One year ago…
I had taken pregnancy tests before as a new bride who was nervous that I would be one of those women who got pregnant their first month of marriage on the pill. I was expecting that morning to be just like any of those other times where one pink line stares back at me, confirming the continuation of a two person household. I didn’t have any physical reason to believe that I was pregnant other than not having had a period for a month but I was told by my doctor about a week before that it was probably just my body adjusting to not being on birth control and to give it another week then take a test and call them. Actually, the biggest reason why I tested is because I had a dream that night that I took two tests and they were both positive. I remember the feeling in my dream of seeing those two lines so I didn’t even think twice when I woke up. Step one: Pee on stick. Step two: Agonize for 3 minutes over whether or not you should be looking away or watching the darn thing. I watched. One pink line….two pink lines. Even as I write, the memory of seeing that gives me a little rush of adrenaline. With shaky hands and a spinning head I grabbed my phone, run past Ryan sitting at the counter and head out the front door dialing my sister’s number. The conversation pretty much went:
“I think I’m pregnant”
“I took a test and there are two pink lines. Could it be wrong?”
“Ooooh my gosh. Take another one”
So I did. There they were, my confirmation that our family of two was about to expand. I decided that since Ryan’s 30th birthday was two days away I would wait and tell him then in some fun way. I had already been working on a scrapbook of letters people wrote to Ryan to tell him how much they love him. I wrote him a letter from the baby and made a page for it in the back of the book. That two day wait was torture. I wanted to badly to burst out with the news, especially during times like when were taking a walk and I suddenly felt super sick and my heart was racing. I actually had no clue how far along I was since my body was out of whack but I figured it had to be somewhere between 4-8 weeks, putting me right at the “oh, that smell makes me want to vomit” stage. I remember smelling Chick-fil-a on that walk and wanting to never see another piece of breaded chicken in my life. That was fun to hide.
I’ll never forget the look on Ryan’s face the following Sunday as we sat on our couch and he got to the last page of his book. He read the first words, “Dear Daddy”, looked at me, looked back at the book, looked at who signed this mysterious letter, then back at me. We hugged, cried, took deep breaths, stared at the tests I kept as proof, and nervously laughed at all our emotions pulsing through our hearts.
Here’s a fun little clip from the video we have of Ryan finding out…girls, you’ll appreciate this 🙂
This time last year started the hardest journey I’ve had to walk in my life so far. That day I became a mother. Today I have no child. Last holiday season was more magical and special than any years past. We spent that time caught up not in the hustle and bustle but in the mysterious awe of what was taking place in my body. We listened to the story of the birth of a baby as we eagerly started to plan for the birth of our own baby. This time of year is bringing up bittersweet memories of the days our lives changed forever, however not in the way we thought they’d be changed.
As I sit here with tears, wrapped up in the same fuzzy robe that wiped away my tears at the hospital in January I remember that we are entering into the season of Hope, of Redemption’s birth. So we wait. We wait on the redemption of our pain. We trust in the hope that is promised to us. Of course, we wait on a baby, however it comes to us. We covet your prayers as we face these next few months remembering that last year I was pregnant during them. We’ll hit some milestones, the day of our first ultrasound, the day we told our families, the day there was a heart beat (Christmas Eve of all days), and the day our baby passed from Earth to eternity.
What I know about God that I would not know had I never had a miscarriage, I cherish. I cling to the truth that we’re being refined and purified and that this is not purposeless pain. It never is with God.