Two days after I posted My Last Best Year’s initial blog, I had a positive pregnancy test. Glory! The raw truth is that conception has not been our primary burden, but it had been a while since I had seen that plus sign and the joy was overwhelming. I Sarah-laughed at the irony of it all, receiving what joy I could; bracing myself all at the same time.
I have been pregnant before. Twice. Now three times. I am familiar with the first trimester and all the joy and barfiness it brings. I am also painfully familiar with a burden it brings…oh, I weep as I write…the fear and fragility that it brings…I weep and I realize even more…the loss that it has brought. This is not as it was meant to be. Lets do away with that platitude. (In case you missed it, “I guess it wasn’t meant to be.”)
This is not as it was meant to be. We knew our babies were at a high miscarriage risk since the loss of our second one a few years ago. Yes – we know that we have a balance translocation (chromosomal) issue. We know it is an “uncommon” translocation and therefore the probability of a “live birth” has to be drawn from family history. We know each of our babies has a 50/50ish shot of making it past the first trimester. And we know that none of ours has. This is not as it was meant to be.
For the last few months I have been doing life and trying to keep from tossing my cookies because I, in fact, was pregnant. And today, I am, in fact, not. What terrible news. But there is a glimmer of hope: I watched one less episode of Friday Night Lights yesterday than I did the day before. (Thank GOD for Netflix). I went to the gym today. I am increasing my hours at work day by day. My laughter is as spontaneous as my tears. And I feel Faithfulness rising up like fruit from a tree.
We lost a baby. Our third. And for now, even with all the problem-solving that is available to me, I am grieving – sheltered and as God allows. Strangely thankful amidst the anger and certainty swimming in a sea of doubt.