I feel like there is so little within this situation that is within my control and that little that there is, I am anxious to take control of (for example, funeral arrangements, mementos, research, etc.).  However when I tried to do so, I completely fell apart all over again.  My peace was gone.  I did learn some stuff though.  I learned that my baby's condition is called "Potter's Syndrome."  I asked Colby why the doctor never told us this, but he said he did.  I guess I was just in a fog or something.  Anyway, Colby found a great website with information about it: http://www.potterssyndrome.org/potterslinks.html.

"Who Am I that that you gave everything?

Who am I to withhold anything?"

I listened to my "Sons & Daughters" album by Sherri Youngward for the fist time in quite a while.  These lyrics from her song, "Stars" have really stuck with me since.

We met our good friends, Kim and Darren for breakfast this morning with our little ones.  They've been so supportive to us this past week.  As we were preparing to leave, the woman at the table next to us started asking about Reid.  I gloated about his big one year birthday coming in one day.  As I stood up, she announced, "Oh, and you have another one coming."  She proceeded to ask all of the standard questiond regarding due date, gender, etc.  I forced a smile and gave quick answers, reminding myself that I could handle this, as I was able to handle it with the last two women who made polite conversation with the same questions in the past week.  But then she bagan to awe about how the two of them would grow up so close in age and how close in age her own two kids were growing up. I felt my face grow hot and pushed back the tears until I could at least get far enough away to not have to explain myself.   

Kim continued to stand next to me, rubbing my back as I faked a pleasant agreement and followed Colby who had bolted out of the restaurant with Reid.  Finally, I was at the door and could allow the tears to flow.

The party was a great success.  Reid was a hit, as always. 

I was probably as nervous about seeing most of our friends for the first time since all of this, as they were about seeing us.  We tried to ensure that the word got out to everyone beforehand, so we wouldn't have to break the news for the first time to anyone there, or even worse, have to try to act as if nothing was happening until we could share the news at a more appropriate time.  The last thing we want to do is pretend like I'm not even pregnant.

"And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."

Colby and I have finally learned what this means.  We have found that peace which transcends all understanding.  I do believe God can perform a miracle here, astounding the doctors with kidneys and amniotic fluid at the next ultrasound.  However, I don't believe He will in this case and we have a peace about that. 

This peace is so strong that both Colby and I feel an ironic sense of honor and gratitude that we would be chosen to experience something this intense and that we are entrusted with this baby, to carry it and love it for however much time God blesses us with it. 

We know God is grieving with us.  We have seen our relationship with Him and with each other deepen since Monday.  We know He is with us and that our baby will be with Him.  I will continue to express my desire to God for my baby to be healed everyday for the rest of this pregnancy, but I trust that God loves this baby even more than I do and find peace despite all the confusion.

I went to Babies R Us today to exchange something for Reid.  As I was walking out the door, I stopped with the feeling that there was something else I had needed to do there.  I looked around at each of the departments, hoping to jog my memory. 

"That's right... I'd been meaning to come here to test out the strollers I'd been researching," I thought to myself.  I found myself standing in front of the double strollers and my mind went blank.  "I'm not having twins.  Why would I need this?" I wondered, feeling brain-dead.  Then it hit me.  I don't need this after all.  I won't be pushing Reid around with his little brother or sister as I had been envisioning for the past four and a half months.  My baby wouldn't even leave the hospital for me to show it what sunshine, grass and wind are.

I walked away, shocked at myself for what I'd just done.  I rubbed my belly and assured my baby that the sun would shine brighter, the grass would be softer and greener, and the air crisper in Heaven.

"For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them."

After breaking the news with our moms and a couple friends, we asked that they inform the rest of our family and friends.  Those people told their family and friends and within a couple days we had hundreds, if not thousands of people, near and far, praying for us.

Yesterday I wondered how many times throughout the four and a half months to follow that I would have to re-realize all of this, the same waywe wake up in hotel rooms and require a moment to remember where we are and what we're doing there.  Last night was one of many.  I woke up in the middle of the night.  Colby was sleeping.  My thoughts took off on their own, replaying everything.  I rubbed my belly and apologized to my baby.

Before I knew it, I was sobbing so hard I woke Colby up.  He rushed to me and calmed me down after a few minutes.  I don't remember much of what  I said besides asking him if he thought our little baby would be in heaven or if that was just something you find in Hallmark cards.  I told him I didn't know much about heaven and asked him to read me everything the bible has to say about it. 

We held each other and cried a while and tried to go back to sleep.

The drive to see the specialist is dreadful.  We keep our shameful thoughts private, wrongly assuming that the other would never think such things like… Are we going to be those people who are caring for their thirty-something year-old child because they are disabled from living an unassisted, independent life?  Would I really prefer that over the reality of my baby not surviving?  Guilt is happy to join us on this drive.

Here we are in the Perinatologist’s office.  This is where people go when they are having complicated pregnancies.  It’s clear we don’t belong here.  Surely they’ll learn that and send us back to our regular doctor.

Our doctor is pleasant.  The room is darkened and the doctor peers in via ultrasound to see our little baby all curled up.  Hours seem to pass.  As he reassuringly pats my knee; Hope walks further out the door.  Finally he finishes.  The lights go on and it’s time to hear what we already know.  The doctor confirms that Baby has virtually no amniotic fluid in the sac that is supposed to be protecting it while in my womb.  The doctor gently explains to us that the reason for this is because Baby never developed kidneys and therefore is unable to create the fluid by peeing.  “Ok…  And?”  “And your baby is only expected to live a short time if you decide to continue the pregnancy.”

Our emotions begin to pour down our faces.  The doctor explains that it takes a few days to die of kidney failure and we would be able to take the baby home and comfort him or her during that time.  I’m starring into my lap, imagining the moment when I go to lift my baby from its bassinet to discover its lifeless, little body.  I would have no idea what to do.  My thought is interrupted when the doctor considers that, due to the lack of amniotic fluid, Baby’s lungs will be underdeveloped and he or she will die of breathing complications within a few hours, before kidney failure will even begin to affect him/her.  We won't get to take our baby home after all.  Maybe it's better that way.

The doctor offers the option to terminate the pregnancy, but Colby quickly speaks up and says that is not an option.  I sit silently in agreement.  The doctor nods understandingly and never brings it up again.  I ask him if Baby will experience any pain while in my belly or after it is born.  He assures me that the baby is perfectly happy and comfortable in my womb, and because it is living off of my body, I will be able to carry it full-term.  Once the baby is born, it will not be in pain and we will get to have that time to comfort him/her until s/he passes. 

I think about the many possible times this doctor must have had this conversation with expectant parents in his career.  I asked him if these are the only kinds of patients he sees.  He smiles kindly, and replies that he sees patients who are having complicated pregnancies, whether because of the baby’s health, the mother’s health, or medical history.  “So, you probably have to give news like this quite often?” I ask.  “Yes,” he responds with his smile.  “That’s a pretty sucky job,” I reply with a half sob, half laugh.  “Well…” the doctor trails off.

He then offers us as much time as we need to ourselves, which we accept and spend crying, holding and apologizing to each other.  When he returned, he told us that he would have a social worker call us to talk about the non-medical part of this (funeral, I presume?) and we schedule our next appointment together, where we’ll have another ultrasound and discuss what to expect on the day of birth.

Colby and I stroll through the hospital courtyard -the same place where I went through early labor with Reid.  We reminisce about that day, pointing out the bench where the security guard offered me a wheelchair, as well as the exact bush I puked in while onlookers pretended not to notice.  We drive away with the flowers that Colby bought me in the courtyard and agree that we never imagined something like this would ever happen to us.  Now I guess we go tell our moms and the rest of the world.