Written at 12:24am on Sunday, July 9, 2017
We were pregnant. But I'm having a miscarriage. I'm eight or nine weeks, I can't remember exactly, but the thought of looking at my planner to figure it out, and seeing all the little numbers for the next two months lined up neatly, remembering when I excitedly wrote them down, is depressing. After a long day of cramps and spotting, I'm getting contractions. The pregnancy was a surprise, I had planned to get pregnant in the spring. Studying my NFP chart, I have no idea how we got pregnant, it just doesn't make sense. I was frustrated with God at first, frustrated that my weight loss plans and 10 year anniversary trip plans had to all be shelved. But I quickly came to terms. Babies bring so much joy and those first four months are really special. I became excited to pick out names and fold newborn sizes and watch Abigail and Eleanor and Theodore love on a little newborn. But now I am feeling the familiar pain of contractions and I don't understand why God threw this at me only to rip it away.
This evening, Theodore was throwing a small ball at the bookshelf with the intention to get it stuck. When he succeeded, he toddled over to me and explained his situation in his most serious of babbles. He reached for my hands, but I stood up and walked away. He started balling. He collapsed on the floor.
"Come here, Theodore!" But he didn't. I returned from the kitchen with a step stool in hand and set it down in front of the shelf. Instantly his screaming stopped. He practically ran to the step, climbed up, and grabbed his ball.
"'Ere itis!" His prize held up in the air.
"This is a perfect analogy for God, Theodore," Matt chimed in from the kitchen. He cooked dinner. He was doing the dishes. Because I was on the couch crocheting and waiting for the contractions to start. "God doesn't always give you what you think you want because He wants to give you something greater than your wildest dreams."
And over and over again Theodore threw his ball on the bookshelf and climbed on the step to retrieve it. "'Ere itis!" Such joy. Such pride.
Matt said it to Theodore, but really God said it to me. I have no flipping clue how giving birth to yet another dead baby can possibly lend to something greater than my wildest dreams. But I'm just going to trust.