Our Judah Story-Part 1

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I have been seriously struggling with when to share our story. The timing never seems quite right. There’s always been something holding me back a little bit. I’m not quite sure what, just something. But lately, it’s been weighing so heavily on my heart to share. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe my emotions/hormones are running really high right now from the past couple of months we’ve had. Maybe it’s the hand of the Lord pushing me forward to do it. I am honestly not sure. But I feel it. It’s time, and I need to share.

I’ve never had any problems answering questions or talking to people about what happened. But there’s something about writing it down, announcing it to the world. This weight that I feel on a daily basis-even on the good days, even on the best days. It’s an odd subject to just bring up. Yet so many women struggle with miscarriage, infertility, stillborn, and sick babies. I’m not sure why we don’t talk about it more. Shame? Embarrassment? It hurts too much? You don’t want to bring people down? I think it’s a combination of all of these, and more. But I ache to change that. For me, it helps to talk about it. It helps knowing that I’m not alone. Our situations and circumstances may look different, but at the end of the day, we’re all mommas missing our babies. Instead of stuffing it down inside and letting the hurt sit, let’s get it out. Let’s share and hug and cry and heal. Let’s pray and lift one another up and bring each other cookies or dinner or Starbucks or a babysitter on the rough days. And let’s laugh together, really hard, on the good days. Because I don’t know about you. But I simply cannot do this on my own. I need all you other mommas out there. I. Need. You. And you need me too. Think about it. Admit it. Own it. Now, let’s move forward together. I’ll take the first step.

This is our Judah story.

It was 5 years ago. I remember it so well. My younger brother and I were 13 months apart. It was annoying for a couple of years there, but then it was good. We were more than just brother and sister, we were friends. We hung out with all the same people, enjoyed doing the same things, we made each other laugh. And while we did have the occasional fight (what siblings don’t?), they were rare. I wanted so badly to have a similar age difference for my first two babies. I wanted to give them that gift. And that’s what we tried for. The second month of trying, we got the positive pregnancy test we had been hoping for. I took the test right before church, and I remember being so excited that I was going to have an October baby (which was another thing I had been praying for). We were both on worship team that day, so we had to be there early. I was beaming from ear to ear. I had to have been glowing. Everything I had hoped for was happening.

However, as time went on, I knew something was wrong. I had this gut wrenching feeling in the pit of my stomach that I was not going to have that baby. I knew we were going to lose him. Of course that’s a crazy, depressing thing to feel, so I didn’t tell a soul, hoping that my feelings were rooted in fear. The past few months we had been hearing so many stories about miscarriage, I tried to convince myself I was just letting everybody else’s stories get to me. But deep down, I knew the truth. I even almost admitted it once. My mom and I were sitting on our living room floor with my oldest, Lane, who was probably about 5-6 months old at the time. Mom was talking about how much joy babies bring and how she couldn’t even imagine how amazing  it was going to feel when the next baby arrived. I almost blurted out, “If this baby even comes.” However, knowing that statement would (understandably) leave my mom feeling gravely concerned, I kept my mouth closed.

During the first weeks of my pregnancy I had only gone in for my 8 week ultrasound. My husband worked at a good, but small company which did not provide insurance. We had applied for insurance, but had to wait for it to come through before we could see the doctor. Week after week we would drive past the doctor’s office, and I would start to panic, aching to hear baby’s heartbeat because I knew something was dreadfully wrong. And while I knew something was terribly wrong with my baby, I had no idea how bad my situation actually was.

One thought on “Our Judah Story-Part 1

  1. Pingback: Mother’s Day |

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