THIS was my harsh reality. My 6th pregnancy. 4 consecutive miscarriages leading up to this moment....(my last miscarriage only 3 months earlier).....and when I found out I was pregnant again, I wanted to do nothing more than crawl into a hole. Had we tried to get pregnant? Absolutely! But taking the step to "try again", KNOWING the likelihood of how it would end.....it's HARD. It SUCKS. It's absolutely GUT WRENCHING! Seeing those two pink lines.....it didn't make me excited, or happy....it made me anxious, stressed, and depressed....and yes....angry. I had my moments of happiness, but they were always quickly overshadowed with doubt and fear. I had HOPE, I had FAITH, I PRAYED....but as I learned before, those things don't always guarantee the desired outcome.
I was falling down a black hole.....I had no clue how deep it was, or what was waiting for me at the bottom. All I knew was that I had jumped....and I had no control of the outcome....all I could do was wait.
.....and wait I did.....and the days became weeks....and the weeks became months....and I kept falling....and the hole didn't seem quite as scary after a while.....maybe this time I wasn't going to hit a brick wall and fall apart. Maybe this time, I was going to land right where I wanted to be.....but maybe this was just a prolonged ride to the same devastating end. I still couldn't see the bottom. There were still no guarantees.
If you talked to me much about my pregnancy with Jax, you probably heard me say more than once, "This just doesn't seem real, yet!" , "I still can't believe I'm going to be bringing home a baby." Even as I sat in labor in the hospital, I refused to believe that this could REALLY be happening. In my mind, something horrible was going to happen....it just hadn't happened yet. I wasn't going to let myself feel relief, I wasn't going to let my guard down, until this child was in my arms, bellowing it's first cry.....
...And then that moment came. And the most beautiful sound in the world, pierced my ears.....he cried......and they laid him on my chest....and I cried.....and I screamed....and I wrapped my arms around him as though I'd never let go......and finally, after 9 months, the weight was lifted....and I could breathe, and I felt light, and I was overflowing with joy and relief and happiness. And all of the turmoil and devastation from all of those years of failing and falling, all of it just faded into the background. It didn't disappear, but it was overcome but the brightness and wonder of this little miracle.
And I knew in that moment, that he was worth all of it, that he was the final chapter to this journey, that he was God's answer to my prayers, that even when my faith fell short....God was gracious, and forgiving, and He didn't forget me. He may have brought me to the end of my rope.....but when I had nothing more to give, He picked me up, and He carried me to the finish line.
For those who have lost a child, trying again, can be absolutely terrifying....and with each loss, the strength it takes to get back up and try again is exponentially greater than the time before. There is no sugarcoating it. There's no way to make it easier. You jump in knowing the possibility of disaster, and anticipating the heartbreak, but the sliver of hope that MAYBE, just MAYBE this time, you will get what you have tried so hard for.....that's what keeps you going. And when you finally get that perfect landing, when you finally have that child in your arms, you will be glad you never gave up.
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