After two miscarriages, we were finally pregnant again. With a holiday approaching, we were cautious . . . holidays had not been good for the other pregnancies. My journal from that time reads, "We're pregnant again - at least for the moment." But Thanksgiving came and went, and we optimistically celebrated with some close friends. We began planning how we would surprise our families with the news at Christmas.
At first things seemed to be going well. Then we hit a roller coaster fortnight filled with testing of blood levels and awaiting an ultrasound. Numbers kept rising slowly and would bring optimism, but spotting continued too, and would fill me with fear. My emotions bounced back and forth where one moment I would be convinced our baby was already gone, and the next would be filled with desperate hope. In that desperation, I sent out frantic pleas to God one minute and tried Oprah-style "bathe yourself in positive thinking" the next.
I felt as if my world had fallen apart. Three? Three babies gone? I was completely broken. Was it my fault somehow? Was I that bad a person to deserve this? Was I being punished? Didn't God care? Why did it seem that every unwed teenager I saw had a rounded belly full of life, while mine was a tomb? Would we ever have children? My days at school were lived on auto-pilot with a carefully pasted on mask that everything was fine. Since no one had known our short-lived joy, how could they understand our pain? My evenings were either spent curled up sobbing for my babies and our future, or trying desperately to convince myself and my husband that I was ok.
And then, God stretched out His hand . . .
(to be continued)
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Thank you for joining us on today's part of the journey. Knowing that others walk beside us for a bit is such encouragement!