My little Noah Bean is officially 3 years old today! He was our Clomid baby, after our miscarriage. It took nearly two years to get pregnant with him, and once we were officially pregnant, it was the scariest nine months of my life.
We suffered through secondary infertility after losing our third pregnancy. It came out of nowhere and left me feeling broken. Yes, I had two perfectly healthy, gorgeous, wonderful children. I was lucky, and I knew that. But after losing the pregnancy, well, it just leaves a hole that doesn’t ever seem to get filled.
I made myself and Abe crazy with charting and herbs and anything I could find to try and help us to conceive. After countless hours spent researching through books and Google, I self diagnosed myself with PCOS and made a doctor appointment that confirmed my suspicions.
My doctor offered me hope. She prescribed the Clomid after extensive testing and ultrasounds, and told me that if at any time I wanted to see a specialist, she would be happy to refer me. She felt confident that she could help me, and her hope was enough to keep me going.
It was the fifth round of Clomid that was magic. That, and I changed the days I took it. My doctor prescribed days 5-9. Through research, I read several studies that suggested days 3-7 might work better for women with PCOS. Who knows, maybe it was just a coincidence. That was the month I got that BFP. That is also when the fear set it.
Every tiny little cramp or twinge had me rushing to the bathroom, expecting to see blood, expecting to lose my baby. I prayed and begged God all day, every day to just please, please let me keep our little bean safe. I bargained, I pleaded, I was a hot mess.
I started spotting.
Words can not describe the fear I felt.
My doctor ordered an ultrasound to ease my mind, and while the tiny baby, flipping around on the screen made me breathe a little easier in the moment, I did not enjoy my pregnancy in the least. I was just too scared. I’d like to say the fear went away when I was pregnant with Sara, but it didn’t. Pregnancy is a terrifying time for a woman who has miscarried.
Noah was due on Halloween. My doctor originally planned on inducing a week early, but she was on vacation that week. Go figure. We ended up going in a week later, where my giant, healthy baby was born. (He was over 9lbs, ouch!)
The labor was long, and I had a nurse who told me my uterus was too weak to push out a baby, that I needed to prepare myself for a c section. Well, my uterus happens to have that Latina attitude, thank goodness, and we proved her wrong shortly after she said that. Neener, neener.
And now, the pictures.
How itty bitty do Matt and Bella look here!? This is when Grandma brought them to the hospital to meet their baby brother for the first time.
On his way to his very first doctor appointment! We brought him a cute 0-3 month outfit to wear home from the hospital, assuming it would be large on him. Well, at nearly 24 inches long, he barely fit into it! He was a big, healthy boy!
He was the happiest little baby, always smiling and giggling. That was before he turned two. He redefined the terrible two’s.
He looks so innocent here. Looks can be deceiving.
My Noey. He was supposed to be a Halloween baby, and I think he knows it! He is obsessed with all things spooky, it is definitely his favorite holiday!
Happy Birthday, Noah! We survived the terrible two’s, you are getting less and less evil with your baby sister, and you are awesome! We love you to pieces, you brought happiness where so much sadness once was.