My belly is just a little swollen. My stomach is much more adamant in its demand for food. And boy am I tired.
My body has yet to discover what I already know – there will be no baby in a few months. I’m not feeding a second human with the food I consume (unless you count James, whom I can’t seem to wean). My tiredness due to “growing a human” is….false. That little human has stopped growing. It has already met the face of Jesus.
So I wait. I pray counterintuitively that God would cause this little one to leave my body naturally. And if not? I take a pill to do the opposite of keeping my child safe within my womb.
God, in His deep deep graciousness, prepared me for this. I was hesitant to be too excited, and going into the ultrasound, I wasn’t really expecting good things. I don’t know why. Maybe it was God, maybe it was fear. I couldn’t tell you. But it helped ease the blow you hear when the doctor says, “nonviable pregnancy.”
I praise Him that I know what to expect in the next couple of weeks. How heart wrenching must it be for the thousands of women who suddenly and unexpectedly start to push their baby out way too soon. Again, in His extreme graciousness to me, I’m given time to prepare. Time to mourn. Time to pray.
He’s also given me peace. I don’t have “what if” guilt: What if I hadn’t had so much coffee? What if I hadn’t let James play on my stomach? What if I hadn’t slept on my back? What if I hadn’t eaten that cookie dough or deli meat? Was my shower water too hot? There is nothing I could have done, I feel assured of. This is the result of sin and death.
This is miscarriage. Thousands and thousands of women on this earth right now have suffered some form of this loss. Many, multiple times. I can’t imagine.
I’m not looking forward to “birthing” my little 8-week old womb-baby. How can one really be ready? It’ll pass through like blood, then its tiny self will be gone. That’s not how it is supposed to happen. Sin has brought death into the world, and for that we pay the price.
I am simply thankful for a God who still gives me hope; whose hand is still all over this situation; who will never leave me or forsake me; who knows exactly what I need and what I can handle (with His help, of course).
It’s been years since I’ve written. 2 wonderful years of chasing around a little boy who lights up our home, and who will someday make the BEST big brother. I’ve not known what direction to take my writing, since I find myself to be a novice at most things.
But writing is my outlet. Very very rarely do I hear stories of miscarriage early in pregnancy. It’s almost like it doesn’t count. It’s not as hard – physically or emotionally – as suffering a later loss, that is absolutely true. But it still counts. We can still mourn, we can still call it a loss. We can still talk about it. And that’s why I had to write this post, even if it’s not read by a single solitary soul.
And now I try to be strong. I try to look toward the future. I cry. I hope. I wait. I look to Jesus, who truly is the only answer. To everything.