Waiting is the Hardest Part

A week ago today we found out we were pregnant. And now, even though we know it is over, we are in limbo waiting for the physical process of loss to begin. We have been keeping plans in place; dinner with friends, making gingerbread houses, other fun Christmas activities, but in the back of my mind or at the end of a call or email I am adding, "unless something starts and I can't be there." This waiting is hard on my soul. Every morning I wake up and for a second everything is normal, my stomach still has that strange early pregnancy full feeling, but then reality hits me. It's over, I am just waiting, helpless, for the physical process to actually start and then finally be over.

The medication I was on meant that everything stuck around longer than it should have, so the physical part of the miscarriage this time is even more daunting because I just don't know how it's going to go, or how awful the pain might be.

I went crazy finishing up school work Monday and Tuesday so that I would be able to just stay in bed if I needed to later in the week but now it's Wednesday and still nothing is happening. I have never wanted to start cramping more than I do right now. I hate walking around with this failed pregnancy, this lost baby inside me. I just want it gone. I want to start thinking about something else, to have this be less than all-consuming.

One thing this miscarriage has revealed is that sometimes my disappointment can feel heavier when I am caught up in the time frame of other peoples lives. Hearing a friend announce a pregnancy, or (heaven help-me) a second or third pregnancy makes me more anxious to have a baby. It is my comparison that makes our infertility weigh more heavily. When I stop and look at my life I am not sure why that comparison has so much power. I have so much. Please don't hear me downplay how much we want a family, or saying I am not ready, or this loss is not breaking my heart. But simply that I see how heightened it becomes when I compare my life to those of my friends. It is a dangerous road to go down.

Jeremy and I want to have a family and we would like to start it soon (like yesterday), but we are not just sitting around waiting. Our losses are changing us. Hopefully making us stronger, deepening intimacy and allowing us to learn more about one another. We need to take stock of what we have. Step off the tread mill of comparison and the rushing of life and recognise that our story is just different, unique, as every person and family's story is. We are so sad that the process of having a child has not been "normal" or easy but it is our story, and I don't want to wish it away. It will always be a part of us. We pray that one day we can share with our children the journey that we went on the be parents but we just don't know what the future is going to hold. Wherever life takes us, whatever the story God is writing - it's our story. And when I consider all we have, and the journey we have been on so far I know I can truly be excited about the future, even if those feelings are foggy and distant right now.

We have been overwhelmed by the messages of love and support from our friends, this would be a completely different experience to go through something like this alone. We are so very thankful to each one of you who has been praying for us, we have felt each and every one of them. We are so thankful to have people who just want to sit with us, eat dinner with us and not rush to make any of the sadness go away but freely talk with us about our experience. I don't want to run from this pain, I don't want to forget. I don't want to dwell but I am forever changed and each of these pregnancies is a part of me in the deepest of places. The hopes and dreams, the wishes and plans, the loss and the pain. Each time different, just like each child is. I am feeling a little "mama bear" about our miscarriage experiences. They are mine. I want to remember everything because they were gone too soon. I want to let them soften my heart and keep it open and vulnerable, not let my hear get hard with the feelings of bitterness, jealousy and injustice.

So I wait. For the cramps telling me it's finally over. For the sparkle, hope and joy of the Christmas season to shine bright again. For the tears to slow. And one day for a baby to hold.