February was supposed to be one of the happiest months of my life. It was February 15 we were supposed to go to our 8 weeks pregnant appointment, where maybe they would try to hear our baby’s heartbeat. Instead, February has been one of the darkest hardest months of my life.
The spotting started on a Wednesday morning after I woke up from the stomach flu. It was just a little, so I tried not to freak. Thursday am there was a little more spotting so I called the Dr. They told me to relax and drink fluids and go get some blood work done. Then came Friday morning. The cramps started and I knew our little baby was gone. Graham was still hopeful, but I just new. Off we went to get the ultrasound which showed what I already felt and new. Dead. My precious 7 week old little bean was gone. My hopes of sharing my birth month with my baby gone. My hopes that Nolan, who so deserves a little brother or sister, would get to kiss them and hug them and help mommy feeding and changing them gone.
Grief in this context is so complex. I have grieved loss of loved ones, loss in relatshionships, and loss in your dreams being dashed, but never the loss of a child. Yes a child. I was a mom the moment that test (all 4 of them) were positive. I feel like I am constantly shifting between anger and acceptance. Sadness and joy. Numbness and over sensitivity. I am angry at myself, others, God, the cat, that guy in the Jaguar I yelled at in the Michaels parking lot, etc. I am so very sad that I will not get to hear my baby’s heartbeat or feels it move inside of me. I am sad that I won’t get to see it doing gymnastics on it’s ultrasound. I’m sad that we won’t know whether or not it was a boy or girl (although I think it was a girl!). I’m sad that I won’t get to deliver him/her into the world and feel that unspeakable love and bond when you first see and hold your newborn. I’m sad that I won’t get to nurse my baby and walk through the many milestones of that 1st year. I’m sad that my baby was sick and couldn’t surrvive. I wonder if my baby felt pain when and or before it died. I’m sad that now everyone who knew we were expecting is now in grief over our loss.
And then I gravitate towards numbness. Where I don’t want to see or talk to anyone because I just want to have the bliss of feeling nothing. I wish that numbness wasn’t so unhealthy.
And yet, for the most part, I have accepted our little ones death. I take comfort in knowing that when we are absent from the body we are present with the Lord. That God knew us before the foundations of the world. That we are 100% human the moment that the sperm and egg meet. I take comfort and joy in the fact that my baby is where all of us are trying to get to. Home.
Good theology is what saves you in crap like this. I kept praying that God would help me to grieve well. He gives and takes away blessed be His name. My womb is not my own. It is God’s to do with what He will. We are all God’s. All of us. Do we all go to Heaven? That’s a topic for another post. 
I guess this post is a whole lot of randomness, but I wanted to tell my babies story and what my baby taught me. My baby taught me that God is sovereign and good over all even the bad, because he can take what Satan intends to destroy, and make into something beautiful. I’m not sure what the beautiful is yet, but I know it will come. I have learned that friends and family are crucial in crisis. I have learned that life is precious and we should all shut up and stop complaining. I have learned how precious and thankful I am for my sweet Nolan. I have learned that God makes woman strong through crap like this. Life died inside of me, I had to expel it, and I’m still standing. I have learned that love runs deep when your spouse is grieving.(I love you Graham. Thank you for everything.) I have learned that I must continue on.
Am I scared? Absolutely. It seems like I know 5 million woman having babies. Now comes the battle of jealousy, contentment, anger, covetousness, bitterness, and depression. And if God should open my womb again, I battle fear. But He will uphold me. He has not named me an Ezer(Hebrew for co-warrior) for nothing. I will fight. I choose to fight this battle against evil. I must press on. In my grief, I will press on. In honor of my brave little baby that did all he/she could do to survive I will fight and press on.
