This is a post I hoped I’d never write. Actually, that’s a lie. Truthfully, I never really gave a post like this any thought — because surely I’d be pregnant again by my due date. Six months later? Naively I just assumed — I’d be pregnant by March. (Even after going through primary and secondary infertility, I thought this.)
They say that a woman never forgets a baby she miscarried. They say another baby will never replace the one she lost; that she will always remember her due date.
And I 100% agree with all of that — most all of that, anyway.
I think back and remember my first pregnancy — the first baby I lost. I will never forget the sense of pure joy and shock when I saw a second line for the first time in almost three years. I remember shaking with excitement when I told my husband. And etched in my mind, too, is the Sunday night I lost that baby, bleeding through the night and forcing myself back to work the next day. I took a day off a few days later — not because of physical pain, for which I didn’t need a day off anymore, but emotional. And I remember a guy we hired at school to manage Covid-related issues called me that day, asking why I stayed home. Apparently this was the protocol, given it was the fall of 2020, but I still felt taken aback and embarrassed for taking my second sick day in seven years, called out for needing a day off after a miscarriage. Of course he didn’t know that. Instead of telling the truth, I told him I just had a migraine.
Okay, sorry for the rabbit trail (if you want to know more, check out this post), but you get the point. Suffice it to say that I remember all of that vividly.
But the truth is, I don’t remember my due date. It was sometime in June, I remember that. But that year June passed without more than a fleeting thought of I should be getting ready to have a baby around now, because I was too busy getting my registry ready in time for July baby showers and prepping a nursery for a September baby. No, my baby boy never replaced my first one I lost. But I don’t remember my due date.
This time around has been so much different.
March looms at me. I’m getting automated messages from my doctor with videos preparing me for this many weeks in my pregnancy and childbirth. I finally email my OB acting like it’s no big deal, pretending to be a normal person who isn’t still dwelling on a miscarriage that happened 6 months ago. She says — without apology — that she’ll cancel them. Large boxes of free samples of formula in the mail are starting to roll in, as if I will need them shortly (how did I involuntarily get on this list but never get taken off?). I feel like throwing them in the trash, but set them aside instead for my sister-in-law who has a C-section on March 1, pretending I’m a normal person who thinks of others rather than still getting angry when I’m reminded of the baby I’m not having.
Instead of researching the best baby items, I’m researching whether or not I should go through with a D+C/hysteroscopy to see if there’s something else wrong. Instead of getting ready for my own baby showers, I’m planning a triple baby shower for friends at work. (It’s a baby boom! someone commented, at least confirming that I’m not just hyperaware of everyone having babies around me; it’s actually happening. And I should be having one too! I wanted to shout back.) Another teacher at work just asked if I would sub for him during my prep period on March 29 — my due date — and I heard my voice catch before telling him that yes, I would. Yes, I’ll sub for you on what was my due date. The day I should be in the hospital, delivering a baby. The due date I’ll never forget.
I still cling to the thought that I could be pregnant by my previous due date yet — an arbitrary deadline that seems important, somehow, like that might take away some of the pain as it did for me the first time. But with a still irregular cycle following my miscarriage and weakly positive ovulation test strips that have me questioning whether or not I’m even ovulating most cycles, I’m no longer too hopeful. I can feel March 29 creeping closer, the day before my husband’s birthday, good Friday, and the first day of Spring Break. I won’t ever forget this due date.
And I hate that I’m thinking all this. It’s not fair that I’m not having a baby, but it’s not fair that I already have one either. (Not that Jesus came to make life fair.) I hate that I’m thinking of what I don’t have, when I have a healthy two-year-old running in circles around our house. I hate that when I look around at all of the wonderful things God has given me, somehow I’m left still wanting more.
What God Says
Typically with a post like this, I find some pieces of encouragement to share — that are for myself, really, but hopefully will help someone else. This time I had a tougher time, and almost just left this post as is, offering solidarity to anyone who is feeling the same.
But here are two things God is reminding me of this week:
First, I’m starting to take it as a sign that every time I start my car the song Desert Road (Casting Crowns) seems to be playing.
I don’t wanna write this song
I don’t want this pain to be my story
I don’t want this desert road
Are you sure this is the plan that You have for me?
…
I don’t know where this is going
But I know who holds my hand
It’s not the path I would’ve chosen
But I’ll follow You to the end
Several days ago, when I was still hopeful this cycle, it was like this song was telling me: I’m being called to continue to walk this desert road. It’s not time. But while I’m on this path I didn’t choose, I’m called to follow Christ. I’m called to remain in Him.
And speaking of remaining in Christ, secondly: This week during Bible study we studied John 15. In less than ten verses, the phrase “remain in me” is repeated five times. I like the version that says abide in me. Synonyms, from the Merriam-Webster dictionary: dwell, wait, live, and reside. But also: endure and persist.
Jesus commands us to abide with Him, dwell in Him, and endure. We are called to persist in our belief in Him and in His goodness. Despite our questioning His plan, despite our longings for more, our reluctance for this pain to be our story, Jesus tells us simply: Remain in me.
Thank you so much for taking the time to write this, my due date for the baby we miscarried is tomorrow, and this just happened to pop on my feed. As we are on month 8 of trying, and I’m currently on my period, the day I dreaded is almost here and just like you I had hoped to be pregnant so it would make it more bearable. It’s was so hard to get up this morning and do my devotions, but I know I have to remain in Him. He’s my only hope this is all for something. Thanks again for sharing!