The
sigh of relief and satisfaction I get when I sit down to craft a blog, is
undeniable. The blog has always been a sacred place where I can retreat too,
neat rows of words that speak my truths in a way that just make sense to me.
Opportunities to write quietly are getting far and few between in this chaotic
season of life, but nevertheless, they still happen and when they do, it’s so
healing. It brings me back and grounds me.
Tonight
is a night like many others, the kids have eaten and been soaked in the tub.
The days’ sticky fingers, marker stains & dirt have been scrubbed off and
they are clean and in their soft pajamas, ready for bed. Our Coley goes to bed
right around 7; he gets his blanket and rubs his eyes almost like clock-work.
Hallie will sit on the couch, gazing up at the TV until her eyes flutter shut
and she lands on the couch seat next to her. I leave her there most times and
watch her sleep, until eventually; I’ll carry her to bed. Our lives, as chaotic
as it can get, I work hard at making these last few hours of our day routine
and steady.
I
strive in an environment where I can predict, so I can prepare. But how do I react
when things happen, that I can’t prepare for? I have to look at it straight in
the eye and decide; how am I going to handle this? How am I going to manage to
feel okay in this, if I’m not ready for it?
A
couple weeks ago, I excitedly stood above my bathroom vanity, overlooking a
little stick, waiting to see the results; a giant, bright blue, plus sign.
Pregnant!
Days
of mental preparation, lists and quiet whispers to my close friends and family.
Days of talking, planning and dreaming with my husband, talking about names and
bedrooms.
I
start praying for protection for this little baby. I buy prenatals and start
drinking more water and going to bed earlier. I dream and hope.
I
continue my workout regime, dreaming of sharing my journey. What will my belly
look like this time around? Can I be a fit pregnant mom, heck yes I can!
I
wake up one morning, slowly walk to my bathroom and the first thing that hits
my mind is the baby. I wonder how they’re doing in there. I place my hand on my
waist.
The
next turn of events don’t end in an ultrasound with a happy mother and a peppy Instagram
post announcement.
As
much as I wish I was posting one of those, instead I sit here crafting this
blog; the one where I tell you all, that it happened again.
The fourth pregnancy, but a woman with only two children.
My
heart aches, my soul feels bruised. The doctor tried to tell me it was just a pregnancy
that “didn’t take.” But it felt a lot like a baby I could have raised, a life
that could have brought so much joy to our lives. As I sit in the midst of this
miscarriage, I felt such an urge to share with you that this life, though so
little, was so loved. I wanted to shout on the top of my lungs that I was
pregnant and it mattered. That I didn’t want to just try again, I wanted to
continue THIS one.
As
I maneuver my way through these emotions, I have such an unwavering peace
flowing in. That this baby is a part of my story and they are going to teach me
more about myself and the kind of Mother I want to be to the babies that I have
been blessed with, here with us.
Our
God is a faithful one. He doesn’t give us things that we can’t handle, He gives
us trials and tribulations to carve us in to the servant we need to be. I have
to move forward, to bring purpose to these lives I held for such a small amount
of time.
I
am your Mother, you mattered and I will see you, again.
