Sometimes having faith seems futile. No really! Sometimes saying that “I know God has a plan” and that “I’m trusting Him even in the middle of this” seems trite, like what I’m supposed to say. Sometimes I want the BIG testimonies of “I prayed after my water broke and God sustained our son for 15 more weeks and my faith was strengthened”. But God doesn’t always show up in the big ways and honestly, sometimes I say these things to myself because I’m trying to convince myself that it’s true. The beauty in it is, I do still have faith. I am optimistic. I just read a post from one of my blog sisters and it oozed positivity and hopefulness. THAT is what my faith gives me. There are bad days; yesterday was one. But today, I’m driving to work and I’m hopeful. The people going through this journery yeah, we are a little crazy sometimes, but that little bit of crazy, sometimes wavering, but still optimistic beyond all odds faith, that faith is what makes us strong and what gives us hope.
It is 1:15 am and I am eating gelato. I got “cleared” today by my OB so I should be in bed with Hubbins. It has been awhile; since the first cerclage was placed at the beginning of January I have been on pelvic rest. So I should be excited….but today I had to go buy spermicide because I am trying to not get pregnant. That is an entire mindfuck. What is my life right now? Also: the reason I can now have sex is because my baby is no longer here. None of this helps the mood. Eventually I’ll get there I’m sure. This post was really blunt…but that’s why I’m here…to be transparent right?
Well, I made it.
This weekend was tough. Friday I had my appointment calendar pop up reminding me of my anatomy scan.. I thought I had disabled it but I guess not. Saturday, Hubbins and I did Praise and Worship at church; it went well and while I did end up in tears once or twice, I overall kept it together. Sunday we were home and just relaxed. Today I ran some errands and puttered around the house and made dinner.
I’m starting to feel more like myself.
I have been working on the baby blanket and crocheted a hair bow and the cutest headband with a bow. It is kind of therapeutic I guess and I know so many pregnant people right now that someone is bound to have a little girl.
I have been doing my research on the TAC and honestly, I’m torn. I’m hoping that I’ll have more info after my MFM followup on the 7th but right now I don’t know about the TAC. Currently, I feel like I have 3 solid options: TAC, pessary and complete bedrest after 12 weeks, and just complete bedrest. I’m not considering another TVC.. didn’t work twice. No thank you. The TAC is a huge surgery and my biggest fear is that I will funnel past the stitch early and end up needing a c-section and still have no baby. It’s all scary stuff. Honestly, I’m just praying that God guide us in the decision and make it clear what we should do. This is all WAY far in advance but the researching and planning are giving me something to look forward to.
I want to sleep but I can’t.
I remember laying here every night rubbing my belly and once Hubbins drifted off, I would talk to my little one. I would tell him how much he meant to us. I would tell him what kind of day I had. I would tell him how excited we were to meet him. I would tell him that I wished he was growing strong.
I would pray. I would pray over his mind and his eyes and his hands and his feet. Hubbins suspected he was a boy; I thought he would be a girl so I would alternate my prayers.
I would pray that my daughter would grow up to be a graceful woman of God. I would pray she wouldn’t inherit my quick sometimes sharp tongue. I prayed that she knew she was beautiful and she would hold her head up high confident in what she could do. I prayed she would know her value. I prayed that she would see all the love she needed in her Daddy’s eyes and realize that there was no acceptance from any other man that mattered because her daddy loved her enough.
I would pray for my son. I would pray that he have a gentle spirit and grow to be a strong man of God. I prayed he would inherit his fathers patience and long suffering. I prayed that he would be safe. I prayed that as a young black man he would understand his power and the importance of his voice for right and for the things of God. I prayed that I would know how to raise him in a world that everyday told him he wasn’t good enough; wasn’t smart enough; wasn’t talented enough.
I asked God for knowledge on how to raise this child for Him. I prayed that in my feebleness I would be strong enough to raise a child who grew to love Jesus and would seek Him each day.
Now I don’t know what to pray for…
Well occupational health didn’t clear me…
On the drive in to work today, I was feeling, brittle? Fragile? Like I was being held together by the finest of threads. I got to Occ Health and the same nurse who I had seen about a month ago calls me back. Her first question: how is the baby? Now maybe I’m naive but if you saw me a month ago to take me out of work for my pregnancy till July and I show up back to see you in February you can’t reason that something didn’t go as planned?? *cue the waterworks* It went downhill from there because instead of taking my letter from the doctor and signing my paperwork, she had all the questions and kept asking how I felt about this ‘miscarriage’ vs my last one. I was a mess. Halfway through she decided that I needed to wait till I go back to my OB on the 25th as well as needing “mental clearance from a FASAP counsellor as I am clearly recovering from a traumatic issue”.
So that’s where we are; both those appointments are scheduled for the 25th and I’m home and back in bed. I’ll try to ‘adult’ again tomorrow; I’m done for today.
I’m not ready…but putting it off won’t make me any more ready. It is kind of the last ‘thing’ that I have to do for everything to be back to ‘normal’.
I’ve been doing a lot of house chores the last few days preparing for life back on our regular schedule. And it has sucked. I’m so tired of going through the motions to ‘return back to normal’ after losing my baby. Don’t need the belly support band; it can go in the drawer. My What to Expect guidebook; in the drawer too. The calendar with appointment dates that has this Friday circled for my anatomy sonogram; ripped up. My Google calendar entitled “Baby Nugget”; hidden on my phone. I’m so tired of starting over and rebuilding….but I’m not getting rid of these things. This drawer represents my blind unyielding grasping faith that one day I will bring home a baby. I started the baby blanket and I’m going to finish it. Many tears will be shed over it but I know that one day I will wrap it around my little one and be able to tell them what they represent to me: the end of starting over and my new beginning.
You ever have a song that sums up exactly what you are feeling and seems to speak directly to your situation? This has been that song for me over the past few days.
People ask me
Isn’t it crazy
To believe in something you can’t see?
And people wonder
Why do I still ponder
Over an old dream
That appears will never be
You see my faith is strong and anchored
My faith cannot be wavered
My faith makes the unknown reality
And one day, if I pray
I know my dream will come to be
I believe God
He is incredible, invincible
He can crumble the impossible
Yes, I believe God
Although my faith sometimes is tested
On this shaky road I trod
I, oh I believe God
When life’s storm is harsh and bitter
And my ambition starts to wither
I wont be driven to crumble or complain
You see, doubting God is never
The option to consider
I’ve seen too many miracles
Hidden inside my pain
Oh, now faith is the substance of things hoped for
The evidence of things not seen
God works in mysterious ways
By faith my miracle and my breakthrough
Are going to spring forth from my pain Continue reading “I believe God”
This last week Hubbins and I have been home together. This time was so needed. When we lost Langston, I don’t think we took the time to grieve together. I went back to work 3 days later and I believe he did the same. This time we took the week off. This week we laughed and cried together. I realized this week that it is so easy when you’re on this infertility/loss journey to lose sight of your spouse…your relationship becomes a discussion of appointments and symptoms and spotting and cramping and other such sexy things. Even when I was pregnant, in the beginning the baby was kind of something we abstractly discussed. We spoke of appointments and shots and ticked off the weeks as they went by; I think on some level we were trying to insulate ourselves against anything happening….and then it happened again. This week we took the time to honor Lucas. We spoke about our feelings of anger, betrayal, hurt and most importantly, love. We loved our son. We love our sons. There were days we stayed in bed and he held me while I cried. He has lain on the couch holding a hot pad on my stomach as cramps grabbed hold of me. We spent days laughing at YouTube videos. This was all important to us, this week in our cave. We declined many of our visitors who wanted to stop by because we needed to process this for us….as parents, as lovers and as two people trying to decide on our future. We talked about trying again. We talked about next steps. We talked about how many more losses we were willing to risk.
Today to end our week together, we got tattoos to remember our boys. The details may be hard to see on his because it was pretty swollen but I’ll put a picture here. They are two kids building blocks and on the side of each is a name and the date our boys came to us. The die hard Giants fan wanted that reflected there as well as it is something he would have shared with his boys.
A week ago at 2:15 am, my water broke.
This week, my milk has come in.
February is kind of shitty so far.
There is a friend of mine on my FB timeline complaining about her pregnancy. Again. She is 26 weeks and “can’t wait to get this baby out of her” so she can “get back to life where her body is hers again”.
It keeps popping up on my timeline because people are sending her their sympathies and wishing her a speedy pregnancy. Their sympathies.
I want to say something snarky and angry. I have drafted the perfect comment a few times in my head. But…taking the high road or whatever. So instead I will just mute her and her pregnancy that is taking so so long while I sit here wishing that I had as many more weeks as I could.