This post contains affiliate links
“It feels scary to hope,” my counselor acknowledged as I confessed to her how my heart was wrestling in pregnancy after loss. I shared how I had been finding items for our family from Facebook Marketplace when the infant car seat from my baby registry popped up. It was basically brand new for a third of the cost. I sent the listing to Derek and that afternoon we had an infant car seat.
If you know me, you know I love a good deal – who doesn’t?! But even so, my heart freaked out. As I lay in bed that night, anxiety flooded my mind and manifest itself in tears that flowed down my face. “What if…?” my heart started to wonder. “What if he doesn’t live?” “What if we’re just fools?” “What if I have all this baby gear and nothing to show for it? Then what?”
When Derek and I considered the possibility of having another baby following my miscarriage early last year, the wrestling, dread, and anxiety I’ve experienced weren’t in the picture my mind had painted of what pregnancy after loss would look like. I knew it would be difficult. There was no way it would be anything but. I wasn’t expecting it to be this difficult though. I suppose you truly don’t know what you don’t know.
Our initial prayers and conversations had me imagining sharing my story of pregnancy after loss and how we arrived at our decision as a means of encouraging others who are considering it too. I desperately searched for stories that detailed how couples wrestled through pregnancy after loss, especially the decision to try again, and couldn’t find any so I’m compelled to share ours. I’m hopeful it can be helpful even though the faith I thought I would possess during this time and the faith I actually have are not the same. Perhaps the faith I long for is coming and it’s being forged in the fire now.
We arrived at our decision after months of tear-filled conversations and prayers. Miscarriage left me reeling. What I presumed was a one day event took weeks. Just when I thought my body was back to “normal” the bleeding and cramping would start again. This was a traumatizing cycle that lasted for approximately 6 weeks. At that point, I wondered whether our future would involve me bearing more children while also not knowing if I could risk miscarriage again. I desperately wanted to know that if I tried, it would result in a full-term, living baby.
Of course, life doesn’t offer such guarantees and neither does God. While I didn’t know what life would throw my way, I knew that despite the pain and anguish that have permanently marked me after miscarriage, God had been and remains faithful to me. As I grieved the baby I lost, I remembered that I was in the best company because God fully understood – He willingly endured the loss of His only Son. What a friend I had (and still have) in Jesus because He endured the pains that accompany life in a fallen world making Him able to sympathize with my weaknesses (Hebrews 4:15-16). The Spirit gently worked to keep my heart tender when I was tempted to let it apathetically harden.
Although I had considered trashing my body because it had failed me, I knew it would only make my recovery worse. Instead, I began tracking calories on my FitBit app and walking for thirty minutes a day. I also began using ovulation test strips along with recording my basal body temperature into an app to determine the exact date of ovulation.
I began to notice that my period always came exactly two weeks after ovulation – a pattern I had gone through most of my life without noticing. For me, this meant that I could care for my body better and steward my health in a way that allowed me to serve God and others well. It also caused me to be more in awe of God as I saw His order in the creation of the female body.
I remember desperately seeking an answer as to whether or not an attempt at pregnancy after loss would result favorably for me and I came across Proverbs 16:1, “The plans of the heart belong to man, but the answer of the tongue is from the LORD.” I reasoned that we wouldn’t know if God had another child for us if we didn’t try to have one.
In June, after having read the brief and incredibly helpful book Risk is Right by John Piper (which is free to download as an ebook) and talking with a wise and gentle sister in Christ who had endured pregnancy after loss, we decided to try. Since I had been tracking my cycle diligently, I knew we would find out while we were at Hume Lake with my family. I thought the timing would be good regardless of what the test results were. If it was a no, at least we were away and unplugged which would give me time and space to process through it. If it was a yes, we would have the joy of telling my family in person instead of on FaceTime.
We found out I was pregnant again on July 26th and the emotions I experienced that day are the ones that have accompanied me this entire pregnancy. I had a few Dollar Tree tests with me but was running low since I had been testing daily. Since we were staying at a Christian youth campground, the one general store on site didn’t carry pregnancy tests.
There was one minimally stocked grocery store down the mountain where my youngest sister and her husband happened to be going that morning. I wanted to keep the news a surprise but also wanted to see a positive result on a decent quality pregnancy test before saying anything to my parents. I sent my sister a text asking if she could grab whatever pregnancy tests they had if they happened to have any and asked her to not say anything just in case.
A little while later, she texted me back saying they only had two tests in the store and I asked her to grab them for me. Those tests also revealed positive results so I had Derek go to the camp gift shop to purchase a onesie. Our plan was to give it to my parents as a thank you gift for allowing us to come on vacation with them. They certainly were surprised and excited. I was excited too but also felt very reserved.
That same night, a friend reached out to me to inform me that one of our mutual friends had passed away due to covid. I didn’t know what to feel. My deceased friend was younger than me and had many aspirations unfulfilled this side of heaven. Yet here I was, having many of my aspirations fulfilled. She was gone and new life was present within me. For me, this began my journey of learning what it looks like to be sorrowful yet always rejoicing (2 Corinthians 6:10).
I reminded myself that my friend who was now in glory wasn’t lamenting the life she never had here. While I was experiencing grief and sorrow, I realized that being in the presence of Jesus, she actually had the better end of the deal, just like the baby I had lost (Philippians 1:21).
For me, pregnancy after loss has been much more difficult than I ever could have anticipated. It’s involved a new and constant battle with anxiety. It’s deepened my dislike of Mother’s Day (I already don’t enjoy Hallmark Holidays but now every Mother’s Day will be a painful reminder of what may have been). It’s involved crying at things I didn’t know would make me sad. It’s involved saving multiple pregnancy tests as evidence not knowing if I would have anything else to prove that my child exists.
It’s feeling panic and dread before every ultrasound and begging God for mercy. It’s rejoicing when I see my son’s live body on the ultrasound scan and realizing that it is a gift to even know his gender so I can at least give him the dignity of having a name. It’s engendered in me a deep empathy for anyone enduring the loss of a loved one but especially for a mother who’s lost a child.
It’s felt like being punched in the gut after a nurse asked me how many living children I have and carelessly being asked if the one I lost was due to miscarriage or abortion. It’s looked like guiltily wishing abortion would have been the answer because I know I wouldn’t have chosen one and then my baby would still be alive while simultaneously acknowledging that my body chose abortion on its own and I didn’t get a say in it. It’s looked like learning that many aspects of miscarriage and abortion are the same and being slow to speak and quick to listen and having much more compassion about the topic of abortion.
It’s looked like sobbing in the parking lot of the doctor’s office after learning that my son has a condition called marginal cord insertion in which he isn’t getting the amount of blood he should be making his growth two days behind. The doctor reassured me it was no big deal but in my heart, it was a huge deal. It’s really hard to hear twice in a matter of months that what’s happening with your baby isn’t your fault and there’s nothing you can do about it.
It’s looked like wanting to sob tears of joy after begging God to grow my son and learning that despite him not getting enough blood, he is now measuring one full day ahead. It’s looked like a mini panic attack when people with the best intentions ask if I want a baby shower but the idea of having to appear externally happy fills me with dread because my heart is still grieving.
It looks like telling myself, “You can go to the baby showers you’ve been invited to and you will rejoice with those who rejoice.” It’s looked like sobbing like a baby out of gratitude and relief when a friend showed up to surpise me with diapers and wipes that she and a bunch of other friends had collected for my son. It’s involved a deep dissatisfaction with the idea that “If we didn’t lose that baby, we wouldn’t have this one” because I know that in a perfect world, I would never have to choose which of my children live and which don’t. It’s looked like begging God to spare my son’s life while also telling God that even if He takes my son, I will be grateful for every moment I’ve had with him knowing that his life is a precious, undeserved gift.
It’s looked like having a loosened grip on the life here and a tighter one on the life to come. It’s looked like an extended period of wondering “Why?” while also knowing that God doesn’t owe me an answer and Scripture doesn’t provide one and learning to be content in that tension. It’s involved a new amount of awe as I consider why God chose me for life both spiritual and physical knowing that my mom had a similar miscarriage before having me. It’s looked like growing in gratitude for the riches I have in Christ and being awestruck at the unnecessary, undeserved blessings He’s freely given me in addition. It’s involved hope in knowing that trials have a deadline (1 Peter 5:10) and the pain I feel now won’t even compare to the glory that is coming (Romans 8:18).
It’s looked like a deeper longing for the return of Jesus because the tears I shed now remind me that there is a time and place coming in which they will cease to exist (Revelation 21:4). It’s looked like wondering if I should wait to share my story of pregnancy after loss until I have certainty that it will end the way I wish yet daring to share it anyway as an act of faith knowing that it could encourage someone else wrestling in the same ways.
It’s looked like treasuring every movement and discomfort that have accompanied this pregnancy and still feeling a little scared. Pregnancy after loss has looked like a deeper trust and peace in Christ knowing that in a world of uncertainty, His love for me is always certain and when my faith is weak, God still looks at me and sees the perfect faith and obedience of Jesus. It’s looked like my heart being spurred on to remain faithful and hopeful with a hope that cannot be shaken.
