Barefeet in High Heels

The day we moved into our new home was a little bit...busy scary long crazier...than I thought it would originally be.

No one really knew, but I was actually 7 weeks pregnant.

I woke up that morning at 4 a.m., spotting.

And it just got worse...and worse...and worse...

By noon I was done.  Emotionally drained, physically exhausted, and relieved that the movers were FINALLY done putting our stuff in the house. I was in a lot of pain.  For anyone who's had a baby, it felt like contractions.  I knew then that something was wrong.

The twins' daddy was at the house helping.  Later he told me he knew something was wrong when I wasn't my usual happy-go-lucky self.  He generously offered to take the boys home to his house where his parents were watching his son.  (Please note that at this time my girlfriend was still on bedrest in the hospital with the twins.)

Engineering Man then drove me the 30 minutes to the emergency room.  Looking back now...I know that as we drove into the parking lot, we lost the baby.

All the contractions stopped...and I just kept praying.

Maybe, just maybe...we were still pregnant. 

Three hours later, we had just gotten back from the sonogram...where there was no heartbeat.  The sonogram tech went to the door, turned and said, "it will be at least another hour before your results are read..." and walked out the door.

I turned to Engineering Man and burst into tears because at that point after an emotionally exhausting day, all I wanted was, "just to see my boys."

And God stepped in.

Mom and dad knocked on the door at just that moment with both boys in tow. I have never been so thankful for God's amazing timing as right then, when I could hug my children and know that everything was right with the world.

Timing...I need to point out some amazing things about this...

Mom and dad drove into town that day.  Literally, they were in Oklahoma when we called  on the way to the ER...

(Great conversation by the way..."Hey mom & dad...didn't want to tell you this way, but I'm pregnant; and am probably having a miscarriage as we speak.")

They not only drove the rest of the way, but went to our friends' house, picked up the boys, and drove through 5 o'clock Dallas traffic to arrive at the hospital door just as the sonogram tech left.

God is so good.

I realize now it was probably the perfect day for it to happen.  After almost exactly nine months of being nomads, moving from the normalcy of work/Wichita/friends, to being a stay-at-home mom, living in corporate housing, to living with family in Texas, to separating our family and moving back in with the parents as EM did military training, to a nightmare of a home closing (three hours...yes, THREE), to finally having our own home with our family back together...

It seemed, if it was going to happen, God was waiting until I could lie in my own bed to have it happen...

God gives us only what we can handle...

Shortly afterward, I went back to my hometown for my 10 year class reunion.  And discovered an old friend who'd also had a miscarriage that summer.

She was having a hard time...no one she knew had ever been through what we had.  And, as she said, "No one talks about it."

It's not exactly something you randomly bring up in conversation...

"Oh, yea...we'll try to have more kids.  I just have to wait until my body heals. I just had a miscarriage."

"Yes, thank you.  I did lose some weight lately.  About 10 pounds of weight...from a miscarriage."

"Yes, Mini #1 & Mini #2 would like to have a baby brother/sister.  I'm just scared to death I'll have another miscarriage."

It's something now that I do talk about...openly...hoping that if someone else has to deal with it, they know that there's someone they can talk to.

Although, from the perspective of what happened, I was very lucky.

I didn't have to wait days.

Everything passed on its own the same day I started spotting.

We never heard a heartbeat.

We hadn't been trying for months to get pregnant.

I didn't have to have a D&C.

I didn't have to tell people I'd lost the baby.

And I didn't have to talk about how much it made me feel like a failure as a mother.  Yes, that's right.  A failure. I'm not looking for sympathy...I just want someone else who's been through this know that they're not alone with those feelings. 

Miscarriages are normal...15% to 20% of clinically recognized pregnancies end in miscarriage. 

But they don't feel normal.  And when there's no way to know why it happened, you question everything.

I did.

And then God stepped in.

Daily I'm reminded of all the things I do have to be thankful for.  I have faith and trust in a God that will be there...always.  I know deep within myself that there is a reason things happen.  I may not know why now, but someday, I will. 

I have a wonderful husband that was and is there for me every step of the way.  I have amazing friends and family that were and are there for support whenever I may need it.  And most importantly, no matter what happens in the future with our family...I have two healthy, and very happy little boys.

And someday...well, someday I'll be able to meet my very own very special son or daughter in heaven.

...what more is there to ask for?