The Story of Malachi

Before we start trying for our baby again, I want to put into words the story of my little Malachi who blessed us for 7 weeks. Malachi, whose name means Messenger of God, and though we didn't know that when we named our little "bean," God sure knew why we needed to choose that name.

November 11, 2011, I was 11 dpo (days past ovulation).  11 was my soccer number in high school and now is one of my lucky numbers (I always play it when I play roulette).  So, because I like to interpret random signs as I mentioned in Tuesday's post, I decided I would test on 11-11-11.  The night before, I bought 6 bottles of wine--one of my dearest friends was coming for a visit--and a pack of pregnancy tests. If I hadn't destroyed all evidence of being pregnant, I would've posted that picture here.  I felt as if the cashier definitely judged me when I checked out at the grocery store.

I couldn't sleep that night, of course, and tested at about 4 am. It was positive. Not just kind of positive, but beautifully, clearly, positive.  I couldn't believe it.  Of course, DH was hesitant to believe it based on our chemical pregnancy, but this is one of the million reasons I adore him; he's the logic to my emotion.  My dear friend arrived that evening I told her.  She would've known anway because we drink wine together! That's what we do. You give us enough wine, we would solve all the world's problems.  I had also told my other dear friend, the one who always listens to me complain/rant/rave and probably knows my cycles better than I know them myself.  After the chem. preg, I didn't want anyone else to know until I had my blood work done.

I tested again the next day and then again two days later--still positive! I went for blood work on Monday to make SURE I was pregnant, and I was.  DH finally started to believe the test was right, though I'm pretty sure he was freaked out, like Chandler right before he married Monica (Friends reference, duh). 

As happy as I was, I was also very nervous about losing my baby. A SLIGHT ASIDE--when I was a little girl, I used to read the end of my books first because I liked to know the outcome of things, what to expect. If you know me, this doesn't surprise you.  So, when I got the book What to Expect When You're Expecting, I read the "Loss" chapters first.  This probably sounds pretty horrible and masochistic of me, but like I said, I wanted to know the possibilities. OK NOW BACK TO THE STORY...I called the doctor because my back was killing me, much like it does before AF (aunt flo) arrives.  She basically told me to just do nothing. No running (EEK!), no sex, nothing, until my December 8 appointment. Ok, fine. I became a couch potato who consumed lots of potato chips. and avocados.

For Thanksgiving, DH and I went to Dallas to visit my younger siblings. On the way, DH was reading baby names off my Baby Bump app and he said to me, MalAkey (accent on the second A). I thought to myself, WTH. That is so not a name...ohhhh he means Malachi! And we cracked up. Or really, I laughed at him, incessantly, and then went back to eating whatever salty snack I was currently craving.

So we named the baby Malachi (didn't know the sex), and for another five days, our little Malachi was safe and sound.  Until he grew wings.  On December 9, our little Malachi, who only measured about 6 weeks, became one of our guardian angels; I believe this, no matter what you may say.  Even though we had the baby's tissue tested, we never meant to find out the sex.  Dr. W. happened to tell me at one of my many visits.  He very clinically said "so I told you the fetus was normal XY, right?" and I said...nothing. I just felt my heart drop into my tummy.

Here we are, almost 4 months later.  I never would have known about my septate uterus or decrepit left tube if it weren't for my Malachi, my messenger of God.  Even in his short life, he blessed me.  I can't wait to meet his future brother or sister. I appreciate now-after all this-what a precious blessing from God that will be.