The day after we got home from family vacation, we found out I was pregnant with our third child.

I think all color immediately leached from my face; I was shocked.

My husband, meanwhile, did his customary fist-pump and grin-with-glee routine.  He loves babies, and he was so excited.

The timing was perfect.  He would be home for the baby’s birth and early infancy.

A few weeks in, and I was catching my husband’s excitement, too.  I didn’t have my traditional morning sickness.  My oldest daughter kept talking about our “sweet second baby,” telling my younger daughter she was the “first baby.”

A close friend dropped off a tote of maternity clothes.  I started looking at where we could fit a third small set of drawers for his or her little sleepers and onesies.  We decided we didn’t want to find out the gender; I wanted the surprise.

And then, three days after Christmas, while we were out of town visiting my parents for the holiday, I started bleeding. 

It got worse and worse throughout the day.  I was doubled over with cramps.  Felt gushes of blood.  And eventually had to hole myself up in my parent’s guest bathroom while my mother and husband took care of my little girls.
 
By the next morning, I knew it was over.  Everyone else tried to remain positive for me, including my midwife who had been on my phone with me all night from Georgia.

But I knew.

But we still packed up all our Christmas gifts and our girls and drove back to Georgia.

I cried the whole way home.  I was so devastated because I knew.

My husband didn’t want to talk about it until we had a guarantee.

And so we had an ultrasound the next day.

And within seconds, before the ultrasound technician said a word, I knew again.  The baby was gone.

The baby that was supposed to be so perfectly timed, so that my husband would be home to see him or her be born.

The baby I had dreamt about two nights before, knowing he was a boy.  I had seen him and held him and rocked him.

He was gone.

Of course, the midwife and doctor sat down and wanted to talk about our plans.  Because I had no complications, they were excited to tell me I could try again right away.

Except, I couldn’t.

Thanks to the Navy, my better half wouldn’t be there to try with me for much longer.

And we are now in a window where, if we get pregnant again quickly, my husband won’t be home for the birth of the baby.  Or his or her infancy.

It felt like a double blow.  The loss of our third child and the loss of an open opportunity to grow our family.

I think I will forever grieve the loss of this little one.  I also think I won’t find that joy I had before until we get another chance to add another baby to the family.

But thanks to the Navy, that may not happen any time soon.

And so, I pick up, soldier on, and try to put on a brave face for the two blessings I already have while their daddy leaves for awhile once again.

Not how I imagined starting the New Year, that’s for sure.