Makin' Babies--Well, Just One. I Promise.

a blurry phone pic i took for my mom and sisters...

In my last two pregnancies my beautiful midwife has jokingly reemphasized that there's, "just one in there.  We know that for sure."  Coming from her, it is very validating.  I get big.  Well, whether or not I get big, my belly always gets really big.  And it starts early.  So it's nice for someone with expertise to say, "Yes, your belly is getting quite big, and it's okay."  In fact, it's wonderful!  I know you're dying to hear about ALL of my symptoms and cravings, aches and pains.  Weird dreams.  Impulsive shouting spells.  There are too many to name, and they are boring conversation.  I shall limit your exposure to just a few tidbits.

First off, the scale says less than five pounds, my belly says ten.  Mama looks pregnant!  I am astounded at the number of strangers who will inquire about my pregnant status.  I won't even ask a woman with a huge, eight month belly for fear of hurting her feelings.  But here I am at four measly months, and my grocery clerk wants to know if I'm having a boy or a girl!  And if it doesn't come up, Li'l Bit will volunteer the information.  She is very excited.  (That is an understatement.)

Second, I'm still nauseous.  At 16 weeks.  It has never lasted this long.  I'm pretty worn out with it, but I'm also just so dadgum happy that I'm still pregnant--and feeling some movement!!  It's hard to complain when there's a HUMAN growing inside of you--a human who will come out so warm and sweet and beautiful and utterly edible!  However positively-minded I am, I am very limited.  Rarely can I venture far from home.  As school responsibilities quickly approach I must batten down the hatches and dedicate ANY energy and well-being to the education of my kiddos and-if we're really lucky-hanging with my man.

Finally, I am glad this, my hardest pregnancy yet, has come at this point in my life.  I have three amazing kiddos who make me want so badly to make even more of them. Also, I know how terrible a miscarriage feels.  There is nothing that could make me wish my pregnancy woes away.  I understand that woes are a part of it.  With knowledge and wisdom come pain and sorrow.  With pregnancy and babies come nausea and exhaustion--and a whole lot more!  As I said earlier, I'm feeling the baby's tiny flutterings and bumps and those are always the sweetest reminder that every single discomfort is worth the reward at the end.

Every Second is a Response

When we are brought low there are several options for response.  Shall I curl into myself and disappear?  Shall I exude confidence and positivity to everyone's amazement?  Secretly marinate my brain with alcohol every night?  Eat half a chocolate cake at 3 am? (I like that one.)  Lash out at every person who dares cross me? Shut up and just trudge through day by day? Cry? Whimper? Scream? Work? Study? Plead? Destroy? Create?
I tend to wax philosophical, so I see at the root of any response is our response to God.  Do I believe He loves me despite my plight, or do I believe He just doesn't care-that He's not even there?
Do I choose God....or Myself?

A couple weeks ago I was pretty worn out.  I had been in bed with nausea and fatigue and feeling totally useless--not something a girl wants to be--for six weeks.  Then I started getting the migraines that mark the transition between the first and second trimester.  Wait a minute, I'm thinking.  These are supposed to start after the nausea goes away.  Instead I spent a week with full blown nausea and full blown migraines.  I was weary.  Too thankful this baby is still alive and inside of me, I couldn't bring myself to complain.  But I could certainly feel like I didn't know how much more I could take.

At the turn of the next week I started bleeding....again.  Now I'm freaked out.  Every terrible story I've heard or read about lost babies, especially our own, flashed through my visual cortex.  We dove headlong into a drawn out week of figuring out what's going on.
One afternoon my husband and I were sitting in the waiting room before a hormone level check.  I'm raw.  I'm bare.  I'm scared.  I have no strength left.  The only strength in me is the Spirit's whispering and I'm trying to hear it.  The tears started falling and I could not make them stop.  I'm crying in front of people I don't even know.  Big, beautiful pregnant women with babies so big they could survive on the outside.  On my inside there was nothing but silence.  And my heart beating, God, please...God, please...God, please...

I knew I could be at that place.  The place that comes right before you have to respond to tragedy....and God.  And in that place I know that God does not have to let me have this baby in order to prove His love for me.  I can beg and plead, but even if He doesn't, can't, won't--I don't even know...  But the onus is not on Him.  He is who He is, and He has proven His love for me.  And I have accepted it.  I have committed my entire being to it.

But what if the answer is no?

No. You can't have this baby.

No. Nothing will be easy for you.
No. Your husband will not love you.
No. You will not find a job that provides.
No. Your body will not be healed.
No. You will always struggle with this addiction.

What if I'm about to take the first step onto another long, hard road?  How am I going to respond to God this time?  I realized that in that place I already have to choose my response.  Every second is a response to God.

I'm on a tightrope.  I don't know if there's a net or not.  I'm terrified there's not.  I can cling to the bristly rope with my hands and legs, but I'm going to get tired.  I will bounce between self-confidence and terror.  And I will get tired.  Or I can rest in God.  He's on the tightrope with me.  He has promised to always be with me.  I can cling here, exhausted, bleeding, and terrified, or I can crawl into His lap and rest.
Rest.
Of course He could theoretically keep perfect balance for all of eternity.  He is God after all.  But if I am to fall, I am to fall.  I am merely a human in a Very Broken World.  Falling is inevitable.  I am not exempt.  My options are to free fall, my bare back slapping the hard ground, or fall within the embrace of the Father who has proven over and over and over again that He cares for me, He wants to protect me, and my hurts are His hurts.  He has shown me in history, in science, in math, in scripture, and in my life that He is trustworthy.  He knows that trust is hard for me, so He's highlighted all of those facts  especially for me--in really bright, highlighter yellow--which is just one more reason I know He loves me and I can trust Him.

So I choose God.

I want this baby.  So bad, I want to embrace this wet, warm baby some freezing cold day in February and weep over the miraculous gift.  I want my husband and children to stay with me until I'm so old I'm funny.  I want so many things that I may not get to have.  But more than anything, I want--I need to rest in my Father.  I need to trust Him and love Him and rely on Him for the very air I breathe.  Every breath is a response to God.

Apart from Him I am merely a human in a Very Broken World.

*By the way, all is well with baby and me.  We figured it out and it's not dangerous.  We're breathing relief and celebrating every day of sustained pregnancy.  (And still waiting for these migraines to go away.  All in good time.)