I was pregnant this week. And last. My body told me so.
My breasts were swollen and tender (still are). My fluids were thickened and relentless. My body was utterly exhausted and every instinct I have within me screamed "Miracle."
I lived the last 12 days or so in the grasp of euphoria and bated breath.
Could it be? The timing was right. Circumstances aligned themselves in my favor. Had God finally answered my prayers?
I kept this to myself. I didn't want to jinx the little life within me by telling folks before I got confirmation. Unfortunately, it was still too early. The same was true with Vincent. Back then, my body was ticking off sign after sign, but I suspected too early to show positive on a home test. Heck, when I went in to the OB, even she couldn't find proof of Vincent's existence!
But us mothers... we just know. So I waited. I prayed and I waited.
Until Friday. On Friday, I was darn near about to burst, so I reached out to two friends. I felt I needed to have the talk with John to prep him for the results I was so sure I would have when I could finally test for pregnancy.
After speaking with them, I had the talk with John. He reacted as expected - shock, disbelief and a firm conviction to schedule himself a vasectomy.
He has no idea how hurtful that is, so he couldn't understand the tears I promptly shed at such a reaction. Even knowing that he'd react in this manner did nothing to shield my heart from the sledgehammer he took to it with those words.
But even that reaction could do nothing to quell the tidal wave of joy I felt at the notion of once more housing a tiny soul within me with outstretched hands longing to remind the world that God isn't ready to give up on us yet.
Through indignant tears I said that I was happy to finally give Vincent the sibling he deserved. I was joyed to give our parents another grandchild... our nieces and nephews a new cousin. A child... our child... is a blessing to be welcomed with nothing but the most rapturous bliss.
He countered with his normal litany of fears... finances, time constraints, parental adequacy. The flames of my heart swallowed those fears as if they were droplets of mist - nothing in comparison to the boundless gifts a new child would bring.
By the time our conversation came to a close, John had done his best to see the good. He acknowledged he'd love and support this child and he even acknowledged he probably would love him or her as much as Vincent, but I could hear in his voice that doubt and fear still lingered. He didn't wish to continue the conversation as he was hoping I was wrong. As much as I prayed a child was growing within me, he was praying to whatever higher power he sometimes thinks there is that I was wrong.
Saturday came and found me spotting. Implantation bleeding? Possibly. Sunday's continued bleeding assured me that no... it was not merely implantation bleeding. In fact, the onslaught of cramping, nausea and back pain only assured me that I was, indeed, pregnant. I was pregnant, and I was losing the gift I'd been given.
Currently I'm still sore and cramping. On top of this, my heart is broken. It is broken, but it's beating, and I still have every faith that this situation has altered the path John and I had been taking.
I do believe I am in the throes of miscarriage. They call it a chemical pregnancy, but you and I, readers, we know better. I was blessed to carry life... even if briefly. It's why my body is still showing signs of this life.
And for as sad as I am that I didn't get to meet this little life, I am joyed that God gave me the chance to harbor this little saint for even a moment. A new intercessor to help melt her Daddy's heart, maybe.
In all things His Will be done.
At this point in time, I ask prayers. Please no comments about John or his decisions or even mine at this time. I have no energy to defend either myself or my husband. I just ask that we be placed in your prayers, with one of thanksgiving to God that such a sign of Love be granted to us.
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