for EMS all I could think of was how unsteady I felt. I was scared. So scared that I told him how much I loved him and how much I loved the boys. Yeah, I know.

Fast forward a few weeks - I've been through the ringer. CT scans, blood-work, 24-hour heart monitor, fertility tests, more blood-work, doctors appointments, echo-cardiogram, you name it. The good news is everything checked out okay. Although they ruled out any heart or brain issues, they couldn't find any explanation for the blackout...which is quite frustrating. I think most people would agree that answers, causes, are comforting. They let you plan and prepare.

While I don't have the luxury of knowing why the blackout happened, I did take it as a sign that I needed to take it easy. Perhaps it was stress. This whole infertility issue (another "unexplained" ailment) has taken a huge toll on me emotionally which could very likely be starting to effect me physically. I knew in my heart that I needed to CALM DOWN.

So, I've been worrying less, laughing with my family and friends more and trying my best to put myself first. In turn, I'm hoping this will positively impact my health in many ways. And who knows, maybe I'll even have some good news to share in the coming months! ;)

I shared a little bit in a post on the CCA Kids Blog about my family's decision to have another child. In a whirlwind of schedules and timing and appointments, Ricky and I chose to undergo an IUI process this month to help achieve our hopes of growing our family to five. Unfortunately, this month was unsuccessful.