I remember the day I found out I was pregnant with Collins like it was yesterday. August 26th. There was chaos (as per the usual) around our house that day—the boys were running around—yelling, playing, probably fighting too. A project manager was at the house with Caleb discussing turning our upstairs media room into a full blown studio and laying the groundwork for that to happen. And I was irritable. I hadn’t been feeling great the couple days before this particular day. I thought my period was coming—it was 4 days away still but I had this feeling that maybe I needed to test and make sure I wasn’t pregnant. I was so sure I wasn’t pregnant, that I didn’t even bother to tell Caleb I was going to test that day. It wasn’t even my first pee of the morning and again—I hadn’t even missed my period yet but I just had this feeling that I should test anyways. It was around lunchtime when I finally got around to doing it. Beckett was demanding a snack, so I opened a fruit and veggie pouch and gave it to him but he was extra clingy and didn’t want me to escape to pee on my own—so with me, he came (moms—if you know, you know haha) He sat on my lap while I peed on a test. I laid the test on the floor because in the meantime he had squeezed his pouch all over the floor of the bathroom and I was leaning over to clean it up. I glanced at the test which had just started processing and clear as day—there were 2 lines that had already shown up. My stomach jumped into my throat and my belly filled with instant butterflies…NO WAY. TWO LINES?!!! I put Beckett down, picked up the test and shook it like it was an eight ball or something—like that would change the result of the test. I WAS PREGNANT AGAIN?!! In true enneagram 7 form, I had no chill and went running out of our bathroom to tell Caleb, with the test in my hand yelling, “BABE I’M PREGNANT AGAIN!!!!!” Not even aware I was testing that morning, Caleb’s shock was real. He started cheering and running around the kitchen and the guy who’d been there that morning to take measurements of the room upstairs was coming down the stairs while all of this mayhem was happening. We couldn’t believe it. We had decided several months prior that maybe we wanted to start trying again, but then I went through a few weeks after where I decided maybe life was chaotic enough at the moment and we should hold off from trying to get pregnant again until Beckett was a little bit older—but then BAM. Two lines. The two lines that change everything. From the very beginning—this pregnancy was different. We weren’t really “trying” at that point for baby girl. It just happened. She was always meant to be. We were beyond excited (albeit intimidated) to bring another little one into the world. We couldn’t believe it.
Yes, I am the crazy woman who took multiple tests that first day because I couldn’t believe it..haha
A few weeks later, we had our first appointment. We saw a tiny little bean on the screen in the doctor’s office. We saw the wave of a tiny little, but strong heartbeat. LIFE. Growing inside me again. I already loved her and yet I didn’t even know her. I didn’t even know she was a “she” yet. But our hearts were connected the moment I saw her on that ultrasound screen. A few weeks later, we decided we couldn’t wait till 20 weeks to find out if she was a boy or girl, so we did a simple blood test and got results the following day in an email (also a typical 7 move—I have no ability to wait patiently for anything and I can’t keep surprises so if you’re friends with me and want to plan surprises for people you love…probably leave me out of it because I get too excited and can’t help myself…this is a flaw, I know.) Nonetheless, I was waiting on an EMAIL the following day to find out what our precious baby was. I checked my inbox incessantly that day. Probably a hundred times before noon. We waited and waited and finally around dinner time, the subject line came in—”Your gender results are in—” A GIRL. A GIRL?!!!!!! We made a girl?!! I went screaming around the house with tears rolling down my face and Caleb and I grabbed each other crying and shrieking together. A baby girl. It felt so different from what we knew with our boys. We couldn’t believe it.
First ultrasound pictures :)
The email we were waiting (not so patiently for) to find out she was a GIRL!
At 10 weeks—I found myself living in the midst of a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. Caleb was out of town playing a show in another state. I was single parenting that day when Beckett came down with a nasty stomach bug. He’d puked and I’d cleaned it up (in my first trimester nauseous state) a few times before I finally got everybody down for bed that night. I was exhausted. Wanting Caleb to be home to help me deal with sick babies. I was worried Beckett would be up puking all night again and Caleb wasn’t supposed to be home until late afternoon the following day. I came downstairs. Went to the bathroom and when I sat down, a pregnant woman’s worst fear was staring back at me from the bowl of the toilet. Bright red blood. Tons of it. Streaming out of me. I instantly panicked. Started sobbing uncontrollably—”I can’t lose this baby…God HEAR ME—I CANNOT BE LOSING THIS BABY GIRL—I CAN’T LIVE THROUGH THIS.” I called Caleb. No answer. By this time, I was on the floor of the bathroom sobbing. I called my mom. They jumped in the car and headed to my house. I was screaming and begging God to let me keep her. This couldn’t be happening…but it was. I had to be miscarrying. And again—I couldn't believe it.
My parents got to my house and my weak legs carried my body that was failing my baby, to the door to let them in. I collapsed in a pool of grief in my mom’s arms and she calmly said to me, “Kelsey, baby—we don’t KNOW she’s not still in there. We don’t KNOW. Breathe slowly. Breathe deeply. We’re going to get through this.” Even she was trying to believe her own words. She helped me to the car while my dad stayed back at the house to be with my babies sleeping upstairs. We headed to the nearest ER—silence mostly on the car ride there except for my mom’s soft voice reminding me to breathe slow and deep. We parked the car, I stood up to get out and yet another huge gush of blood—I felt it. More heaving sobs as I willed myself through the doors of the ER to the check-in desk. I told them through sobs that I believed I was miscarrying. They quickly and compassionately took me back to a room so I didn’t have to sit in the waiting room and pass my baby—if that was indeed what was happening. They ran a panel of blood tests. Everything appeared normal. But I was cramping lightly. And bleeding every time I moved or stood up. There was just so much blood, I couldn’t fathom a scenario where baby girl managed to stay alive. They eventually took us back for an ultrasound. I’ll never forget the wheelchair ride down the quiet hospital halls, to that dark room where I pulled my trembling body onto the ultrasound table—trying my best to prepare myself for the news that my baby was no longer there. My mom and I held our breath as the tech got the wand out and began to pull up images of my womb. I couldn’t even bring myself to turn my head and look at the screen. I stared with blurry, tear filled eyes at my mom at the end of the bed, watching her watch the screen. My entire body was shaking in a way I couldn’t control or calm. After a few minutes, I finally forced my eyes onto the screen and my voice cracked, “Is she still in there? Is she still alive?” The young ultrasound tech quickly and curtly responded, “Yep. She’s there”. I felt my body let out a sob and breath I’ve never experienced before. SHE WAS STILL THERE AND ALIVE? How could it be? I couldn’t believe it.
The dark, crescent-shaped figure below the baby is my subchorionic hemorrhage the day they found it on the ultrasound.
So what was the explanation for my bleeding? They couldn’t find an answer that night. They sent me home later with discharge papers that read, “Threatened miscarriage” and instructed me that if my bleeding persisted or got worse or I passed clots—I would know what was happening. There were no guarantees. No answers. Simply a “wait to see what happens” response from the ER doctor. We drove home again in silence. I could feel the fear welling up inside me faster than I could breathe almost. I had to just wait? Just wait and see if she came out over the following few days? How could I sleep? How could I walk to the bathroom to pee without fearing my baby might pass right into the toilet? How could I be a mother to my other baby boys with this gripping, paralyzing fear taking over me? The next day, I wanted a second opinion. I scheduled an ultrasound at a third party place in town with an ultrasound tech who specialized in high risk pregnancies. I told her everything that had happened the night before and she calmly said, “I think I know what’s happening Kelsey and if I’m right—you’re going to find hope that things might turn out okay…” Caleb and I held our breath again as she turned on the screen. Moments later she said, “I was right. Look right here”, as she pointed at the screen at a large dark shape underneath the sac where my baby was. “This dark space here is called a subchorionic hemorrhage, and this is the source of your bleeding.” A subchorionic hemorrhage? What on earth was that? Does it go away? Is it going to kill my baby? A million questions racing through my mind. She explained to me that she actually sees this type of thing pretty often but that mine in particular was bigger than most. She explained that smaller ones almost always dissolve over time and don’t generally cause issues or pose risks to the baby but that my bleed was bigger than she’d like it to be. She told me she had high hopes that it would slowly resolve on its own but that I needed to be careful. Not lift anything. Take it easy for the next several weeks. She explained that I would continue to bleed—probably everyday for the next unforeseeable future because of the sheer size of the hemorrhage that would continue to slowly come out. But she told us to have hope. To trust God. And to have faith that baby girl would be okay. We left there feeling an ounce of hope we didn’t have the night before. And for that—we were grateful. But we were still ridden with fear that at any moment, things could change and we could still lose her. We couldn’t believe it—but she was still alive.
Several weeks passed and that ultrasound tech became a friend to me. She went above and beyond to calm my fears throughout the following 8 weeks as I did in fact, still continue to bleed everyday. She offered me her personal cell phone number and told me to call her anytime I wanted to come see baby girl on the ultrasound screen for reassurance—and at no cost to me. That woman was a real life angel to me in those weeks of the unknown. People like her remind me that the world still has good and light in it. People are still kind and compassionate. I went in several times just to see her and hear her heartbeat. And every single time I saw her on the screen, I couldn’t believe she was still alive.
My bleed finally resolved around 20 weeks and I thought I was in the free and clear from that point on in this pregnancy. I thought I could breathe easy and know she wasn’t at risk anymore. But then I was told by my doctor that I was at a higher risk of preterm labor since I’d had that bleed at the beginning of my pregnancy. A new set of fears to worry about. What if she came before 24 weeks and wasn’t viable? What if she came and I had to live in the NICU with her and go back and forth between home and the hospital for weeks on end? What if her lungs weren’t developed enough to sustain life and we lose her anyways after all of this? These questions raced through my mind on the daily. The fear threatened to consume me if I gave it the opportunity. I fought to stay busy—which isn’t hard with two other little ones in the house to take care of everyday but in the back of my mind—the nagging anxiety was there. Haunting me especially at night when it was time to go to sleep. Turning my brain off was virtually impossible. At 31 weeks, I started having regular contractions several days in a row. At one point, they were 2 minutes apart and very intense, so we went into L&D to make sure I wasn’t in labor. They monitored me for a couple hours, and were mystified at why my contractions were coming so regularly but my cervix wasn’t changing. I did get two steroid shots just in case baby girl decided to come too early to help boost her lung development, so we knew that we were doing our best to prepare her for the outside world if it came to that. But after all, I wasn’t in real labor and they finally sent us home after my contractions slowed down later that afternoon. She was still in there and not coming at 31 weeks, and as with this entire pregnancy—we couldn’t believe it.
Baby girl at 20 weeks :)
The day we spent in the hospital when I thought I might be in labor…
Fast forward to 36 weeks. Baby girl made it to what they consider FULL TERM! I was incredibly miserable by this point and wanting her out. I had an appointment that week and was already dilated to 3cm. The following week at 37 weeks, I was to 4cm and 50% effaced so baby girl was probably coming soon—or so we thought. My doctor asked how I was feeling and I basically begged her to let go have this baby as soon as possible. She told that the next week I could come in for the first appointment of the day and she would check my progress. If I was “close enough to 5cm by then, she would send me to hospital for an induction to get the baby out”. She told me to bring my bags to that appointment and bring Caleb! Haha She explained that because this was my third baby, and since I was already so dilated, she didn’t want to risk me going into labor at home and then not make it to the hospital in time to have her, so we would go ahead and induce at 38 weeks if she wasn’t here before then. That was the longest week of waiting ever—we couldn’t believe the following Tuesday we were probably going to have a baby.
April 21st. 38 weeks. We dropped the boys off at my mom’s that morning. We’d packed our hospital bags. We’d cleaned the house, and organized everything and tied up all the loose ends leading up to this appointment in hopes that she’d send us over to the hospital that morning. All the butterflies. All the anxious and hopeful feelings flooded the car that morning. I went in for my appointment (alone—because of the Covid restrictions at the doctors office) and waited anxiously for my doctor to come in and check me. She finally came in and asked how I was and I quickly responded, “Anxious to see if we’re gonna be able to have a baby today!” She responded, “Ok let’s see where we’re at!” She checked me and as she did, her eyes grew wide and squinted in a smile behind her mask as she said, “Kelsey—you’re already at nearly 7 centimeters! I don’t see how this baby isn’t falling out of you! Text your husband because you’re having a baby today!” I was ELATED. 7cm on my own and somehow I still hadn’t gone into labor?! Seriously, my body is so confused when it comes to having babies! But jittery and excited, I gathered my things and practically ran down the halls to the elevator as Caleb pulled the car up. I got in the car and we hugged and had a moment of disbelief that we were in fact about to have this baby finally. She was finally ALMOST HERE. We couldn’t believe it.
We checked into the hospital. Covid made things bizarre. Masks everywhere. The hospital lobby was a ghost town. There was a stagnant heaviness that hung in the air at the hospital—but I promise you, there was nothing that could steal this moment from us. We were still so excited. Caleb had packed cameras and my computer so we could FaceTime my mom into the room for the delivery. I’ve never had a baby without my mom in the room and this was one of my fears leading up to delivering a baby in the midst of a global pandemic. We set everything up in the room. We got my mom on FaceTime. They came and started my IV line and Pitocin drip and it was off to the races. It wasn’t more than an hour or so that my contractions were picking up and I was dilating. I had my epidural and was feeling pretty good. Pretty soon, my doctor came in to break my water to speed things up. An hour or so later, baby girl had descended and I was ready to push. I only pushed for about 6 minutes before she came smoothly and peacefully into the world. My mom and even dad and our baby boys got to witness the moment she was born via FaceTime (and no don’t freak, they didn’t see anything gruesome—it was a side shot!) and it was pure magic. She cried a few moments after they laid her on my chest and just like that— couldn’t believe she was finally here and in our arms. Collins Raelynne—you are everything and more we ever hoped for and dreamed.
It’s worth mentioning that after my bleed was mostly resolved and we were told that baby girl’s odds of making it to term were high—my ultrasound tech told us something that rattled us to the core. Later on in the pregnancy when the bleed wasn’t a risk anymore, I remember her telling me, “Kelsey. That day when you guys came in and we discovered you had a a hemorrhage—the size of your bleed—I didn’t tell you this then, but I’ll tell you now—she had a 50/50 shot of making it. She probably shouldn’t even be here right now. She is a miracle and I want you to know that.” Caleb and I sat and cried with disbelief. We knew her life was at risk, but we didn’t even know the depths of it. She encouraged us that day and told us to cling to hope, but inwardly she knew the odds of a baby surviving with a bleed that large occupying so much of my uterus. She spared us those statistics that day because we were already so filled with fear. We couldn’t believe she beat the odds. We couldn’t believe she lived. And now, we can’t believe she’s here and she’s ours.
Collins Raelynne Grimm, you will never know how much we feared for your tiny life and how grateful we are that you stayed in. You will never know the depths of our love for you baby girl, and you are already a force to be reckoned with. Go change the world someday little one—you were meant to from the very beginning.
We love you with the fire of a million suns.
