carleymeiners

(Annie Cooper Photography)

A year ago, I posted my first blog in 5 years titled Let’s Begin Again. One year later I’m starting fresh… again. But where do I even begin?

In 2024, I decided to pick up my blog again as part of my healing journey of all that I experienced with my pregnancy and postpartum with my daughter. I needed some space to feel seen and share why I strategically choose the timing of future pregnancies. Spoiler alert: we were actively trying to get pregnant.

I was terrified. But ready to grow our family and hopeful to put the season of baby making behind us.

What entailed in the months after I clicked publish has forever altered my life. But here I am again, sitting down at my computer to re-introduce a piece of me that very much makes me feel like myself.

Before I proceed forward, I have to be blatantly honest that I’m about to share my experience with pregnancy loss.

On September 11, 2024 I found out I was pregnant. We had been trying for 5 months, and I was sure we had missed the ovulation window. I took a test as I did every month, and when it popped positive, I was so relieved. Our close family and friends knew we had been trying so I told our families almost immediately. Close friends were told a few weeks later. I always felt that even if something happens, I would really need the support of those closest to me.

After the initial shock wore off, I started to feel anxious of what was to come. My first pregnancy was so hard on my body… emotionally and physically. I knew the morning sickness (really hypermesis gravidium) was only a few weeks away.

I slowly felt the nausea creep in and overnight, I could barely get out of bed. I was home by myself taking care of my busy toddler and had to call in backup care to help me make it through my husband’s trip before we re-assessed what our game plan would be.

We ended up having my mother in law help while he was gone (which occurs on a weekly basis). It was hard on everyone. I wasn’t the active mom I was used to being, and my MIL was gone a lot from her home. It was debilitating and full of mom guilt.

Then, at 7 weeks, I started to bleed.

Terrified, we went to the ER to get checked out. After a few hours, the doctor came in to confirm all was fine with baby’s heartbeat and my HCG levels were still very high. They found a hematoma, which is fairly common in pregnancy. I was sent home and to follow up with my OB. My first ultrasound was already scheduled for the following week.

The pregnancy continued to progress decently normal. I was still as sick as I was with my daughter. When you’re not in the middle of it, the HG doesn’t seem so bad (aka right now, I’m like well I did survive…). But it is debilitating in the moment. I am a shell of who I normally am as a wife, mother, friend. I spend an enormous amount of time in bed or sleeping. My body becomes weak.

In November, we scheduled a gender reveal photoshoot with our favorite photographer. I was finally starting to feel better, and our genetic testing had come back, which included the gender. We did a gender reveal and found out we were having a boy… elated. One of each. Our dream as a family.

My pregnancy continued on, we had to lean on our family a lot for help but I slowly inched towards being out of bed and productive. Then the week of Thanksgiving I started to bleed more.

Our gender reveal photos came back, and I ordered Christmas cards. No one knew it was a boy. I put the cards in the mail… fully knowing I was bleeding. I told myself (and my mom) this was an act of faith. I was terrified but needed to believe all would be OK. I put the cards in the mail Wednesday before Thanksgiving, and then we drove to my in laws to celebrate the holiday. This pregnancy had been hell but in my mind I thought, “there’s no way God would allow this much morning sickness, this much hardship in both pregnancies and not form a miracle.”

I obviously know that’s not how life, or God, works.

On the drive, I was cramped the entire 2 hour drive. I thought it was just weird pregnancy pains, but when I saw more blood than I had seen previously, we went to the ER.

Another wait, another strong heartbeat, another discharge.

Since it was a holiday weekend, I didn’t talk to my OB until the following Monday. She had me come in. She was behind due to an emergency delivery at the hospital. I sat for a while next to another pregnant woman with her mom. She continuously debated whether they should just come back another day while chit chatting about the baby things that still needed to be put together. Normally, what I would call a normal conversation felt like actual torture.

I didn’t get the luxury of fantasizing over my baby boy. What he would look like, who his personality would mimic, all the memories of bringing home a second baby. Instead, I was constantly battling my mind to think positively when I knew deep down that something was incredibly wrong.

That week, I went to the doctor 3 times and the ER once. I passed so much blood one morning that I was positive it was time to say goodbye to this baby.

But again, another ER wait, another strong heartbeat, another discharge.

My OB scheduled me to MFM earlier than originally intended to see if they would be able to see something she wasn’t.

Between that last ER visit and MFM there was about week or so. I spent a lot of that time by myself home taking care of my daughter while my husband was away at work. I remember crying putting her pajamas on at the end of the night. “Mommy, you’re sad?” she asked me. And it was all I could do but cry harder and hug her. My heart knew something was wrong. I was by myself. And I was terrified.

Every night I felt him kick. A stark reminder that a tiny life is forming inside of you that you may not get to meet. I would rub my belly and tell him it would be ok. But my heart was breaking from the inside out.

We went on a Tuesday to speak with MFM. There was little to no fluid. The statistics said I would miscarry, but if I didn’t, I needed to be hospitalized started at 21 weeks. I was currently only 16 weeks.

My instructions: Full bed rest. Take your temp every 3 hours (it is an emergency if it goes above 99.5). Wait and see what happens.

After that appointment, the rest of the week was a blur. We immediately went home, and I dropped to my knees and cried. There was nothing else to do. My mom came immediately to be with us through the rest of the week. I pulled all meetings off my work calendar thanks to the most supportive team who really jumped in when I said I simply needed to be head down.

On Thursday night, into Friday morning, I woke up at midnight with the worst pain of my life. Matt drove me to the ER where about 15 hours later, our son Parker Charles, passed away. I was induced, and after an incredibly painful and emotionally charged labor, Parker joined Jesus on December 13, 2024.

By the time I made it to labor and delivery, I had fully accepted that we would never meet Parker on this side of heaven. I so desperately wanted to know the answer on why we had to experience this. We have been through so much heartbreak in the short 7 years we’ve been married. It feels like a curse. I’d love to say felt, but I still struggle today to wrap my head around why this has all happened to us.

What I’ve described to my therapist is that there are 3 significant situations my husband and I have experienced since we got married. The first two ended in our favor. This last one, losing Parker, did not.

As a result, I have so many questions…

How do I continue to move forward with shattered innocence?

Pregnancy will no longer be filled with pure joy for what is to come (if I’m being honest that was really never the case for me.). But I anticipate a whole new wave of emotions when we are blessed with another baby.

I also find myself constantly waiting for the next trauma to unfold in my life. It has been one thing after another for 7 years. I am painfully aware of the heartache that is possible in this life, and it is so devastatingly difficult to get out of the fight or flight mode. I am often told, from those who know our story, that I am so strong. I am the strongest person they know.

What happens when I’m tired of being strong?

The first 6 weeks postpartum, which yes you still get to experience postpartum, were a new hell. I spent the first two weeks mainly in bed. Not wanting to even talk to anyone other than family. My body was recovering, I still looked pregnant, and I desperately wanted to hide from my reality.

We were so fortunate to have an incredible group of families in our neighborhood who came together to provide meals and love for us when we spent many days in tears. We received so many meaningful gifts that allow us to bring Parker with us every day. When I wasn’t able to be strong, our community lifted us up.

Since I was so far along, if you were around me in person, our pregnancy was announced. There was no hiding it. We shared the Parker’s passing on Facebook, but for those who we’re not connected with on social, how do we announce the death of our child?

How do you say “oh I’m not pregnant anymore”?

Parker was our wildest dream come true and also the worst nightmare I could imagine. There are countless lessons that I’ve learned through this process, which I plan to continue to document via this blog as I continue to grow. But the biggest lesson has been to just move forward.

After the holidays, and once E was back in school, I started to rip off the bandaid. I dropped her off at school, where I had to mention a few times that I was no longer pregnant. I went to couples night out events via E’s school, without M, just to get out of the house. I announced Parker’s passing on LinkedIn before I came back to work. I just kept pushing forward.

We put our house on the market that spring and moved home. M started a new job and moving home meant an easier commute for him and more family support for me. It was so incredibly sad leaving our community in Biloxi behind. But it was necessary, and I am constantly thankful we are home.

I don’t think we’ll ever have the answer on why this happened. Medically, I tested negative for all possible conditions that would cause such a loss. They believe the pregnancy did not implant correctly in the first place and all signs point to this just being an incredibly unfortunate experience.

I have spent the summer settling into our new home and loving on my daughter whom I am so thankful for each and every day. I’m able to move through the hard days with a lot more grace for her, for myself and for others. The little things tend to not bother me as much anymore. I have a patience and gentleness more than I ever have in my adult life.

I still get sad. I am still fighting to find pieces of myself I have lost trying to move through my life circumstances. But maybe that’s the point? Maybe we’re meant to continue on. Maybe I’m meant to share my story in hopes of helping others heal.

Maybe the art of moving forward is doing so one step at a time.