All I Want for Christmas

The iconic 1994 song by Mariah Carey has taken on a whole new meaning for me this year. It has been incrementally playing in my head since Monday, Nov. 26^th.

For those of you who do not know, Trenton and I found out we were pregnant in August of this year. This is something we had planned but were surprised that it happened so quickly.  While we did have fears, we were also excited to meet our little one in April of 2019. I began a baby registry almost immediately after seeing those 2 pink lines.

We had our first ultrasound at the end of September. Our baby’s heartbeat was perfect and she looked healthy. Our doctor couldn’t see all that she wanted to, due to it being too early, so she sent us in for another sonogram at the beginning of October. Of course, I was anxious leading up to this sonogram. I couldn’t stop thinking that there could be something wrong with our little one. Even so, I knew that most of my fears never come to fruition, and I was sure that all of it was just in my head. Deep down, I believed our baby was healthy, but I was still scared.

We began announcing our pregnancy to friends, extended family, workplaces and church family after 12 weeks (week before our 2^nd sonogram). I also had the cute pregnancy announcement picture ready to post on social media after our next sonogram. A post I would never get to make.

October 8^th came. Our sonogram day. I sat in the waiting room shaking. I was surprised when they took my blood pressure and it was normal. The sonogram tech came in and did the sonogram. We got to see how much of a wiggle worm our little one was. I loved seeing her sweet little feet kick. After the sonogram tech left, the doctor came in and looked at a few things himself. Then came the words I thought I would never hear, “There’s something wrong with your baby.” We were told she likely had a genetic condition and that she probably wasn’t going to make it due to the severity of the scan. I don’t remember much of what the doctor said after that. I kept waiting for him to say, “I’m joking, your baby is healthy.” I know that’s irrational to think that a doctor would tell you that mean of a joke, but I didn’t care. It couldn’t be real. I screamed. I couldn’t catch my breath. I pleaded with God. Trenton and I sat in that office for what felt like an eternity, holding each other and sobbing, waiting for the doctor to come back and tell us he made a mistake. But it didn’t happen. Our sweet nurse did pray over us and our little one, and we felt God wrap his arms around us in that moment, but we were still upset and angry.

After our visit, we were sent to do more tests to find out exactly what was wrong. After a week of waiting on blood test results, we got a call telling us our baby was a sweet little girl and that she likely had Down Syndrome. We decided to name her Amara Joy, meaning Eternal Joy. Trenton and I could have sworn we saw her smile in a 3-D sonogram a few weeks earlier, so the name fit her perfectly.

Last Bump Picture

 At our next appointment, our doctor surprised us by telling us that the Down Syndrome diagnosis meant that Amara was likely going to survive. Of course, there would be some challenges along the way, but she was going to live. I started reading books about children with disabilities, and I got in contact with a few people in Abilene who had children with Down Syndrome. Even so, there was something in my heart that wouldn’t let me accept that our Amara was going to live. I think I was trying to protect myself from any more terrible news that we might receive.

We waited 4 LONG weeks for our next sonogram. Finally, November 19^th came. This time, my blood pressure wasn’t so great. (It’s not supposed to be this way, but I really hate sonograms.) The sonogram tech came in again, and as soon as she left the room I knew something was wrong. They always let you hear the heart beat, but this time she didn’t. I knew what that meant. Trenton tried to tell me that they may have just forgotten, but I knew. My heart was no longer beating alongside our little girl’s. The doctor came in soon after and confirmed the news. Amara had likely passed away around 16 weeks, about 2-3 weeks prior to the 19^th. Trenton and I cried for the loss of our sweet girl, but tried to rest in the fact that she was with Jesus. That she would never experience the pain of this world. We even got to experience her smile before she left us, and I was so thankful for that.

We set our inducement date for November 25^th. We got to the hospital on Sunday at 4 p.m. and began the process of inducing around 6 p.m. Thankfully, the labor went a lot quicker than expected and I delivered our sweet Amara Joy at 2:29 a.m. Monday morning. She weighed 2 oz and was 5.25 inches long. Her hands and feet were so small and her legs were so long just like her daddy’s. We spent 12 short hours with her, and family got to hold her. We took pictures with her and a few keepsakes. Pictures that we’ll cherish forever. Pictures that will have to hold the place of not having our girl here with us.

Amara's hand and footprints

But pictures aren’t what I want for Christmas this year. Even though I am so very thankful that our Amara Joy will never experience pain, that this world will never hurt her in any way, I selfishly want our baby girl here with us. Our baby who made me a Mom and Trenton a Dad. Our angel baby. Our Amara Joy.  But pictures will have to do for now. At least until we all are in Heaven together.