An open letter to the driver who hit me and ran.

Dear Driver,

   I know you don't know me. I'm sure we've never met.
But our worlds collided Saturday night.

I was almost home. I was exiting the highway ready to be home.
I was looking forward to watching Once Upon A Time with my husband before going to bed.
I had planned to stop at the grocery store to surprise him with ice cream.
It was going to be a quiet relaxing time spent with my husband.
And I was looking forward to that.

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But you changed all of that.
As I exited the highway, you were entering the highway going the wrong way.
Were you drunk?
Were you distracted?
How did you not notice the "WRONG WAY" signs as you continued down the off ramp instead of the on ramp?

Did you not hear my horn blaring at you?
Was your music too loud?
I tried to stop. I tried to get out of the way.
But you never even tried to slow down.
Why didn't you break?

And when the cars hit...why didn't you stop?
Why didn't you check to be certain that I was ok?
I know the impact wasn't really that bad but
you still should have done the right thing and stopped.
Listen, I don't even care about the mirror that you ripped off.
I don't care about the fact that now I have to pay for your stupidity.

Here is what I want you to know that without this post you have no way of knowing.
I'm not just the other driver that was almost in a head-on car accident with you.
The impact of us crashing could have impacted more than just yours and my lives.

I am a mother.
My two sons were home in their beds asleep.
They are 2 years old and 4 years old.
You could have left them without a mother.

I am pregnant.
As I saw your headlights coming towards me the only thing I could think about was that we were going to be in a head-on car crash and I could do nothing to protect my unborn daughter. I am 30 weeks pregnant. You could have killed my daughter and left me grieving the loss of a second child in less than a year.

And even though we avoided a serious car crash, you should have stopped.
The stress of the accident could have put me into preterm labor.
Had the seat belt tightened around my stomach I would have been admitted to the hospital for a minimum of 4 hours to monitor my daughter for trauma.

While you drove off and continued on doing whatever it was you did,
I sat there where the accident happened.
We crashed at 10:30pm and by the time the EMTs finished checking me out on the scene and the police finished getting all of the information they needed, and I was finally relaxed enough to go home it was 11:30pm.
I didn't go get ice cream from the store for my husband.
I didn't get to spend the relaxing evening with him that I had planned.
Instead I spent the night with back and pelvic pain from tensing up so much, from breaking so hard, and having loose joints with being pregnant. I only got a few hours of sleep.

So I hope you feel good about yourself.
Glad you got away with not having to pay for the small damages you ended up causing.
But I sure as hell hope that next time you get behind the wheel you think of me, my husband, my sons, and my unborn daughter.
I hope you think about the lives you could have changed forever.
I hope you plan ahead better next time and have a designated driver or call a taxi.
I hope you put down the cell and pay attention to the road.
Because next time you might not get so lucky.
Next time the other driver might not be able to avoid you.
Next time you could end a life and have to live with yourself and the consequences.

Sincerely,
The lives in the other vehicle.

Pregnancy After Miscarriage: Why I don't want to tell you my baby's gender.

It's like a right of passage getting to announce your baby's gender.
Go on pinterest and type in gender reveal and you'll be bombarded with ideas.
It's something that we've had fun with over the years and have always looked forward to.
But here is my confession.
I don't want to tell you my baby's gender.

Pregnancy after loss is different.
It's not that I'm disappointed.
It's not that I was hoping for a different gender.
It's not that I'm ashamed.
It's not that I'm keeping it a secret.
It's not even that I'm waiting to tell you with some great fanfare.

I'll be honest.
The reason I don't want to tell you my baby's gender is because I'm afraid of the comments you might make and my heart feels fragile right now.
I have already had some very hurtful comments said to me and I just can't take many more before I break.

I know you don't mean to hurt me.
I'm sure you didn't even realize that what you have said stung worse than salt in an open wound.

I'm sure the majority of you will even say sweet beautiful kind words that would make my heart full of joy. Isn't it always the few that ruin it for the many?

You see right now I'm struggling with knowing that Zoe should be in my arms.
My boys should be loving on their little sister, kissing her forehead, touching her skin, smelling her sweet baby smell, not kissing my belly and talking to the baby currently kicking and punching me.

At the very same moment I think of what life would have been like with Zoe I think of how much I would be missing with this sweet baby.

My heart is full and empty all at the same time.
I so desperately want both of my babies but that's now how this works.
If I had Zoe right now in my arms then this baby never would have been.
As much as I love and want them both it just doesn't work that way.

That's the thing ya'll...
I have four children.
I have four children but I don't get to hold them all in my arms.
I love every single one of them equally yet differently.
I still have the desire to parent every one of my kids even though one is gone.

The baby I am pregnant with is not a replacement for the one we lost.
I will carry Zoe within my heart all of the days of my life.

I'm now 30 weeks along in my pregnancy with 4.0 and I still cringe every time someone asks me what I'm having. For a few horrible seconds I fight with myself if I feel up to telling them the gender. I question if I feel strong enough right then to deal with whatever reaction they give based on my answer.

Pregnancy loss robs so much from you.
More than just the obvious of the child who is not in your arms.
It steals your joy, your excitement, your innocence.
It changes the way you speak to other expecting moms because you know that not every pregnancy has a happy ending of a baby coming home from the hospital with you.

Loss is so unfair.

So there you have it.
That is why I don't want to tell you that baby 4.0 is a girl.
Because I'm not strong enough for the possible reaction and response you may give me.
How I must be so thrilled to "Finally have a girl after two boys." or how much more fun girls are to dress than boys. How I must be lying when I tell you that my husband and I didn't care if 4.0 was a girl or boy and that we just wanted a healthy baby. How we can finally be done having kids since we'll have both genders.

I have four babies. I have two boys and two girls.
I love all of them and wish there was a way for me to hug, kiss, and hold all of them.
But life doesn't work that way. Life isn't fair.
Some day I'll get to hold Zoe in heaven but for now I have to hold her in my heart.
For now I hold her big brothers in my arms and little sister in my womb.