At the beginning of the week, we celebrated miss Belle turning two. We dressed her up in clothes she picked herself, went to church, let her try her first ice cream (yay egg-free ice cream at Coldstone!), and went for a walk since the day-before-spring weather was so nice.
It was a good day.
Our rainbow baby, a testimony of God’s grace.
Last month, I wrote about February being both a celebration of the month I started dating my husband and a reminder of the due date that never came. A few weeks after writing that post, I found out I was pregnant(!). I was shocked and excited, expecting this whole thing to take longer like it did last time. But the symptoms kept coming, the tests showed positive, my belly started showing signs of making room.
We started planning how we’d tell our families, as our daughter turned two, that we would soon have TWO babies. There was a whole lot of preparation going on in just a week.
And then I felt a complete shift in hormones, and on that Saturday found a friend to stay with my napping toddler while we went to the ER to confirm a second miscarriage.
From two kids to two angel babies, as if it never happened at all.
And instead of announcing another baby to our families, we had to deliver news of another miscarriage.
February continues to be a tragic month. An empty due date, a friend’s husband buried, and now another miscarriage. I thought this baby would redeem February, but it will continue to be a blunder on the calendar.
Except for that anniversary. Except for my sunshine child who proves that even answered prayer is such a hard blessing.
This time has been easier. Not that miscarriage is easy, it is such a lonely thing. I know now so many women who have been through it. I know that 2, 9, 11 miscarriages do not mean you will never have another baby. And even if it did, the family we have now is enough. I know that God’s timing is so mysteriously perfect, his heart grieves our losses with us even as he receives them, his work is made complete in us in the fire. We have experienced such grace in those who shared joy with us in news of the pregnancy, and who prayed with us, for us in our grief. I can say, somehow, we really are doing ok. I don’t feel like I should be ok, but I am.
Friends, keep praying, God hears you.
So now, once again, we pray for a second rainbow baby. I watch my daughter care for her dolls as if they were real–putting them down for naps, comforting silent cries, and changing doll diapers like a pro. She’s so sweet to them my heart can’t take it. I want to give her a sibling.
But I know this longing won’t make being a mom of two any easier. Post-partum depression scared me into waiting this long to even try for another baby. I had to see myself get better. And now I need to let go of my perception of control. Obviously, this is not mine to control. Every aspect of this motherhood thing has proven that.
Even my worst days, though, have their own spots of light. When my daughter grabs my hand in the middle of dinner and bows her head, repeating, “Thank you, Lord, thank youuuu…” I know she doesn’t only see the ways I mess up. I hope the good is what stands out to her the most. And I hope that, if she’s turning out okay, we can make more spots of light in this world too.
If you think of us, pray with us. God hears you.
Image credit: Silver Blue via Flickr