Aimee Jones Milestones & Anniversaries, Pregnancy After Loss

Father’s Day

Daniel constantly impresses me and blesses me. He is an incredible father. He loves so well. His love for me, Ginny, and Chet reminds me that we are loved by God; so often it feels like God loves us through Daniel. I’m thrilled Chet will be raised by him, by someone with such a good heart…

  • He’s the father of two but has yet to see either child look up at him. 
  • He bravely cut an umbilical cord blackened by death and still has hope to cut a living cord.
  • He gets asked, “How’s Aimee?” 50 times for every one time he gets asked, “How are you?”.
  • He receives advice to be strong for me while knowing I need him to be broken with me.
  • He wants to fix things more than anything but knows he can’t. He still tries. 
  • He is always looking for ways to improve himself and better serve me. 
  • He is ready to take me to the hospital at a moment’s notice. He’s ready to face anything together. 
  • He mourns all the father-daughter experiences he is missing with Ginny. 
  • He is eager to have all the father-son experiences with Chet (starting with watching Game 7 of the 2016 World Series). 
  • He read The Hobbit aloud to Chet as soon as he learned Chet could hear in the womb.
  • Even though he isn’t allowed at doctor’s appointments, he sits right outside in the car for moral support. He wants to be as close as possible. 
  • He held his daughter’s body and wept.
  • He never left my side. 
  • He is filled with grief and love and hope and fear and sorrow and kindness and bravery and joy and laughter.  
  • He is a wonderful father.

Father’s Day can be complicated and difficult for bereaved dads. Loss fathers don’t get the sympathy and concern that loss mothers do. But they carry their grief and trauma and sorrow along with the weight of the mother’s pain on their shoulders. They deserve to be loved, supported, and honored on Father’s Day. 

Happy Father’s Day, Daniel! Thank you for being the best dad to Ginny and Chet and the best partner to me! 

Aimee Jones Pregnancy After Loss

Monitoring

Since we don’t know exactly what caused Ginny’s death, often this pregnancy feels like I’m in the middle of a monster movie sequel. It feels like a movie that never actually shows the monster, so I am free to let my imagination go wild. Will the monster show it’s face during this pregnancy? Will it appear suddenly or is it hiding and plotting? 

During this pregnancy I’m mostly concerned about Chet’s health, but at each appointment I’m also searching for more evidence about what happened to Ginny.  I get each new doctor’s perspective. I look for clues in each ultrasound. Thanks to additional monitoring, I do have more clues. 

In a previous blog I mentioned that in Ginny’s anatomy scan, they saw an intrauterine band. Ultrasounds during this pregnancy have shown that I don’t actually have an intrauterine band, but I do have a uterine septum, a divide in my uterus. The top of my uterus has two compartments that join at the bottom. When we realized this at an ultrasound this pregnancy, I asked the doctors if that could have contributed to Ginny’s death. They said it usually causes miscarriages, not stillbirths. They said it could have been the cause but there is no way of knowing. I wondered if perhaps the placenta had grown up on the septum and didn’t get the needed blood flow. I wasn’t going to get a confirmation. 

In a later ultrasound, I asked a different doctor if it looked like Chet’s placenta could grow onto the septum. She replied, “Oh it’s already way up in there”. I asked if there could be a reduced blood supply because of it. She said they would tell that by the baby’s growth. If the baby was happy, the placenta is happy. My baby is growing so all looks good, but we will need to monitor closely, as we are already doing.

At the ultrasound last week, we got to see Chet’s cute little face again! He has continued growing, and they estimate he is 5lbs now! But they also detected a slight excess of amniotic fluid. The doctors proceeded to list several issues that could cause this. Then they said none of those issues were possible in my case based off of previous test results. They said there may be nothing wrong and I may have extra fluid for no known reason. They recommended close monitoring, as we are already doing.

Now I have three things that push me into high risk category and deserve additional monitoring. But Chet is growing! He looks great so far and is moving a lot. That gives me so much hope, but does not ease all my fears.

As I try to stay as aware as possible during this pregnancy, I feel like I can’t trust my motherly instincts. My instincts didn’t alert me when Ginny was dying. And now that I’m that pregnant again, my fear just tells me to get the baby out ASAP. It isn’t safe! I know that’s not true right now, but my instinct tells me it is true. 

Sometimes all of this makes me feel so anxious. I get anxious for appointments. I get anxious as I think through different scenarios again and again. I get anxious as I have memories of Ginny’s death again and again. It does sometimes feel like there is a monster lurking around the corner. Do I think I have a chance at capturing it or killing it or even just escaping? 

During these moments of anxiousness, I have go back to an eternal mindset. I need to change my perspective again. Although the medical advice and monitoring are important,  I know that even if I had all the information in the world, I’m not in control. Even if all signs pointed to a good or bad outcome, it really can’t be known ahead of time. I have to remind myself that I am not the creator and sustainer of life. I have to trust God. The fact that Chet is growing well does give me hope, but I have hope beyond that. I have hope in heaven and restoration beyond this time, and God is with us. As much as I’d like to have control, reminding myself of this truth does help me exhale. It eases my anxiety a bit. I have to remind myself of this daily, sometimes hourly. 

“So neither he who plants nor he who waters is anything, but only God who gives growth.” 1 Corinthians 3:7 

“For I, the Lord your God, hold your right hand; it is I who say to you, ‘Fear not, I am the one who helps you.’” Isaiah 41:13

Aimee Jones Concerning Suffering, Faith-Based Encouragement

Man of Sorrows

“He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief; and as one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not. Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted. But he was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his wounds we are healed. All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned—every one—to his own way; and the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all.” Isaiah 53:3-6

We live in a broken world. There is evil in the world. There is grief, pain, and injustice. Sometimes it hits us in the face. Sometimes it kills us. 

It hit Jesus in the face, and it killed Jesus. That’s why he is called the Man of Sorrows. His life was full of adversity. Plots to end his life started from his birth. He was a refugee. He wasn’t taken seriously. He was hated for questioning authority. He was hated for hanging out with shady people. He was hated for helping the wrong people at the wrong time. He was hated for speaking the truth. He didn’t feel safe in the city. He was a threat to the powers that be. He was beaten. He was murdered by authorities without a fair trial. He deserved none of that. It was injustice and evil that brought him to death. 

On the cross, he bore the blame of all our iniquity and transgressions. He carried all our sin, sorrow, afflictions. Because of this he is well acquainted with our grief. He has experienced our suffering. He knows the pain. His heart breaks with ours. 

“For as we share abundantly in Christ’s sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too.” 2 Corinthians 1:5

But the death he experienced did not get the final word. The power of God overcame death. The power of God brought healing. 

And when Jesus left Earth again after being resurrected, He didn’t leave us alone. He left a Helper, the Holy Spirit. 

“I tell you the truth; it is to your advantage that I go away, for if I do not go away, the Helper will not come to you. But if I go, I will send him to you. And when he comes, he will convict the world concerning sin and righteousness and judgment.” John 16:7-8

The Holy Spirit is with us and empowers us with the power of God to also overcome evil.  We do have the power through the Holy Spirit to change the world. We have the power to overcome darkness, inequality, injustice, violence, and fear. We have the power to comfort and help each other in our suffering. Through the Holy Spirit, we can bring more of heaven here. We can bring justice, peace, and love. We can change the world by loving our neighbors. 

We need to stop, be quiet, and listen. Listen to the Holy Spirit, listen to the Word, listen to the brothers and sisters around you with an open heart. When you get a nudging from the Holy Spirit on what to say or do, follow it! 

“For the Holy Spirit will teach you in that very hour what you ought to say.” Luke 12:12

“The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such things there his no law.” Galatians 5:22

We are not alone in our suffering. 

The Man of Sorrows is acquainted with our grief. 

He is broken hearted. 

He empowers us by giving us the Helper. 

Listen.

Love.

“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope.” Romans 15:13

Title: Man of Sorrows, Artist: Unknown Artist 15th Century

Aimee Jones Pregnancy After Loss

Realistic Prayers During Pregnancy After Loss

I’ve read pregnancy devotionals full of prayers of hope, expectancy, and joy for women. These are wonderful for most pregnant women, but for loss moms those prayers can sometimes be really hard. As much as I’d like to meditate on prayers of training my children in the way they should go or the plans God has for the long life of my little one, more often I can only muster enough hope to pray for my baby to survive one more day. Personally the prayers below are more realistic for my pregnancy after loss. These are one-line prayers that I often find myself reciting throughout the day. These prayers may not be as hopeful or expectant, but they are trusting. They are not as joyful, but they are still grateful. However I pray, I know the Holy Spirit intercedes for me with “groaning too deep for words.”

1st Trimester:

Help me

Thank you for nausea 

Please no blood

Thank you for a heartbeat

Thank you for no blood

2nd Trimester:

Help me

Thank you for a heartbeat

Protect this baby, but your will be done

Thank you for pictures

Thank you for no blood

Thank you for movement

3rd Trimester:

Help me

Protect this baby, but your will be done

Thank you for no blood

Thank you for hip pain 

Thank you for heart burn

Thank you for movement

Thank you for growth

Please let this baby live, but your will be done

Bless this baby

Your will be done

“The Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.” Romans 8:26

Aimee Jones Early Grief, Pregnancy After Loss

From: Ginny, To: Chet

When taking down Ginny’s nursery, our family asked us if we wanted to keep things for our future children. What if we have a girl? We have so many cute girl things. I agreed to keep the crib, stroller, pack-n-play, and other large items. We bought those with our whole future family in mind. But those clothes are specifically Ginny’s; those blankets are Ginny’s. If we have other children, we wanted them to have their own things. It was too hard to think of Ginny’s things sitting in storage for who knows how long to be kept for a child that may or may not ever exist. Someone could use these things now. We kept a couple keepsakes and gave the rest away. Ginny wouldn’t be handing down her things to her siblings as she likely would’ve if she lived. 

The donation pile in our garage grew. Week after week, we never had the heart to take it to Goodwill.  A few times I said, “We should just call someone from church and ask them to pick everything up and take care of it.” But we never had the strength to do even that. The donation boxes loomed in the garage. It was an emotional chore we were never ready for. We chose to give the stuff away so that it would be used and wouldn’t sit in storage, and here it was sitting. After months the garage was a place we didn’t even enter. It was a shadow that held a piece of our untapped grief.

A few months into pregnancy with Chet, Daniel decided it was time to tackle the garage. We entered with determination and started filling the trunk of the car with stuff. I saw the nursery decor. I saw the birdhouse sign that once had Ginny’s name but now was blank with a little glue residue. I saw her crib sheets. I saw her clothes and blankets and socks. We continued loading the car. I didn’t change my mind… except for two items…

The first item brought back a vivid memory of early grief. It arrived on our front porch two days after we got home from the hospital after delivering Ginny. It wasn’t a care package. It was the diaper bag that I ordered the week before. It was a last minute item that I ordered when the world was still right. When it showed up, it was a cruel reminder of what we had lost. Well at least we can return it and get our money back. I had ordered the diaper bag from Walmart on a baby sale day. The week after it arrived, Daniel and I decided we would venture to Walmart to return the diaper bag. That was a terrible idea. It was still too early. That shouldn’t have been our first outing without family. 

In early grief, going in public feels sort of like an out of body experience. I didn’t feel comfortable in my own skin. I felt like no one could see me… or that everyone was staring at me. Everything was fuzzy and felt foreign. We walked into Walmart and were immediately greeted by two friendly greeters. They gave us a sticker for the return item. I’m sure I made an awkward effort at politeness, but I was thinking, “Don’t they find it strange that we are returning a diaper bag? Why would someone return a perfectly good diaper bag if not for the unnatural tragedies of a fallen world?” Now thinking back I know there are plenty of good reasons to return a diaper bag, but that was how my mind worked at the time. 

We stood in line at customer service. When our turn came, the young woman at the counter informed us that since we bought this on the Walmart “Marketplace” we could not return it in store. I snapped at her, “So you’re telling me that I can’t return something I bought on walmart.com at Walmart?!” “That’s correct. You’ll have to go online and print the return label and send it through FedEx or something.” I wanted to scream, “I don’t even want to return this stupid diaper bag!! I want to use this diaper bag, but my baby died!!”  I felt myself turning red and my eyes swelling up. I grabbed the diaper bag and quickly turned around. Tears started streaming down my face as Daniel and I walked as fast as we could out of there. The friendly greeters saw I was crying as I rushed by. One shouted, “Oh no dear! What happened?! I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry!” It wasn’t Walmart’s fault; we weren’t ready for that chore. When we got home, still wrapped in plastic, the diaper bag got tossed on top of the donation pile in the garage.

Months later when we were loading the car full of the donation items, I stopped on the diaper bag. It’s a perfectly good diaper bag that I carefully picked out. It’s still in the plastic. This wasn’t specifically Ginny’s; it never even entered the house before she was gone. I remembered that the lining was blue. I settled for a bag with blue lining because I liked everything else about it. Maybe this blue diaper bag should be Chet’s. Why not? Suddenly this item that brought a painful memory of crying in Walmart transformed into something that held a little hope for the future. We have a diaper bag for our new baby. It was bought for Ginny, but now it’s Chet’s. 

The second item I saved took me by surprise. This item was a soft blue teddy bear. It was actually given to us at the hospital. It was part of the memory box that our wonderful nurse carefully assembled. The memory box means more to me than any other physical item. It is so precious to us. But I didn’t understand the teddy bear. It was very kindly donated by the parents of stillborn twins. This was before I knew that many grieving mothers hold a teddy bear to ease their aching empty arms. To me it was a reminder that there was no reason to have a toy bear in our house. We have no children to play with it. Plus it was blue; it reminded me of a baby boy, not Ginny. I thought it would be better for a little boy to play with it than for it to sit in a box, so I put it in the donation pile.

Months later when I saw that little blue bear in the garage it struck me. That bear reminds me of a baby boy because it belongs to Chet. It is Ginny’s gift to Chet. The rest of the items in the memory box were for Daniel and me, but that bear was for Chet. It felt like when Ginny died, she left behind a gift for her baby brother. A blue teddy bear. 

These two items moved from the garage to the nursery upstairs, awaiting Baby Chet. The remainder of the items were donated and are hopefully being enjoyed by many other families with living baby girls. I wish we wouldn’t have dreaded donating the items or felt guilty for taking so long. It’s important to take all the time you need when grieving and to not feel bad about it. I’m glad we waited to finish that chore. Those months gave us the space to see the items not as sources of pain but as gifts. 

Aimee Jones Pregnancy After Loss

Growing

Last Thursday we had the highly anticipated 28 week ultrasound. It was the first 3rd trimester growth scan. This is how we will catch and prevent what happened to Ginny from happening to Chet. I had been nervous all week; the worst moment of my life was at an ultrasound in the 3rd trimester. I wanted to see Chet’s face and know how he was doing, but I couldn’t help but be anxious.

Daniel couldn’t come in with me, but we’d be able to FaceTime. Even though he could’ve done that from home, he still drove me and sat waiting in the car. He wanted to be as near as possible. He wanted to be able to come in if anything went wrong. 

I walked into the building; it was the 2nd time in two months that I’ve walked through any doors except home. The 1st time was my previous doctor’s appointment. I was immediately given a mask and asked to sanitize my hands. The sonographer was already ready for me. It was an older man. I tried to ease my own tension by joking through my mask, “I don’t know why I put lip gloss on today. That was pointless.” He joked back that he never wears lip gloss. 

We entered the room and started the ultrasound. He immediately went to the heartbeat. I was so grateful for that. It was a strong heartbeat. He showed 4 chambers pumping blood. I exhaled, and called Daniel on FaceTime. We could hear birds chirping over my phone speaker from Daniel in the car with windows down. The sound brought a little cheeriness to the dark room. 

The sonographer measured Chet’s head and abdomen. We saw the stomach and kidneys. He measured the fluid. Then he took picture after picture of Chet’s cute little face! We got profiles and 3D pictures! The sonographer said he could do this all day. He proceeded to print a CVS-receipt-sized series of adorable pictures! This more than made up for the lack of pictures from the anatomy scan. Joy filled my heart as I stared at our son’s face. Daniel was smiling. 

I was brought to a waiting room until my doctor consultation. I sent the pictures to our families. Even though I didn’t yet know if Chet was growing on track, I got so much comfort from just seeing his face. 

The doctor called my name, and as we entered the consultation room she said, “Well you have a big boy!” She said he was growing really well and was in the 75th percentile. I was handed a paper that said “3lbs 7oz”. That’s 2oz bigger than Ginny was at birth! The doctor said we will continue monitoring, but he looks good and healthy. 

Wow! He’s big. He’s already bigger than his sister at almost 7 weeks younger. This doesn’t guarantee anything, but it does give me loads of hope. Perhaps we will welcome him into our arms! 

My next growth ultrasound will be at 32 weeks, and then the following week I will start weekly non-stress tests.  I’m excited to see him again. Until then I will be admiring his cute cheeks, nose, lips, and hands in these precious photos.

Aimee Jones Milestones & Anniversaries

Mothers

Even though I live across the country and I haven’t seen my mom since Christmas, I still know the feeling of her soft hands. I can imagine leaning my head on her shoulder. Her touch, her voice, her fast-paced strides across the house are all so familiar and comforting to me. She’s the first person I ever knew. She knows me so well. We are connected in ways I don’t even understand. 

That’s why I couldn’t keep the secret when Daniel and I found out I was pregnant with Ginny. I tried for a couple days. When I spoke to my mom during that time, I felt like a liar for keeping it from her. Somehow she was going to just know. I was convinced her motherly instincts would just know, and then I would have to tell her by answering her questions instead of a sweet surprise. We caved and told family after a couple days. haha I don’t know for sure that she would’ve sensed it, but I bet she would have.

She was the first person I called after we found out Ginny had died. Then I called Daniel’s mom. They were the only two family members who held Ginny’s body. Their hearts broke because they missed their granddaughter, but also their hearts broke for us – their children whom they carried in their wombs. They were broken because we were broken. 

A bond between a mother and a child is powerful. It’s fueled by the mother’s love. I’ve always noticed a certain desperation that appears in a woman’s eyes once she becomes a mother. It’s like she is bearing something so valuable and is so afraid of losing it. She has so much love to bear. I’ve felt that desperation. But the truth is you can never lose the love for a child. You can lose the child, but the love stays with you forever. That’s what makes someone a mother – that love. 

You don’t have to have a child in your arms to feel that love. You don’t have to have given birth or been pregnant to feel that love. You don’t have to have someone call you “mom” to feel that love. 

Mother’s Day was hard last year. I knew I was a mother. I wanted to celebrate and honor that fact, but it just wasn’t obvious to the world. I had no baby. But if anyone could see inside my heart, they would see the love I had for Ginny. They could see my motherhood. So last year, I dressed up and went to church, knowing the Mother’s Day service might be painful. During the part of the service where we greet each other and “pass the peace”, another mother who knew my story came up to me from across the room. She hugged me so hard. She told me that I am a mother, a wonderful mother and that she was so proud of me. Tears started flowing down my face. That’s what I needed to hear. I needed someone to acknowledge my motherhood. 

Daniel took me out to a nice lunch afterward, and I received a sweet bouquet of tulips from a friend back in Oklahoma. I was blessed, and I was proud of myself for not hiding away. 

This year my motherhood is more obvious because of my bulging belly. I love that. 

Daniel and I were on a walk the other day. We passed by a cute family with 5 young children on scooters and strollers. The mom looked at me and said, “Hang in there. You’re almost there, Mama!” It took me a second to realize she was talking to me. I couldn’t stop smiling for ten minutes after that. It felt so good for another mother to not only acknowledge my motherhood, but also give me encouraging words to help get through these last couple months of pregnancy. People have no idea how impactful their simple words are. 

If you are a mother without a child this Mother’s Day, know you are a mother. Know that you deserve to be celebrated and that your love is still so powerful. Know that the bond with your child is real and unbroken. Happy Mother’s Day! 

I’m so grateful for my mom, mother-in-law, and grandmothers this Mother’s Day. They encourage me everyday, and I feel their love always. 

For those of you who are missing your mother or have a strained relationship with your mother or your children, I’m so sorry. God loves you with the power of a mother’s love and much more. 

“As one whom his mother comforts, so I will comfort you.” Isaiah 66:13

Aimee Jones Uncategorized

Waiting

I’ve entered the third trimester. I’m glad we are that much closer! I’m still a couple months away from how far along I was when we lost Ginny, but that date is looming in front of me. How can I face that time? It feels so overwhelming to think of that week, of that day, of every day after. How can I be sure that it won’t happen again? How can I bear the weight of life or death at that time? It seems like it will be too much to handle. 

I ask God how will I be able to handle it. He reminds me again of the comfort I experienced by his presence on the day Ginny was stillborn. He was with us. That’s not the answer I want to hear. I want assurances! I want promises of life! I don’t want to wait! I want to know now that I will for sure bring Chet home! Don’t I deserve to know after last time? Haven’t I earned that? Haven’t I been patient for long enough?!

God hasn’t yet given me the grace for two months from now; he has only given me the grace for today.  I have the grace and ability to make it through today. That’s all I need…until tomorrow. 

“Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.” Matthew 6:34

“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’” 2 Corinthians 12:9

One thing I’ve learned about God’s character through our loss is his patience. His timing is not our timing. In the scale of an eternal timeline, our lives are a brief moment. He doesn’t do things as fast as we’d like, but conversely he gives us all the time we need. Sometimes we will take months or years to listen to what he’s telling us, and yet he waits for us. When I couldn’t even form a prayer, he sat with me. He still sits with me in my impatience. 

“But do not overlook this one fact, beloved, that with the Lord one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day. The Lord is not slow to fulfill his promise as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance.” 2 Peter 2:8-9

I’m sure Mary and Martha experienced much impatience when waiting for Jesus after they sent word that their brother Lazarus was sick. Lazarus got sicker. Lazarus died. It wasn’t until 4 days later that Jesus arrived. They must’ve thought, “Doesn’t Jesus love Lazarus? How could he let him die? Why wouldn’t he come right away?!” They had faith that Jesus could heal Lazarus, but Jesus was taking too long. But then Jesus came, wept with the sisters, and then raised Lazarus from the dead (John 11:1-44).  His timing isn’t our timing, but his is the right timing.

Grace for today is all we have. I pray that the Holy Spirit brings me the patience to make that enough for me. 

“But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.” Romans 8:25

“Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer.” Romans 12:12

Aimee Jones Uncategorized

Making Room

Every second-time mother I know has cried about having another baby. They ask, “How could I ever love another child as much as I love my first? What if I’m not able to continue to give my first child the attention they deserve?” 

It wasn’t until I was pregnant that I realized that all of these questions and concerns also applied to me even though my first child had died. 

Often when I’m crying, I assume it is because of my grief and the difficulties of pregnancy after loss, but I need to realize that sometimes I’m crying because all second-time mothers cry when going through the transition of anticipating another baby. All second-time mothers need to make room in their lives, houses, and hearts for a new baby. They have to share the space. The same is true for a loss mom. 

How could I ever love another child as much as I love Ginny? 

What if I’m not able to mourn Ginny the way she deserves? 

Like all moms, I need to make the space and find a new routine. 

If you’ve lost a loved one (even just broken up with a boyfriend or girlfriend) you realize just how much space a missing person takes up in a home. Everything reminds you of them. The spaces where they were are filled with their things. Even though we took down the nursery less than a week after Ginny was stillborn, our “guest room” was filled with her garden decor. The closet had a plastic wrapped stroller in one corner and a boxed crib mattress in the other. The shelves were full of a vacuum sealed breastfeeding pillow and baby lounger. The racks were empty, but every time I looked at them, I saw all her little pink and white outfits hanging there on miniature hangers. 

Even in our master bedroom, there is a basket of homemade blankets, artfully crafted to comfort us in our grief. Under our bed is the disassembled crib and the priceless memory box we got from the hospital. The memory box is too sacred to pull out often, but we know it’s there. Our desk has a collage of ultrasound pictures. The hall has framed quotes to encourage us, a vase of sunflowers, a small “hope” placard, all reminding us of Ginny. She’s everywhere, and that’s how we like it. It makes us happy and fills us with love. 

So how do we make room in a house that is already full? We started this weekend. I wrapped up and packed up the “You Grow Girl” pots, I took down the wooden wall art with vegetables, we folded up the floral quilt. Daniel hung shark and whale pictures. We got a blue striped bedspread. We hung cute fish-tail wave hooks. We ordered beach photos to fill the gallery wall frames. We washed and neatly hung the little blue and gray onesies on miniature hangers in the exact spot where Ginny’s clothes were. 

We did it. Piece by piece the transformation is happening. It is bitter sweet. It is sad that it’s not Ginny’s room anymore. But we are happy to be decorating Chet’s room. More than symbolizing hope of bringing Chet home, redecorating the nursery is a way to parent Chet now. It allows us to do something to care for him and show our love for him. It’s a way to bond with him. 

I don’t regret having snipped a single tag off of Ginny’s clothes. I don’t regret having the nursery complete before she died. It’s some of the best memories of parenting her while she was with us.  I knew we needed to do the same with Chet, no matter the outcome. Although I will say that while hanging the cute little boy clothes and seeing the beachy blues around the room from the glider, I do imagine bringing him home and watching him grow. 

My heart is making room for Chet. I can love both Ginny and Chet, just as all mothers can love all their children. And just as all mothers must find new routines and split their time, I will make time to care for Chet and mourn for Ginny. And just as all siblings grow up together, Chet will grow up with Ginny. He will see the vase of sunflowers. He will see the ultrasound collage and make a fort out of  knitted grief blankets. One day he will even look through the precious memory box and see a picture of his sister’s face and touch the molds of her hands and feet. He will know he has a big sister who loves him in heaven. He will know there is more than enough love to go around. 

Aimee Jones Pregnancy After Loss

Movement

As with everything related to grief or pregnancy after loss, my emotions aren’t simple. The same goes for feeling Chet move and kick in my belly. Every time I feel him move, a swirl of emotion hits my heart. 

The most prominent of these emotions is relief. Every kick reminds me that he is alive. This pregnancy got significantly easier once I started feeling him move consistently. I no longer have to wait to hear a heartbeat to know he is still living. I get reassurance throughout the day. I tell Daniel when I feel him move so he can feel that as well. 

It also brings back memories of Ginny. I thought that would be really painful, but it isn’t. It warms my heart to have a physical reminder of the time spent with her. After losing Ginny, I had to focus to remember the feeling of her moving. Now I get reminders every day. It makes me feel like Chet and Ginny are connected. They both have dwelled in my womb. That’s something special only the two of them share. 

I am currently in this happy but helpless period of pregnancy where I can feel him move but I shouldn’t expect to feel him move often enough to track it or analyze his health because of it. 

From the beginning of this pregnancy, I’ve dreaded needing to do kick counts. That usually starts around 28 weeks when baby’s movements are felt consistently enough to predict. Kick counting is when you lay on your side and literally count the number of kicks you feel in two hours. The number should be above 10. If it isn’t, you need to call your doctor. 

For a low-risk pregnancy, kick counting isn’t always required, but the doctor may recommend it to get familiar with baby’s movements and if you ever feel a lack of movement. That’s what I did with Ginny. The Friday night before she died, it seemed she wasn’t moving very much. I decided to do kick counts. I laid down and immediately felt her kick. She kicked 6 times in 5 minutes, and I felt much better. She’s doing just fine, I thought to myself. No she wasn’t, but the kick counting didn’t predict that. 

I ask myself if I should’ve done more kick counts or if the moving I was feeling wasn’t actually her kicking. Why didn’t I know she was in trouble? Just like the measuring tape, the heart rate monitor, and even sometimes the ultrasound, there are limitations to tools like kick counting. It may detect problems, or it may not. 

My doctors haven’t talked about it yet, but I know they will ask me to do kick counts once I hit 28 weeks. I want to do them because it can give me some reassurance and it is something that I can physically do to monitor Chet. But I’m scared of being scared. I’m scared of not feeling him. I’m scared of it not being enough. I’m scared of getting obsessive about it and wanting to do kick counts around the clock. I’m scared it will trigger anxiety. I’m scared of feeling like I’m in control when I know I’m not actually in control. 

Maybe it won’t be that bad. Maybe I’ll feel him so much that I won’t ever worry. Maybe I’ll just get reassurance and never have the panic. I pray that’s the case. But for the next three weeks, I’m going to enjoy this time when every kick is a relief and a lack of kick isn’t concerning. 

Even when I do have to do kick counts, I don’t think the feeling of movement will lose its magic. I’ll try to embrace the special time with Chet. I’m going to keep bringing Daniel’s hand to my belly and experience the flood of emotion in bonding with our son and remembering our daughter. 

“When Elizabeth heard the greeting of Mary, the baby leaped in her womb. And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit, and she exclaimed with a loud cry, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb! And why is this granted to me that the mother of my Lord should come to me? For behold, when the sound of your greeting came to my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy.” Luke 1:41-44