Every baby is special, every life is important, and every Mom wants to show off her baby. For those of us who lose our babies too soon, we don’t ever get to show them off and we rarely get to say their names or tell people about them. In our country, thousands of babies are stillborn every year, roughly one every twenty minutes. There are even more miscarriages. Here on my blog, I want to remember all of the lost babies and give their parents an opportunity to show them off. These Mamas are so proud of their babies and are going to share them with us here. We honor these little lives by acknowledging their presence with us, even if it was for a very short time. Do you know how these babies are loved? Do you know that each baby was cherished by their families, even if they left only after a few weeks? Do you know how these babies are missed every single day? Please pray for these families, who have to live every day without their precious children.

CONNER AND BENJAMIN SULLIVAN 

I was a happy mama. I had an uncomplicated pregnancy, but that does not mean it was uneventful. I was sick for 16 weeks, and my baby boys were good eaters. I lost a lot of weight in the first trimester. I twisted my ovary (still the worst physical pain I’ve felt, including labor and childbirth). But, I was HAPPY. Little baby “A” and baby “B” were floating along in increasingly cramped quarters but were active little boys who I’m pretty sure would have made really great gymnasts or hockey players. I was trying to be diligent of their kicks and movements, waiting patiently for those butterfly kisses that everyone says that they feel. That is not what my boys gave me. Roll…roll…PLOP! They sure liked fighting for a prime piece of real estate. Even so, I could tell they were best friends. They reacted to each other’s movements and slept and woke at the same time. We even had an ultrasound where they were kicking away… and both stopped at the exact same moment. Two sleeping little babies, blissfully unaware of the world outside of the womb but aware of each other. I often imagined them plotting their escape together with every powerful kick. Two minions, eating their bananas (no joke), laughing hysterically at the fact that mama would have her hands full with two bouncing and somersaulting boys.

On Tuesday, January 7th, the day after my 29th birthday and the day after the boys turned 22 weeks old, I started feeling contractions. Here’s the thing though: who the HELL knows what a contraction feels like if you’ve never had them before? I didn’t. And no freaking way was I looking for signs of preterm labor this early. It was the start of the new year. Their due date wasn’t even until May 12. Chalking them up to round ligament pains, I slept through the night. And just to be clear: I am the type of woman who called the doctor’s office when I was pregnant when I was coughing. Twice. It never crossed my mind these were contractions. I watched Despicable Me 2 that night, laughing at the thought of my boys being curious little minions and wreaking havoc.

Wednesday, January 8th. I felt contractions through the day, but sporadically. Here’s what I know about contractions: the movies always show some poor sweaty woman threatening to kill her husband. Here’s what I felt: uncomfortable for five seconds.

But that night, the contractions starting getting closer together. My best friend urged me to call the doctor. Dr. D didn’t sound worried. “Let’s meet at the hospital, just in case.” No problem. I called my husband to come home from the FD, with a plan to make him get me a smoothie on the way home. We would be home, hop into bed, and laugh that I thought this was anything significant.

I was two centimeters dilated when we got to the hospital. They handed me a horse pill to stop the contractions, but less than an hour later I was at a full 10 centimeters. I had already been unnerved, trying to swallow the guilt of not coming in earlier or knowing what contractions felt like. The bitch of a resident OB told me that I had no cervix left and it was time to move me. That was all the information I got from her. Any questions I asked were promptly followed with, “Let’s wait until Dr. D gets here.” She was a robot. Absent of emotion or caring, she made me feel like a waste of her time. Was she insane? I was a mother on the brink of giving birth to her babies. No one had to tell me that they weren’t at the point of viability; I already knew. But in that moment, hormones crazy and the unacceptable happening, I wasn’t thinking clearly. Thank God my doctor was on his way. I found out later that he rushed to the hospital, scared he wouldn’t make it in time. How wrong we were…

They wheeled me into a labor and delivery room. Up until this point, I had been given almost zero information on what the hell was going on. Maybe, just maybe, there was hope. I could lay here, cervix open, until the babies were bigger and ready to come out. It’s 2014. They can do all kinds of crazy things that used to only exist in science fiction. But then, as I was being wheeled in, I glanced to my right and saw a baby warmer. FUCK THAT BABY WARMER. That stupid fucking baby warmer. I knew what that baby warmer meant: we were going to deliver my babies. I was hysterical. My husband tried to calm me down, and with the lack of information we had been given I think he was still holding on to hope, too. Here’s what I learned about emotion in that moment: it is completely possible to be numb to a situation due to shock, and still feel guilt, anger, and overwhelming sadness. When my doctor arrived, he looked distraught. He explained that I would probably deliver that night. My contractions were a steady at 2 minutes apart, I had dilated quickly, and nothing was going to stop it. At this point, the contractions were worse. Way worse. I was starting to feel like I would be one of those insane movie women. Did I want an epidural? There was a chance, he explained, that when I got the epidural that I could break my water. That was enough to bring clear my mind. I had to get it together. I was a mother. No epidural. I had to give these boys a chance.

Thursday, January 9th. No babies. I was still having contractions, this time every 3-5 minutes. But it seemed like my body had stalled. Dr. D was floored. He stayed all night, prepared to deliver. Dr. F (my other ob – the are partners in their practice), came in. He called the MFM in to talk to me, as they both believed I had an infection. At that point, I had “soft markers” for infection. It wasn’t until later that day that I started to get a fever, a high heart rate, low blood pressure, and an incredibly high white blood cell count. They both decided not to play God. I could tell they wanted to get our boys to 23 or 24 weeks. I did, however, finally give in for the epidural. I made Dr. F promise to stay outside the room in case my water broke. That stuff is liquid gold. Not only did it not cause my water to break, but it finally ceased to feel like a miniature world war was taking place in my belly.

My poor boys. I was so terrified of making my water break, I had stopped rubbing my belly. They loved it when I rubbed my belly. Whenever they were kicking away furiously, I would rub my belly and it would put them to sleep. I feel so guilty – they probably wanted their mommy’s comfort right then, but I just remember not wanting to move an inch in an effort to buy them more time. By this time, Tim and I had decided to name them Conner and Benjamin. I wasn’t going to have them be born baby “A” and baby “B.” The high risk ob, Dr. Z, came in. She explained their chances of survival. Hospitals consider 24 weeks to be viability. They have a chance of survival, but this is not without high risk for profound or severe disabilities. However, at this hospital they can save about 10% of babies at 23 weeks. Again – this is just a survival rate. This 10% can live with seizure disorders, never walk or talk, have cerebral palsy, be blind and/or deaf, require round the clock care… the list goes on. At 22 weeks, they have no chance. Most are too small for intubation. They would attempt to resuscitate them at our request, or we could swaddle them and make them comfortable and have them die in our arms.

To this day, I still have no idea how I was thinking so clearly. Maybe it was the same feeling I had when I initially denied the epidural, a motherly instinct. I just wanted to make them comfortable and let them pass, straight from my arms to Jesus. There would be no brain bleeds, no IVs in their head, no organ failure, no struggles to stay alive in an incubator. We knew if we requested that they try save them, it would only add, at most, days to their life. Those hours would be filled with pain, drugs, and isolation in a plastic world. And for what? So we could selfishly have more time with them? We could never do that to them. What if the intubation didn’t even work? We would have done ugly damage to their trachea and pained them for nothing. Dr. Z said, as a mother, she respected our decision. It was an easy decision for me, but also the most heartbreaking. I can’t look back at this  without thinking that I gave up on my boys. I also think if we had made the decision to try to save them, I would regret that as well. I loved (love) my babies. They were and still are my whole world. I had to hand my babies over to God.

You would think that the thought of heaven would be reassuring or relieve some of my pain, but I have to say that on most days it doesn’t. It was not their time yet. They should have been brought home, stolen pacifiers from each other’s mouths, played with their fire trucks, gotten dirty in our backyard, gone to school, graduated, gotten married… they should have done all of those things before going to heaven. They were 22 weeks. Their eyes were still fused shut. They wouldn’t even have a chance to see the world around them for their short time here.

Friday, January 10th. 4:30 a.m. Baby B’s water started to leak, and the rest happened quickly. Our pastor arrived at 5:30 a.m. so that he could be there to baptize them. Contractions got stronger and closer together. I felt like I needed to push. By then, it was evident that I had an infection. The babies could not survive the infection, even if I could carry them a couple weeks longer. The decision was made jointly by Dr. Z and Dr. F that they needed to break Baby A’s water bag to deliver. Dr. F couldn’t even look in the eye when he told me that. I could tell it was breaking his heart to have to do this. We knew what the end result would be. I told the nurse I didn’t want my babies cleaned before she handed them to me. We didn’t know if we had minutes or hours with them, and I wasn’t going to let them take time to clean them if that was the only time we had with them. Then it was time to push. Our pastor cried. We cried. I think our doctor cried. The boys were born into a bright hospital room, full of crying people.

Conner Timothy was born at 11:27 a.m., weighing 1 pound 2 ounces and measuring at 11.5 inches. I cried at every push, knowing that every effort my body made to get them out into the world was the same energy that was bringing them closer to their deaths. Tim cried and told me he looked like me, sounding like a proud daddy. Conner came to me, swaddled and perfect. I know I told him he was perfect, beautiful, and the best 22 weeks of my life. I know I told him I loved him. I know I told him how sorry I was. He was baptized in my arms. And then it was time to hand him to Tim so that I could deliver his brother.

Benjamin Michael was born at 11:43 a.m., also weighing 1 pound 2 ounces and measuring at 11 inches. Tim laughed as he told me they looked exactly alike. It wasn’t until we looked at them side by side that we realized they looked nothing alike. Benjamin looked more like a mix of both of us. I told him all the same things I told Conner, making sure that they both felt equally loved. Benjamin was baptized, and I couldn’t help thinking that God better hear this prayer and come get my babies before they struggle or suffer. I delighted in the fact that I had two sons. I sound crazy, I know. I knew the circumstances. But there is no way to look at your children and feel anything but joy. I was so proud of them.

Conner and Benjamin both passed quietly. Tim was holding Benjamin, watching his heart beat slower and slower until it finally stopped. Benjamin passed first. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to him. The nurse took them over to that baby warmer that I hated so much to hear their heartbeats. Tim quietly came over to me and told me Benjamin was gone, but Conner was still with us. He handed Conner to me, and I sobbed quietly, then loudly, over his body. I didn’t want to know when he passed, so I didn’t watch his chest. I wanted to be saved of this agony. I silently asked God to take him before he suffered. Both of them had lived about 2 hours. The whole time, I worried about what they were feeling. Their nervous systems so immature, every source of stimuli probably overloaded their tiny bodies. They had taken a few breaths, and while it was incredible and beautiful to watch, I could not help but think how awful it was to take in such precious air only to be denied it immediately afterwards. Their skin was thin, and the warmth of the blankets were nowhere near as warm or as soft and soothing as the womb. The nurse and doctor said they were not suffering. I begged to differ.

Before they passed, Tim and I cradled our babies and told them how much they were loved. I may have said I’m sorry as many times and I said I love you. I stared at Benjamin’s beautiful face, thinking how much he reminded me of his father. His features were so well defined and delicate, with his little hand always reaching for his face and his head snuggled into his shoulder. I couldn’t bear to hand him to Tim, but I needed to spend time with Conner. Conner had made a couple of noises that sounded like hiccups. I wish I had a recording of this sound. It was beautiful: short and sweet, but it was probably a struggle for air. He stuck his little tongue out, almost in a playful manner. I had always worried with IVF that there might be an embryo mix up, but if Conner wasn’t my kid then I don’t know who else could be. My baby boys were so brave, so strong, and so handsome. Yes, every mother thinks their babies are the best looking babies in the world. But seriously, these boys deserve some sort of award.

Angel babies – we will meet again. Mommy can’t wait to hold you. Until then, may you never go a day without knowing my love for you.

Thank you to Krystal for sharing Conner and Benjamin’s story with us. Her writing is so vivid, I felt like I was there. Her boys sound like amazing little daredevils, full of energy and love. I imagine Lucy likes playing with them in heaven because they probably act a lot like her brothers on earth. I can’t imagine having to make such a heartbreaking decision of whether to try to keep them for several extra days with tons of medical intervention, or to let them pass peacefully in their Mommy’s arms. What a loving and selfless choice she made. Conner and Benjamin are lucky to have such a wonderful mother.

If you would like to share your baby’s story, just e-mail me at bethanysk55@yahoo.com You can share whatever you want about your baby, and you don’t have to include your name if you don’t want to. Also, I think your baby is just as important if you lost him/her at 6 weeks or at 40 weeks. Even if you never knew the sex of your baby, you might have had names picked out, a due date and lots of hopes and dreams for that child. All of that is important and is welcome here.

Every baby is special, every life is important, and every Mom wants to show off her baby. For those of us who lose our babies too soon, we don’t ever get to show them off and we rarely get to say their names or tell people about them. In our country, thousands of babies are stillborn every year, roughly one every twenty minutes. There are even more miscarriages. Here on my blog, I want to remember all of the lost babies and give their parents an opportunity to show them off. These Mamas are so proud of their babies and are going to share them with us here. We honor these little lives by acknowledging their presence with us, even if it was a very short time. Do you know how these babies are loved? Do you know that each baby was cherished by their families, even if they left only after a few weeks? Do you know how these babies are missed every single day? Please pray for these families, who have to live every day without their precious children.

BABY BOHN

My husband and I got married Aug 20, 2011, three days before my 30th birthday. Everyone asked us right from the get-go when we were going to have kids. My husband’s coy reply was always “In 2 years”, even after we’d been married for a year! We had discussed that we wanted to wait 2 years to try for a baby, so around Christmas 2012, we decided that since it usually can take up to 6 months to conceive once you actively start TTC, we were going to start trying in May 2013.

May came and went with no BFP. The 2 week wait that month was the longest 2 weeks of my life! June and July also came and went and I started losing hope that it would be as easy as we thought it would be.

In August, we had booked a hotel room in the Twin Cities for our anniversary/my birthday. We had a wonderful time and were relaxed and at ease the whole week. September 4th, I was supposed to go to work, when I woke up with a terrible tooth ache. The whole side of my face was swelled up and I ended up calling in to work and having to get my tooth pulled. I remember the dentist asking if I could possibly be pregnant. Since it was during the 2 week wait for that cycle, I told her yes, even though in my heart, I was seriously doubting it since I’d been disappointed the previous three months. Just to be on the safe side though, I told them it was possible and they took all the necessary precautions. I was then given Vicodin for pain relief and sent home. I only took the medicine twice because the pain wasn’t that bad, for which I was grateful. The rest of the time I used 2 ibuprofen, and that was only a couple times.

On Sept 9th, I called my mom and mentioned to her that my period was due the next day and that if I didn’t get it, I would test the following morning. I told her my breasts were tender, but that was normal right before my period. Sept 10th came, but my period did not, so the morning of Sept 11th, I took the pregnancy test. I wasn’t expecting much, but I just wanted to be sure. I laid it on the counter, cleaned up the bathroom a little bit, and when I went to look at the test, there was my faint second line! I was so shocked that I didn’t believe it. My husband was at work and wouldn’t be on his lunch break for a couple more hours. I ran to Walmart to get another test, a different brand, just to make sure that it wasn’t a false positive. Sure enough, another faint line!

At that point, my first emotion was despair and guilt… why would God let me finally get pregnant when I had been using these drugs that could harm the baby?! I burst into heart-wrenching sobs and just cried out to God until I had no tears left. Then, once I had control of my emotions again, I started to feel this unexplainable joy begin to blossom in my heart. I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face! My whole life, from the time I was old enough to know what babies were, I knew I wanted to be a wife and a mother. That had been my only dream for my life, above career, location… everything else paled in comparison to this longing in my heart.

I gathered up the positive tests and text my husband that I was going to come to his work and have lunch with him. Because we talked daily about whether the next test would be positive, when I showed him the positives, he wasn’t really surprised, but he was excited!

I went to the doctor that morning just to confirm that I was indeed pregnant. They told me that yes I was and my due date was May 17, 2014. I was walking on air during the whole appointment and the nurse was laughing because I couldn’t quit smiling. I was so excited because the timing was perfect. Since our wedding was in my birthday month, I wanted our baby to be born in my husband’s birthday month. My due date was 10 days after his birthday! It couldn’t have worked out any better than if I’d been able to plan it all on purpose!

I made a mental list of everyone I wanted to tell and in what order to tell them. I called my mom and told her I wanted to have lunch. We met up at a thrift store for some girl shopping time and I had the positive tests sitting on the passenger seat of my truck. I told her I had something for her in the truck and to come get it. She looked in there, picked up the tests, stared at them long and hard and said “Really?? I’m gonna be a grandma?!?!” We laughed and cried and hugged and she was just as excited as I was!

From there, it was a series of telling other family and friends. My aunt and family friend were the next to find out later that day. I wanted my dad there, but I wouldn’t see him until a few days later. It killed me to have to keep quiet until then, but I wanted him to be one of the first to know. He was so excited for us and it was worth the wait! Finally I was able to post it on Facebook after we told my husband’s family. Everyone we knew was so happy for us, knowing how badly I wanted a baby.

My only symptoms in the following weeks were extremely sore breasts, food didn’t taste good and my appetite was cut in half. My mom told me that was all that happened to her when she was pregnant with me, so I was hoping that would be the extent of my symptoms for the duration of the pregnancy. I told everyone at work that I was expecting, partly because I couldn’t keep it to myself and partly because I worked in retail and it can be very physically demanding at times.

Everything was going smoothly and I was keeping daily track of the fetal development. At 6 weeks, I posted on Facebook that the baby’s heart started beating that week! I was thrilled that in a few weeks, I’d be getting my first ultrasound and would hear the baby’s heartbeat!

At 7 weeks along, on the morning of Sept 29th, I got up for work and gave my husband a hug goodbye. I told him that it was weird, but my breasts didn’t hurt so bad that morning. I was glad because it was getting hard to cuddle with him when I couldn’t even rest my chest against him without extreme discomfort. I went to work and felt fine all morning. I had some mild cramping, but I had had that since I found out I was pregnant and mentioned it to the nurse, who said it was normal. Around noon, I went to use the restroom, and I saw there was a noticeable amount of blood in my panties. My heart dropped to my stomach and started to panic. I calmed myself down enough to leave the bathroom and decided to take my lunch break early so I could call the nurse hotline. The nurse said that I should go home and rest and if the bleeding got worse, to go to the ER, but that he didn’t think it was anything to worry about. But I knew that he was wrong. I knew that I was having a miscarriage. I went back into work and called my manager and told her that I thought I was having a miscarriage. I started crying while I was telling her and told her I was leaving for the day and I would keep her updated.

I called my husband and told him that I was bleeding and that I thought I was losing the baby. He told me to just get home so I could rest, so I got off the phone with him and called my mom. Her landlord worked at the hospital and she told my mom if I was bleeding, it was a good chance that the baby was already gone. My mom and I cried together on the phone until I got home, then, weeping, I fell into my husband’s arms and we just stood there, mourning the moment. I cried until I was exhausted, knowing that my dreams of becoming a mother to this child were shattered.

Throughout the afternoon, evening, and into the next morning, my body expelled all the tissue that had been sustaining the little life in my womb. Every hour I would get out of bed and collect more of what came out, so that I could bring it to the doctor the next day. As soon as the clinic opened that morning, I called and made an appointment. I cried through the whole thing. The midwife looked at the tissue I had brought in and said that it was definitely placental tissue and that it was evidence of a miscarriage.

I felt so empty. I felt like it must’ve been my fault for using the medication I’d been given for pain before I knew I was pregnant. The midwife assured me that miscarriage is just one of those things that happens more often than most people are aware, and that there is nothing that I did to cause it, and nothing I could’ve done to prevent it.

I went home and grieved through the day with my husband. The next day, we started calling our family and posted on Facebook that our baby went to be with Jesus. All our friends and family were as devastated as we were. We had a lot of support from everyone we knew, and people started telling us how they had gone through similar circumstances. It was so hard, but I was very grateful for the people God had placed in our lives, and their compassion for us in our darkest hours.

A few days later, my mom came over to keep me company so I wouldn’t be alone, and I told her the details of what happened. I told her that I didn’t think the baby had passed yet, or if it had, that I had missed it, and that it made me sad because if I had the baby, then I would be able to have a feeling of closure. Later that day, after my mom had left, I used the restroom, and one little piece of something came out that was different from everything else that had passed initially. It was the right size and shape to have been my baby, and I’m 98% sure that it was. I had a strange peace after that. I felt fiercely protective of this little life that never made it past 7 weeks formed.

That week, my husband and I took our baby, wrapped in a brand new blanket, and we buried our firstborn beneath a tree in my mom’s woods. We didn’t name our baby since we didn’t know the gender, but I know that God has a name for every life that He creates, and He has given our baby the perfect name in Heaven. I can’t wait to meet my child!

It has been almost 9 months and my baby’s due date has come and gone. It was a bittersweet time for me because of all the “could have been’s”. But I know that my baby is happy and healthy in God’s arms and if they can’t be in mine, there’s no other place I’d want them to be!

My husband and I are still trying to conceive again, but as of yet have been unsuccessful. I have surrendered our situation to the Lord and we are waiting on His timing. I praise Him that I got to be a mommy to my tiny little one even if for only a few weeks!

Thank you to Baby Bohn’s mommy for sharing her precious child’s story with us. I love seeing proud mama’s honoring their babies, regardless of how early they lost them. For all of you reading this, I would like to ask for you to pray for Tanya. Will you pray that God gives her a healthy rainbow baby SOON? I know how hard it is to wait and wait and wait for your baby of hope to come after losing a child. It is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life. Please pray that she doesn’t even have to wait one more month and that this next baby will end up healthy and screaming in her arms.

If you would like to share your baby’s story, just e-mail me at bethanysk55@yahoo.com You can share whatever you want about your baby, and you don’t have to include your name if you don’t want to. Also, I think your baby is just as important if you lost him/her at 6 weeks or at 40 weeks. Even if you never knew the sex of your baby, you might have had names picked out, a due date and lots of hopes and dreams for that child. All of that is important and is welcome here.