A decade

Last night was HARD. Samantha has been fighting some nasty virus for days. Her cough sounds horrible, her temps have been erratic. She slept maybe a total of 2 hours straight, and was inconsolable when she wasn't in my arms. There was a lot of me trying to hold her squirming body against mine in a rocking chair.

I got her to the doctor this morning and thankfully she doesn't have RSV which was my initial fear. No, based on her symptoms and check up she was whacked by a stomach virus late last week, recovered, and was whacked by another virus that's mainly causing congestion. We should be out of the woods in a few days.

This uneventful run of the mill life of a sick toddler got me thinking of the last decade.

Let me step back. Niblet is obsessed with "Mr. Kate" - a YouTuber who does interior design with her husband. We were binging on it the other day, while Sammi remained the dynamo of dangerous climbing in the living room, all while sniffling, coughing and snotting away on our furniture.

"What's a miscarriage?" asked Niblet, when we hit an episode featuring a couple who were expecting after three miscarriages (one was technically a stillbirth but I didn't get into it). The mother was now a week away from holding a baby in her arms.

"It's when you're pregnant and your baby doesn't live sweetie. You know how I said I had many of them before..." I stared at the screen, showing a nursery filled with rainbows and butterflies. "Sammi is our rainbow baby."

This decade. Oh my god, this decade.

I celebrated twelve years of marriage.

I raised a gorgeous insanely smart daughter into tweenhood.

I found a job near my home where I will likely retire fighting for low wage healthcare workers in my City.

I became a Zumba instructor.

I discovered a need to embrace my religious heritage in ways that surprised me.

I experienced eight consecutive pregnancy losses. They included a partial molar pregnancy and a TFMR in the second trimester. 

I had four D&Cs. I developed Asherman's Syndrome and sought treatment in Boston. 

I embarked on Donor Egg IVF at a clinic in Delaware, a process that involved more introspection and frankly, legal expertise, than I ever could have imagined.

I got pregnant from my first IVF cycle. 

I carried a supremely healthy baby, in the lowest-risk pregnancy of a highest-risk pregnant woman of advanced maternal age the world may ever have seen.

Samantha was born. Niblet got a long-awaited sister. I discovered the need for a baby all those years wasn't some sort of misplaced energy. Samantha was the baby who was supposed to be in my arms during those sleepless nights filled with coughing and discomfort. 

Samantha is now almost two.

I memorialized it all in this blog, this love letter to my daughters.

This decade.