I lost my baby Sunday morning.
And yes, I am bawling as I write. But I need to write.
I hadn’t really bonded with my baby while she (I think *she*) was in my womb. It’s the wrong time…I’m not ready…I think I’m getting too old for this…. Furthermore, I never really felt pregnant, other than my expanding waistline. No nausea, no nothing. Just the two bright lines on the pregnancy test. Twice.
And then, Saturday afternoon after coming in from the yard work, I put myself to the kitchen task of preparing for Sunday’s potluck. And I felt it. And I saw blood.
I really tried not to be anxious. But I already knew. For some reason, I had already heard the “tweet” in my mind the weeks before that I would be sending out as an SOS to my friends, “bleeding”. I had mild cramps, and took lots of herbal tea and put my feet up and then got a good night’s sleep. The next morning I felt it again, and ran to the toilet. Where my baby came out.
I immediately got on my knees and dug for her (I’m sorry if this is too gross). And, oh God, I found her. So perfect. So small. She fit in the palm of my hand. A head, a face, arms and legs and little feet. Oh God, how can anyone abort something this precious? I was 12 weeks along.
I didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t like I had prepared for this moment. On the counter though was a bowl of rose petals I was saving for my bath, and on them I gently laid her. I barely got the words out to my husband, apologizing and crying all the while, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…
He was ashen but wanted to see her, too. And he was so sad, which made me even more sad. And he said, “You know….I was already thinking of naming her Rose…” We just held each other.
After an hour or so I encouraged him to take the children to church. They needed the Body. I needed the quiet. I wasn’t ready, however, for the painful three hours of labor-like contractions as my uterus cramped down to size, expelling the placenta and tissue during that time. It made everything worse. All the work of having a baby. And not getting to have the baby. I stayed in bed until the next morning, trying to encourage my children that yes, I was all right, and that, yes, this is an awful sad thing and we can all cry but God is still bigger than death and our baby is safe in His arms. I know because He tells me so, and He is not a liar.
I had a tinge of guilt, of not being *ready* for this baby, for another pregnancy. The accuser was swift, you didn’t deserve this baby…. My God was quicker still, dear one, do you “deserve” the ones you are raising? They are all miracles, gifts, not from your own works, but from mine own visitations, yours to raise for My glory…
So now I find that I need to bury my baby. And how do I do that in a place that is for sale? How do I put her under our special tree knowing that someone else may just knock that spot down and I’ll never get to visit it again? I am anxious to put her body to rest, but I have stupid thoughts like the ground is cold and winter is coming and what an awful dirty place to put a precious baby.
I am taking my tender girls to the nursery to pick out a tree, a rosebush, a something in a big pot. We will bury her in there, and take her with us when we move. And, if God graces us with a new home we can own outright, we will transplant it whenever that time comes. I made her a little mini-quilt, about 6 inches square, to put in with her and the rose petals. Because I have made a quilt for all of my babies. And she will fit perfectly in hers.
I am so heartbroken. It comes in waves. Moments I am all right and can switch laundry around. Then I just cry and cry and cannot speak to anyone at all. I feel awful that I never bonded with my baby until I held her in my hand, but bond I did and I miss her and want her back.
I know a lot of you have gone through this. I used to joke with my friends that I never wanted to join their “club”, because just about all (all!) of them have lost at least one child, and some at birth and some even in toddlerhood. And now they come around me, hurt that yes, I am one of them because they didn’t want their pain for anyone else either. They’ve brought me steak lunches, homemade creme brulee, breakfast muffins, supper for my family, cards, prayers, hugs and kisses.
I just want to say from the bottom of my heart, I am so sorry for all of your losses, no matter how they occurred. I am crying for all of you, too, because death is so awful and hurts so bad. But let us hold fast to the hope of the resurrection, that in Jesus death has lost its sting and that yes, we WILL see our children again because He who has promised is faithful. I believe that somehow our lost babies will grow up to know and receive the Lord. I am so thankful to the Lord for His nearness, His comfort, and yes, even His sovereignty in all things. Even in this, it is for my good because He loves me. Dear Jesus, let me not waste the pain, but oh God, somehow, let even this bring glory to You because I have nothing to offer you but my broken heart.
My love goes out to you all, sweet mamas.