*Written in honor of Sanctity of Life Sunday, which was this past Lord's Day*
I have always been pro-life. Always, always, always. As a child I remember being deeply grieved over the reality of abortion. I love babies, and I always have.
Fast forward to my early twenties, and I am a happy newlywed. A happy newlywed that definitely did not want to be pregnant yet. Definitely wanted babies down the road, but waiting at least two years was what I really wanted.
Then I was a little late. And I took a test. And it was positive. My husband was great; totally happy and excited, trying to figure out how we could make ends meet without me working. Becoming a father was a life-long dream of his, and even though it wasn't coming on our "ideal" timetable, he was stoked.
I was not. Was this really going to happen? I didn't feel like I had an amazing tiny person inside of me. I just felt really nauseous. And exhausted. And miserable. I figured that once I saw the baby on an ultrasound, or once my belly started to expand with life, I would fall in love with my baby. But I just wasn't feeling it yet.
At eleven weeks we finally had our first appointment with the OB. She couldn't find the heart beat, but assured me at this stage that was no big deal. Often times such a tiny little heart is difficult to find. She suggested an early ultrasound, and miracle of miracles, they had just had a cancellation, so we went straight across the hall for it.
The ultrasound tech jellied me up, and slid her magic wand over my belly. I was starting to feel a little excited and nervous. She found the little bean, but no heart beat. "This baby looks like it's about six weeks. Let's just do an internal to check if we got your dates wrong."
My dates weren't that wrong, and I knew it. She knew it. Niall knew it. Everyone in the room knew that our baby was dead, but silence hung in the air. I went to undress for the internal ultrasound, my mind numb. People who didn't want their baby weren't supposed to miscarry. They were supposed to have their baby, love their baby, and joke and smile about their precious "accident" for the rest of their lives. This couldn't be happening.
Several minutes into the internal, the sweet technician turned around to me, and with deep compassion said, "I'm so sorry." She didn't have to say why. We both knew. We sobbed as I got dressed, as we both called off work for the rest of the day. We sobbed all the way home. I cried for the baby I hadn't wanted, who had spent its only six weeks of life unloved by the woman who should have cherished it the most.
Even though I have always been pro-life, having a miscarriage taught me the value of human life in a far more personal way. I learned that having a baby really has so little to do with me, my life, my timetable. Although God gives us babies to nurture and raise, someday they will grow up and leave, and will live an entirely separate life of their own as an individual. Life is precious, and it ought to be protected by the women who carry it in its initial most fragile phase.
"Accident" or no, such a tiny, helpless babe ought to be loved. Because all babies are miracles bestowed on us by the Author of life. My miscarriage taught me that. And I will never waste the first six weeks of a pregnancy in misery and despair over the miracle of life ever again.
"For you formed my inward parts, you knitted me together in my mother's womb. I will praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works, and that my soul knows well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance, in your book were written every one of them the days that were formed for me, when as yet there were none of them."
"Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward."
Linked with: Titus 2sday, Teach me Tuesday, Graitituesday, and The Better Mom
