I had always wanted two children. For as long as I can remember, it was the dream I’d had for my future. After having Rowan and experiencing the beauty of watching him grow everyday… I knew with even more certainty that I wanted a second child.
When Rowan was 4 months old, we suffered a medically necessitated loss of a pregnancy at 10 weeks. It was traumatic, and we battled our grief for quite some time afterwards. We were elated when I got pregnant a third time a little more than a year later. We hadn’t actively been trying, we had only just decided we were ready for another baby if it were to happen. It was a month after our wedding when we found out, I was 5 weeks pregnant when we excitedly told Rowan on his birthday. Only 3 weeks later, we lost the pregnancy. We had been so thrilled, had already chosen a name, and told family and friends. I kept thinking “How could this happen to us again?” “How do we explain this to Rowan?” We were absolutely devastated.
We had been trying for almost 2 years. We had done everything in our power and then some, to try to get pregnant and stay pregnant, but it just wasn’t happening. Getting on Facebook was like trying to navigate a minefield in the dark. Scroll scroll scroll, pregnancy announcement, scroll, birth, scroll scroll, belly photo, scroll scroll, ultrasound. When someone (and for some reason a large amount of people did) would ask me “Are you going to have another?” I wanted to crawl in a hole forever. I wanted to shout “For the love of God, don’t ask people this question!” It was so uncomfortable for me to say “we have been but we lost them both” because suddenly I became the sad girl nobody knew what to say to. And if I said “Yes we want to” there was this feeling that they would have absolutely no idea just how much meaning that “We want to” had. It was awkward. It was agonizing.
We charted, we planned, we followed a regimen from doctors. We both went through testing, I had bi-weekly ultrasounds to check my ovaries, weekly blood draws, and a regimen to follow at home. I would see my friends announce pregnancies and I’d cry alone in the bathroom. One sister in law was pregnant and the other had just had a baby. It was all exhausting and I felt like such a failure, as if the one thing my body was designed to do, I couldn’t. Infertility was a battle I felt I just couldn’t win.
Finally, I was put on Clomid. We were warned that it usually takes several rounds. That sometimes, even after 4,5,6 rounds, there’s no success. We were told we should make sure we’ve discussed our other options so we could be prepared, just in case.
I was extremely lucky, and it only took one cycle before I was pregnant with our miracle baby. I squealed at the sight of the positive test, then again when my blood work came back with great numbers. When we sat in the office for our first ultrasound and we heard that little heartbeat, tears streamed down my face. But still, pregnancy after miscarriage is terrifying. I spent every day fearful of losing the pregnancy. Every time I went to the bathroom I prepared myself to see blood on the toilet paper. Every small cramp or ache sent me into a panic. I had nightmares of loss, would wake up in a cold sweat clutching my stomach.
When we made it to the second trimester I sobbed. We hadn’t made it that far into a pregnancy since Rowan. It was such a milestone for us. We found out we were having a boy at 17 weeks. Sloan Valor DeRosier. I would talk to him, sing to him, stay up at night imagining what it would be like once he was in our arms. Everything was finally feeling real. He was moving, kicking, rolling, he was real, he was in there.
At 5:47 am on December 4th 2016, he was in our arms. He was absolutely beautiful, and everything about our journey to him seemed to suddenly make sense. It was all supposed to happen, so that we could hold that sweet little miracle. He was who we had been waiting for, he was the light, after so much darkness.
It’s been 9 months since Sloan was brought into this world, and 2 months since he left it. The journey through multiple losses, agonizing secondary infertility, testing, fertility meds….It feels like yesterday, and yet, it feels like years ago. And now, remembering the high of his birth, the glory of holding the sweet miracle we’d longed for, tried for, tested for, all that time, is so bittersweet.