Twelve Weeks ... Or, "In case you missed it, I'm pregnant." ~ The Grace Between

Twelve Weeks … Or, “In case you missed it, I’m pregnant.”

I have been turning this over every possible way in my foggy pregnant brain, deciding how, or if to write about it. Because I am happy, I promise, in the kind of way that you want to freeze and remember when the days are coming hard and fast.

When Jaime died, and we gathered in the tiny hotel room to grieve together, I looked at my friend, halfway through a first pregnancy after hard years of waiting, and I discovered, for the first time, how it’s possible to be impossibly sad and so happy and the one doesn’t take away from the other. I watched as she curled up in her husband’s arms, hand unconsciously rubbing the babe that would be named for our friend, the babe that she was announcing to friends and family as I was sharing the loss of mine.

And I had so much joy for her. This babe three years in the making, a wee one so desired, so hoped for. And yet, so much sorrow for my own heartbreak.

It’s happened again in this life. Joy and sorrow in the same thread, the same story. With H. With my little Bug. A year without the J Girl. So when I see two pink lines on an oddly shaped stick, the happy comes quick, but the fear comes quicker.

I tiptoed through the last eight weeks, careening between giddy excitement over this new wee babe and unwillingness to connect to her {already convinced it’s a girl} because I fear she is short for this life.

It’s an ugly fear, a faith-less fear … I pass seven weeks, and blood tests are normal and I breath a little less weighty, and the grey fog of fear creeps to the edge of my consciousness. Four more weeks to wait, to hear a heartbeat, to know my baby lives. {For the record, and before you read further, she{he} does ... }.

When I laid out on the table last Tuesday with gel on my {sort of} flat stomach, pre-baby bump, and the midwife searched and searched and couldn’t find a heartbeat, and we tried again … and after the second episode of trying failed and she went in search of a spare ultrasound machine … the fear, the ugly faith-less fear overtook me.

Hot tears burned behind my tight shut, unbelieving, tired eyes and I told the Lord … “I just can’t. I can’t do this again.”

I can’t tell the world that we lost another babe, and say all the right things in my grief, and wait patiently for the next one that may or may not come, and tell the J Girl another baby died. 

I serve a merciful God who served up an ultrasound machine and a gaggle of cheery women in a tiny, freezing exam room, all of whom provided an instant picture of a very living, very cute little alien baby with a strong healthy heart jumping off the screen. And I’m happy … freeze-the-moment, embrace-the-nausea, freak-out-over-keeping-three-crazy-wee-babes-alive happy.

So why tell you about the fear? About the not-joy? When the next chapter is oh-so-happy.

After I announced my pregnancy on the blog, a dear friend sent me this.

“We have been trying to have another baby since July, and for some reason it just “wasn’t happening.” I prayerfully begged God to let me get pregnant, then I begged Him to give me peace with the fact that my girl is sufficient for me. And because of her, I am a mommy. I was beginning to be ok with having “an only child” although my selfish heart’s desire is to have many, many children. I took another test in late October and it was negative. I was so mad at God and myself for getting my hopes up, again. The next day, because I’m stubborn, I took another test. And it was positive. My anger quickly turned to humility. And I am still in awe that the King of Kings would present me with the GREATEST gift of giving life, after all my doubts and fears.”

She speaks my heart.

So, I share because I am not alone. Because I know there is someone out there with joy, and with fear. I know I have friends that are still waiting for two pink lines on an oddly shaped stick and my heart hurts, is impossibly sad, even in my joy.

Because I have {many} ugly, faith-less days and still the King of Kings is merciful to me.

And I know days will come again when the answer is no, whatever the question may be, and my heart will be breaking, and His grace will be sufficient, just it has been every day before this one, and on this day, and all the days after. And it comes, this amazing grace, just in the knick of time. 

But for now, right now, I am twelve weeks, breathing free, weightless, the fear {mostly} banished, ever grateful.



{I promise I won’t blog incessantly about this babe … this I just had to get out. And of course the printer on the ultra-sound machine wouldn’t work and I am overly grateful for smart phone cameras and that’s why you get the slightly out of focus iPhone shot of the screen.}

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