Most people don’t know that for my husband and I, Teddy is actually our second baby. A little over a year ago, I had a miscarriage. Looking back, I guess I am not really sure why I didn’t tell anyone. A big part of me never wanted to talk about it because I didn’t want to burden people with our sad news. Another part of me just never knew how to tell people. Afterall, how exactly do you tell someone that you had a miscarriage when you hadn’t even had the chance to tell them that you were pregnant yet? But mostly, I just don’t like talking about the things going on in my life – at least not the real things. Ya know, those real things that give people a sneak peak into your soul and might actually make you vulnerable? Yeah, those.
And yet, here I am, suddenly telling the whole world the story of my little peanut. I am not even exactly sure why I am sharing this now. I think it is partially just to say sorry for all of my unspoken and undeserved anger. But mostly, I think I am telling my story so that those who have experienced similar heartache will know that they are not alone and that there is hope for a future (whether it’s the one they planned for or not). So, here goes.
At first, I was angry.
Angry that my doctor’s office made me wait 8 whole weeks before coming in for my first appointment, only to give me a pat on the back and say “congratulations on being pregnant.” Angry that they made no real effort to confirm that my $6 home pregnancy test was telling the truth and there was actually a healthy baby in there. Angry that they then made me spend another whole month daydreaming about how to decorate the nursery and discussing baby names with my husband before having me come in for an ultrasound. I was downright bitter about the fact that I had spent 3 whole months planning out the cute way I would share the great news with family and friends. And mostly, I was angry that they let me spend 3 whole months of my life thinking I was going to be a mom before they even used any of their fancy shmancy tools or equipment to discover that something was wrong.
And that wasn’t all. I was angry at a lot more than just my doctor. I was angry at every single pregnant woman that crossed my path. And even more angry at those who hadn’t even wanted to get pregnant. And let’s not even get started on women like this. Why did they get healthy babies? Why was my baby the one without a heartbeat? My baby. The one who had already taken over my every thought, the one we had planned to raise in a loving Christian home with two parents who both wanted her, and the one who had already nestled her way into my heart after only a few short weeks. WHY?
After my anger came the sadness.
At about the time this stage hit, my husband and I were driving up to his family’s cabin. To make the 5+ hour journey a little less painful, we usually listen to a book on tape (or I guess, these days, a book on iPhone). This particular trip we decided to listen to “Heaven is for Real.” For those of you who have read (or listened to) this book, you know the part about the young boy meeting his little sister in Heaven – the sister his mom had miscarried and never told him about. After hearing this part of the story, my husband and I both looked over at each other in the car, with tears streaming down our faces. This was the moment I truly let out all of the sadness about my miscarriage. I was just so unbelievably, unbearably sad that I never got to meet our little baby. Sad that my body had failed me and my dreams of starting a family. Sad that my once exciting news had turned into a broken-hearted secret that I had tucked away. And sad that March 17th would forever be engrained in my memory as the day I lost my sweet baby. And I was overcome with both sadness and overwhelming joy to know that my little sweet nameless baby was waiting for her mommy and daddy up in Heaven.
Then, I was afraid.
I was afraid of ever getting pregnant again and of never getting pregnant again all at the same time. I was afraid of every single doctor appointment for my second pregnancy. Afraid of listening for a heartbeat, and hearing the silence. Afraid of seeing another ultrasound screen that was missing the little flickering heartbeat of hope. Afraid of going through the physical and emotional pain, again, and afraid that I couldn’t survive the heartache a second time. And most of all, I was afraid that I would never have a baby of my own.
Now, I am thankful.
I am so beyond thankful for a God who knows me better than I know myself. Not only did he love me through my anger and bitterness, but he also knew that I had been focusing on checking off my list for the “perfect life” for just a little too long. He needed to throw a wrench in my plan to remind me that life isn’t about my self-prescribed perfect plan, but His. Through my miscarriage, I realized that whether my journey ended with a healthy baby or no baby, each outcome was bound to bring challenges of its own, and putting my trust in the Lord was the only way to find true contentment right where I was at.
And finally, I am excited. Excited to meet my little Heaven baby someday and to finally give her a name.
O LORD, you have searched me and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways. Before a word is on my tongue you know it completely, O LORD.
Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God.