July has always been a favorite month of mine.  I am a summer fan, even though the mosquitoes feast on me and the sun gives me blisters and hives.  Still, I have always been a huge fan of summer.  July is the time of year of my childhood county fair, where as a youngster I would reconnect with many of my 4-H friends form across the county, and where I would bump into my friends from school.  My other childhood memories of July include summer camps, swimming lessons, hikes and swimming days at a local state park, and (sometimes reluctantly) helping my parents on their farm.

After meeting in Aaron in 2005, July continued to be a favorite.  We went to a country music festival, camping, and to a few local concerts together.  In 2006, after over a year of dating, he proposed on July 4th, at the fireworks.  And the following year, one of the most significant days of my life, we married on July 7, 2007.  But, then came some tough times as well.  Two years after we were married to the day, I took a pregnancy test, and I screamed, jumped up and down, and called my best friend when I realized it was positive.  I had cooked a meal, decorated our home with wedding memorabilia, and made a CD, filled with romantic dinner music, and then a few songs in, some pregnancy related songs to see if Aaron would get the drift as we ate.  About 30 minutes before he arrived home, I started bleeding, and I spent the night crying.  We had wanted a baby for two full years, and I was devastated.

Two years later, in 2011, I had July 1st circled on my calendar with a red pen, although  it wasn’t even close to necessary.  Finally, after 4 years of marriage, and after two rounds of IVF, I was pregnant with twins.  We had known for a few months that there were two sweet babies, but we didn’t know the genders.  We would find out on July 1st at the anatomy ultrasound.  We had a party planned for later in the day, with a gender reveal cake.  Aaron had bought two pink cakes, and two blue cakes, and we were going to share the news that evening.  I can remember the long wait in the waiting room, going back to the ultrasound room, my heart racing, as we waited to find out what we thought was the most important aspect of the ultrasound.  After scanning Baby A.’s brain, heart, other organs and extremities, the sonographer finally revealed the gender: a girl.  I laughed as I heard Aaron start to breathe funny, and I swear I saw sweat beading up on his forehead.  After Baby B.’s scan, the kind lady who had laughed and joked around with us finally told us, this was without a doubt, a boy.  We laughed again, and I silently thanked God, as we knew this was likely our only shot at having children.  Then I glanced over at the sonographer, who looked suddenly uneasy, and told me not to move.  A few minutes later, a high risk doctor came in and introduced himself, and I could feel the room spinning as they explained that my cervix was opened, and that I would have a rescue cerclage placed as an emergency effort to keep these babies in as long as possible.  Aaron called our families to cancel the gender reveal party, as I would be hospitalized and watched closely for a couple of days.

The next few weeks are a dark blur.  I was on bedrest, spending my time begging God to keep these babies safe, watching Grey’s Anatomy, and was eventually hospitalized.  This was the most emotional 4 weeks of my life.  I googled obsessively, curious of babies’  survival chances at 20, 21, 22, and then 23 weeks gestation.  I researched and prepared myself for an extended NICU stay, read all about brain bleeds, strokes, and the realities of bringing home extremely premature twins.  None of this was necessary, as I ended up in labor, and ultimately losing both Savannah and Charlie after an hour of giving them all of the love we had in the early hours of July 28th.  It’s been nearly 6 years, and I still can’t go back to that time without sobbing.  Maybe I never will.

One year later, to the day, we celebrated Lyndsay’s 30th birthday.  She couldn’t celebrate too obnoxiously, as she was 4 months pregnant with Maizy.  We had found out earlier that month that she was a girl. The next year, July 9th, 2013, we found out I was pregnant with Layla.

July, it is filled with memories of the highest of highs, and the lowest of lows.

This year, Aaron and I decided to celebrate our 10th anniversary by renewing our vows in our backyard with Maizy, Layla, and our families with us.  I can’t think of a better way to celebrate the last ten years than with our beautiful daughters.  They are too young to understand why we cry tears of happiness, or why we stop at the cemetery to visit Savannah and Charlie, or why we hug them a little extra tight as we thank God for them.  They are our sweet reminders that miracles do happen.

Tomorrow we will all head to the fair together. It’s fun to watch Maizy and Layla squeal with excitement at seeing an animal look their way, ride on the rides they are tall enough to get on, and play with their cousins near the tractors.  They will leave sweaty, whiney, and filthy with sweat, sugar, and dirt.  And my heart will be full.  Sweet July.