Miscarriages Suck.

I’ll be honest with ya, folks, I have not been feeling very abundant lately. A couple of months ago, my husband and I found out we were expecting a little one. We were beyond excited. We had been praying for that moment for a long time. Our joy couldn’t be contained. We came up with cute little ways to tell our family, friends, and even the people we barely know on Facebook. We waited what we thought was the safe amount of time to tell the social media world. We never thought the unspeakable would happen to us… But I guess nobody does.

On Thursday, June 1, we went in to have our first ultrasound. At this point I was supposed to be 11 weeks and 5 days along… Almost out of my first trimester. However, after searching for a long time, the ultrasound tech couldn’t find anything in the gestational sac. She didn’t say much, because she couldn’t, but she told us our doctor would talk with us about the pictures the next day. I thought I was going into that ultrasound fully prepared for what I was going to see. I had been tracking my baby’s growth ever since we found out we were expecting, and I had looked up countless pictures of sonograms for each week of pregnancy. I knew that my pictures didn’t look like the other pictures. I knew something was wrong.

Everyone tried to comfort me by telling me there could be many explanations for not seeing a baby on the sonogram, and I almost believed them, but in my heart I knew. The doctor ordered a blood test for that following Friday and Sunday to compare HCG levels. They’re supposed to double every 48 hours… mine went down. That Monday he told us our baby never developed past fertilization. He told us that my body hadn’t realized it was a failed pregnancy yet, and that’s why I had still been experiencing pregnancy symptoms. He told us that eventually my body would miscarry on its own, or medical intervention would need to happen. He told us we didn’t have to make a decision on what to do just yet. But what he didn’t tell us was how much pain we would feel. He didn’t tell us that all of the dreams we already had for our baby would instantly be washed away with sorrow, heartache, and hopelessness. He didn’t tell us about the crippling fear that would accompany waiting for a miscarriage to happen. He didn’t tell us we would feel guilty for doing the things that normally brought us joy, like babysitting, playing with our two pups, being with friends, or working my Arbonne business. He didn’t tell us that every quiet moment would be filled with a longing for what would have been. He didn’t tell us that we would hold each other and cry every night, or how we would sit and stare at the wall for hours because what else do you do?

Did you know that 1 in 4 women will experience a miscarriage at some point in their lifetime? I didn’t, but now I am that 1 in 4. It’s not just a statistic, it’s me. It’s my life and my hurt. It’s my baby that never made it into my arms. Before any of this, I had noticed women becoming increasingly more outspoken about their own miscarriages. I would always have a little “good for them” or “I can’t even imagine” run through my mind when I saw it posted somewhere, but I never thought it would happen to me. My mom had flawless pregnancies. A few people called her a baby-making machine. My mom and I are like carbon copies of each other. I thought that kind of stuff was inherited. I guess not.

We’ve had a lot of people tell us they’re praying for us, and I’m thankful for that, but I feel like the center of attention in the worst way possible. I never did like my birthday because people single me out all day long and talk about me and sing to me. It makes me feel uncomfortable. Having a miscarriage is kind of like that,  except there’s no underlying sense of happiness or excitement to receive gifts, just pain. I feel like everyone is staring at me, feeling like they have to walk on eggshells around me, and whispering “poor girl” behind my back. I understand though because that’s exactly what I would’ve done before any of this.

 


 

 

I wrote the beginning of this blog a couple days after we found out about our diagnosis. It helps me to write about my feelings, so I did. I was scared, bitter, heartbroken, and angry, as I’m sure you can tell from my words. However, now I am writing the rest of this blog with a sense of peace.

If you know me, you know I’ve never wanted anything more than to be a mom. That has been my dream ever since I was in middle school. So you can imagine the heartbreak I felt when we found out our baby would never come. We had plans for our baby. We had begun picking out names. We joked about being surprised with twins. We bought pacifiers because they are about the only thing you can buy that’s gender neutral. I had begun writing a journal for our baby, and, most importantly, we prayed for our baby.

But I have peace in knowing that the first thing our baby will ever see is Jesus, and that he or she never knew anything other than love in this world. I don’t think I would be able to have this peace if it weren’t for the relationships, personal, and spiritual growth I have seen over the past 6 months, compliments of God’s sovereign hand bringing new friendships and opportunities into my life. I truly believe that every little thing you experience in life is molding and shaping you into the person God needs you to be. For the past 6 months, I have been on a mission to live out my purpose in life, and to listen intently for those little nudges He sends me. Everything I have grown through has prepared me for what I am experiencing now, and I believe that what I am experiencing now is preparing me for something else ahead. I find peace in that. I trust God. I believe He is a good and faithful God. I know that He put motherhood on my heart for a reason, and I know that He will fulfill His promises to me. I have seen His perfect timing in my life time and time again, and I believe this is no different. I am able to find peace and praise Him in a time of sorrow because of the goodness He has already shown me in my life.

We do not regret telling the world about our pregnancy. For that short amount of time, it was amazing to celebrate it together. Now that things have turned in a different direction, we are thankful to have so many people who are praying for us and there to support us. We can’t imagine what it would have been like to go through this alone, and though I may have pushed some of you away when we first got the bad news, please know that I do appreciate your support. We are very blessed to have such amazing friends and family to hold our hand through this.

I look forward to the day that God grants us with our very own rainbow baby.

“I will not cause pain without allowing something new to be born.”

Isaiah 66:9

rainbow baby