Last Thursday we met with a local midwife who attends births for women desiring to have a homebirth, the thought of such was exciting as we truly began preparing for our little one to join our family.
I spent a day last week cleaning out my closet not only of summer clothes, but the clothes I knew wouldn’t fit for months and months to come. I washed and hung all of my maternity clothes, searched the barn to make sure I knew where the newborn clothes were so I could grab them easily next spring.
I began counting down the days until we could find out the sex. I loved watching my belly begin to grow.
And then it all changed.
While the midwife didn’t hear a heartbeat on Thursday, I tried not to worry. It was still early enough where that’s considered normal – we were only 9 weeks past conception (technically considered 11 weeks along). But on Saturday morning when the spotting began, I just knew.
Sunday morning when the bleeding wasn’t stopping, my husband took me to the ER to see what was going on – the worry was becoming all consuming.
We spent what seemed like forever waiting, and by the time the ultrasound tech came in, she couldn’t hurry fast enough for me. She asked if I wanted to watch (of course!) and informed me that because she wasn’t the doc, she couldn’t tell me anything. When the screen lit up and I saw my baby for the first time I was ecstatic to see that little life… until just moments later I realized baby wasn’t moving, and there was no heart beat.
I think my own heart may have stopped in that moment as time stood still and the silence was deafening.
The ultrasound seemed to take an eternity, for which I am grateful – I knew it was going to be the only time I’d be able to see him this side of heaven. The image of my baby is now etched deep inside my heart, although it feels like it’s burst into a million pieces. I know in my head that one day I’ll be ok, but right now I definitely am not.
My Heavenly Father now carries my little one in his arms just as he carries us through our grief.