I happily presented the Easter egg to my mom. I watched with a smile as she opened it. She pulled out the little chick and paper. She read quietly what we had written {Our Little Chick is Due December}. Joy. Happiness. Smiles. Laughter. It was a happy Easter! We were thrilled to announce our second pregnancy.
I was nervous. I'd spotted during implantation so I felt somewhat at ease that this was not another ectopic; however having lost one baby I felt everything in me trying to hold on to this new baby.
Pain. Not again. It couldn't be happening again. I had an ultrasound and the baby made it to my uterus. All looked well. The pains were normal they said. My body was stretching, making room for our new little one.
Blood. I hated not knowing what was normal and what was abnormal. I hated that I will never have a 'normal' pregnancy again. I will never be that woman who sees the positive sign appear on her stick and blissfully coast through her pregnancy. The doctor assured me the blood was normal. It was brown not red. It was probably from implantation.
We prayed over our baby every day. I frequently prayed throughout my day. For health. For safety. Thanking God for this life. Wanting to be excited and to anticipate it's birth, the baby shower, buying all kinds of baby and maternity things. Something inside pulled me back. Put up a guard. Wouldn't let me get too excited. I wanted to plan. I am naturally a planner. But I couldn't plan. My heart wouldn't let me. Yet I still had hope. Hope of answered prayers. Hope that we would have the home and the baby we dreamed about. Hope that everything was going to go well this time.
Sick. I felt so nauseous. I was glad. It was a good sign. It was harder to handle than I expected. I was grateful I wasn't throwing up. Yet. I started asking friends how to handle the morning sickness. I tried every single piece of advice. Most work.
Better. I was feeling better. I was still spotting brown but not as concerned since the doctor said it was okay. I felt like I was able to get my morning sickness under control. I felt proud of myself. I still considered myself a first time mom, so I figured I was doing quite well.
Excited. I was so thrilled when my doctor cleared me of high risk status. I could finally switch over to the midwife and have the natural birth I desired.
Concern. Our first appointment with the midwife seemed to go so well until they couldn't find baby's heartbeat with the Doppler. I wasn't freaking out. I knew sometimes the heartbeat can be difficult to hear early on, however the midwife was concerned and sent me for an ultrasound.
Nothing is wrong until it is. I repeated it again and again, praying and hoping everything was fine. The tech moved her wand around. Searching. Searching some more. Pausing. Recording. I couldn't see anything. She didn't say anything either. Then she asked us to go to the waiting room while she called the midwife with the results. We waited. She brought us back in and said the midwife was on the phone for us. I picked up the phone. "I'm sorry to tell you this..." No. Not again. I'd prayed. I'd asked God to keep our baby healthy and safe. I asked him to protect this little one. "There was no heartbeat." Dead. Our baby was already dead. I suddenly hated that I felt better. I wanted to be sick again. I wanted to feel nauseous. I wanted my body to hold on to that life inside me.
Gone. It was too late. There was nothing I could do to save my baby. It was already in heaven. With God. With Blueberry. I would never hold either of them. I would never feel them kick or move inside me. I would never see their beautiful eyes or precious smiles.
Why? Why would God have us walk through this again? Again? Wasn't the first time enough? Why would he create life just to take it away? Why did he have to give us the baby in the first place? Why raise our hopes of a healthy pregnancy only to dash them away?
It was harder this time. Harder because it was happening again. Harder because of the following events. Baby Dedication at church. Mother's Day. Then came Blueberry's projected birthday. Empty. I was empty. My arms held no child. My heart was broken. And my pain was emphasized with every pregnant mom or baby that I saw. They had what I longed for. Their babies made it, and mine didn't. They had the joy of those sweet moments of laughter with their little one while I now had fear, loss and hurt. Why?
A labor of love. I didn't see it in the beginning. I didn't even recognize it after several weeks. But months gone by, as my heart slowly healed once more. As I prayed and cried out to God, I saw it. His love for me. I sat in church and heard our pastor preach, "God is laboring not for your comfort, not for your happiness. God is laboring for your faith. God is with you. God is for you. God does what he does and allows what he wills so that you might know him and to increase your faith." Even if someone had said that to me the day before I might not have listened. But God knew when I'd be ready. He was patient to wait for it. I heard those words and I knew. He knows the desires of my heart. He loves me so much. Too much to allow those desires to come before him. I love my God. But I did not know him nor trust him the way I do now. My faith is still small. I still have so much to learn and grow. But I am grateful he is always with me. I am grateful that I have two sweet babies in heaven. I am grateful God does not leave me in my fear and doubt. I am grateful he is patient with me, especially when I am ever so impatient with him. I continue to hope for the future, that one day we will have children of our own. Hope. Trust. "Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen." Hebrews 11: 1
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