With both of my pregnancies I thought my babies would come early. I remember with my first baby I got nervous around week 32 because a friend went into labor early. I made my husband put the car seat in the car that night.
At 41 weeks I was still pregnant.
Tonight I went to get take-out for dinner for our family. All the way home I cried. Not just a trinkling of tears but tears that cloud your eyes and make your shirt – or in my case belly – all wet. It could have been the song “I Will Never Leave You” on the CD I was listening to that a friend just gave me at my Baby Sprinkling.
It could have been that two weeks until my due date I can’t walk up stairs without having to stop, my toddler can no longer sit on my lap, or a deep fatigue has set in like I could sleep for days. Or it could have been that I was anticipating what’s to come. The pain. It’s going to hurt. Bad. And that’s scary.
Last Tuesday morning I turned the corner onto the street leading to our local library to take my toddler to storytime, and this is what greeted me.
It caught me so off guard that I did a quick U-turn in the middle of the street to go back and make sure I saw what I think I saw. That’s when I stopped to take this picture.
Twenty-seven weeks pregnant myself, I literally started hyperventalating. My whole body shook, I gripped the steering wheel, I couldn’t breathe, and tears barreled down my face. “Oh, Jesus! Oh, Jesus! Come today.” That’s all I could say. (more…)
When I was pregnant with my first baby everyone asked, “Do you want a boy or a girl?” I would smile and say something politically correct like, “Well, it really doesn’t matter, but it would be fun to have a girl.”
I really wanted a girl. Like I really, really wanted a girl. So much so that I prayed and asked God to give me a girl.
I was told that second (and third and fourth and so on) pregnancies go by faster than the first one because that other baby you now have keeps your mind a little preoccupied. Not to mention your body that’s busy chasing her! Well, for me that couldn’t be more true. I cannot believe that I am approaching the half-way mark. Believe it or not, it makes me a little sad, and happy, at the same time.
With my first baby I loved being pregnant. Loved it. This one has been harder, however, one thing I still love is knowing this is the closest physically I’ll ever be with my child again. From the time he or she is born until forever, he (or she) will be moving further away from me. Which is the way it’s supposed to be, and that’s a good thing. But for now, I like him (or her) right here. I have 24 more weeks of “as close as I ever will be” and I’m going to savor it.
As we wait, we continue to grow . . .
A month ago I stood in the hallway after church with an acquaintance friend. I knew she was expecting her second baby, so I asked her how she was feeling. As soon as the words left my mouth tears welled up in her eyes. A look of shock formed on her face.
“We lost the baby,” she said in a soft, trembling voice.
“But the first trimester was over, right?” I responded, confused that this really does happen after a woman crosses the safety line of three months.
“Yes, I was twelve weeks.”
My friend went on to share with me the details of afterwards, how difficult it had been, and how she didn’t understand because there were no complications in her first pregnancy.
Tears came to my eyes as I tried to express my sorrow for her loss. I kept it a secret that I, too, was pregnant. Five weeks to be exact. And privately fear took root in my own joy.
The next Sunday I sat in the sanctuary and glanced to my right. There, at the end of the row, sat my friend. I just looked at her and silently prayed for God to comfort her. Then I begged Him to spare me the loss of my child. Tears came to my eyes at the thought. I dismissed them. Surely that wouldn’t happen to me, too.
