Sunday, April 29, 2012
I love you. Your daddy loves you too. I know we must have agreed to letting you stay a brief while in our lives, but that doesn't make it any easier knowing that, although you seem like a normal baby to me now, you will not survive outside of me. I have wanted you for years, even before I met Daddy. Once we were married, we both wanted you so badly. I knew I was pregnant before anyone else would believe me, and you can't imagine the excitement I felt when I got that positive pregnancy test. The news came bursting out of me, and everyone knew almost right away. We were so excited. Since then, things have seemed normal. I have had morning sickness, although I only threw up twice, and some dizziness. I've been taking my vitamins and folic acid like I'm supposed to and everything. Some days have been harder than others, especially because I went off of my anti-depressants so they wouldn't harm you.
Honestly, though, no day was harder than when we found out you have anencephaly. Your daddy happened to be off that day because he wasn't feeling well, so when they called to tell me one of your tests had come back positive for neural tube defects and they wanted to do another sonogram, he was the one to take me. He held my hand as the doctor did the test, which I am grateful for. The doctor took what seemed like forever moving around and looking you over. Finally, he pointed out that something was abnormal about your head and that he thought you had anencephaly. He was very calm and gentle while he was letting us know that your condition is fatal and you won't survive outside of the womb. I couldn't look at Daddy for the rest of the time the doctor was in there with us. Finally, the doctor wanted us to follow him out so he could give us information about a higher-quality sonogram he had scheduled for us at a hospital in Kansas City. I made the mistake of looking at Daddy and let out a sob. He held me for a moment and I contained myself as well as possible before we walked out. It was difficult not to sob while in the hallway, and I managed to keep it together until we got into the car in the parking lot. As soon as we both sat down, I let out my heartbreak in my crying.... I was practically yelling, I was so loud. The next place we went was your Grandma's work so we could tell her in person. She had already suspected anencephaly, even though she had assured me everything was fine, and she could tell by the agonized look on my face that she had been right. I broke down again when I told her, and so did Daddy.
Since then, I've done a lot of research, crying, and explaining to people about what is happening. We've decided we want to keep you as long as possible, especially right now, because you're safe for at least a few more months. It will not be easy for me, Sophia. I'm trying to be happy. I'm trying to enjoy this time you are here with us, but almost every time I really think about you I start to cry. I felt you move today during church. It stunned me for a moment, and when I told Daddy about it he smiled.... and I started to cry. There have been a few people who say they know what I'm going through, but they really don't. A miscarriage is not the same as this. I'm sure a miscarriage is painful, but once it happens it is over. You can start to try for another baby - or not - whatever you want. But in this situation, my little angel, you are still here. You are still strong. We haven't lost you yet, but we will, and we have no choice. We want you more than anything. We have been praying since we knew you existed that you would be healthy and well, but that was not the Father's plan. You, Sophia, our darling angel, are needed back in Heaven.
Until then, I will continue doing my best to enjoy this very short time you are here with us. I can't promise I'll stop crying. I know your mission is important, but that won't make me miss you less. You have a half-sister. Her name is Onnamaria Sophia Lacey. You're not named after her, but you do share a name. And the love of your Daddy. We will always love you, Sophia. You are the first addition to our Forever Family, and we won't forget that. We will do everything we can to be able to see you again. It will not be easy (after all, Daddy is a little stubborn) but it will be worth it to see our perfect little girl again. I can already imagine the tiny fingers and toes you will be born with, although I have a feeling that you will be a beautiful woman by the time we meet you in Heaven. Thank you for giving us this time with you, as hard as it might be.