“God, please put a baby in Mommy’s belly. Amen.” She’s added it to her prayers every night for the past year.
Woke up two weeks ago. Didn’t feel well.
Dark positive pregnancy test
Shock. Joy. Excitement.
Thank you, God.
We’ve all wanted this for so long. My husband jumps up and hugs me. He’s so happy, maybe even more than me, if that’s possible.
Three more positive tests over the next week to double-check. More excitement with each definite positive. A Christmas baby. Pure joy.
A few unusual symptoms. Shrug them off.
Telling a few people but not too many, just in case.
Spilling the beans to our 3-year-old daughter because she’s been begging for a sibling.
Watch her eyes light up.
Start to envision all the wonderful things that will soon be. So excited! Finally!
Did we tell her too early? Should we share with the world? There’s such a stigma behind having to hide infertility, early pregnancy, miscarriage . . . I want to be open. Even if for some rare reason it doesn’t work out.
Surely it will work out.
Don’t even go there.
But why do I have this weird gut feeling?
Ignore the feeling. It’s fine.
We will share as soon as the doctor confirms.
Bad pain a few days later. Stress, worry, tears, questions.
Call the doctor. Listen to instructions. I never did this test during my first pregnancy.
Questions, fear, regret that we told anyone, especially our daughter.
Embarrassment. That was an unexpected feeling.
Blood test. Numbers are good! Come back in 48 hours for another so we can see if they doubled.
Do you know how long 48 hours can be?
Second blood test. Now, wait for results.
Pain is gone. Everything is probably fine. I worried for nothing.
Waiting and anxiously checking my email every hour. Longest day of my life.
Shouldn’t have looked. Should have waited for the doctor.
More Tears. Questions. Anxiety. Sadness.
Maybe the results were wrong. Pain has been gone for a while.
Waiting for the doctor to call. Pain returns. Acting like I didn’t know the results were bad. Maybe denial will make it unreal.
Doctor calls. Hear the uncertainty in his voice.
Heartbreak. Worry. Tears.
Another blood test scheduled.
Decide to reach out to another doctor who will see me the next day.
I let my 3-year-old sleep in my bed that night guilt-free. Held her close. I’m so grateful for her.
New doctor’s appointment. Third blood test. Ultrasound.
They see the pregnancy, no heartbeat yet.
Let’s wait for blood results. Numbers need to double if it’s viable but based on the last two results it’s unlikely.
Don’t lose hope. Let’s wait and see.
More waiting, worry, tears, stress.
Results in. Not good.
“We’re so sorry. Make a decision. Medicine, procedure, or natural.”
What a terrible decision I wish on no one.
The doctor tries to comfort me: The baby wouldn’t have been healthy. Many get pregnant again right away. It’s not your fault.
Can you say that last one to me a million more times? I think as I list all the things that might have caused this.
It wasn’t the right time. Maybe if I say it enough I’ll believe it.
I have one healthy child. Some don’t even get that. Feelings of guilt and being selfish emerge.
I scream at my brain to stop thinking.
Few waves of peace come but mostly devastation.
It was so early, be grateful for that. I know. It could be so much worse.
But right now, this is my worst. Please let me have that.
I explain it to my 3-year-old.
“Baby’s soul wanted to go to Heaven with my grandma’s soul. Now she has a great-grandbaby to babysit again. God will give Mommy another baby soon. You’ll be a big sister just not at Christmas anymore but don’t worry,” I say as I worry.
She doesn’t understand. I know she doesn’t. Still, she wipes my tears. Who knew your child could one day be the one to comfort you?
Tuck her in for a nap. Kiss her with such appreciation that she is mine.
As I walk out of her room I hear, “God please put a baby in Mommy’s belly. Amen.”