100 days ago, on a Monday morning, I went to my yearly "female exam" and found out I was going to be a mommy again. My third miracle baby was on the way. I was thrilled. But then, on a Friday morning, just 11 short days later, I got the phone call from a nurse at my doctor's office. I was standing in the parking lot at UPS waiting to pick up Jordan after he'd been out-of-town on business all week. Ryan was still strapped in his car seat, and Rylee was standing in front of hers, asking me over and over again when Daddy was going to be here. I was focused on my phone, though. I knew a nurse would be calling any minute with the results of my blood work. I had woken up that morning feeling a bit nauseous, and I remember thinking to myself, "This is a good sign," because maybe it meant that my morning sickness was starting to kick in. But then the phone rang. And somehow I knew, even before I answered. Suddenly, my stomach was in my throat, and I was hearing the nurse ask, "Have you experienced any cramping or bleeding...?" I can still hear her voice. So soft and hesitant, not wanting to tell me what she had to. But it was her job. "No... I haven't noticed anything. Everything's been normal..." How I managed to speak at all, I'm not sure. But then, she was saying it... "Your hCG levels have dropped significantly... I'm afraid it looks like you've miscarried..." And then the tears came - the ones I'd been holding back since the phone rang - and the nurse was silent on the other end of the phone, and Rylee was in my face asking, "Why are you crying, Mommy? Mommy, what's wrong?" And I stood there in the parking lot while the nurse explained to me that "sometimes, these things just happen" and asked me if I had any questions, and although I had a million all at once, I couldn't manage to get a single one out, and so instead I just muttered a weak "Thank you" between soft sobs before hanging up. And then, as if on cue, Jordan emerged from the UPS building with his boss, whom I had never met. And they were smiling as they walked toward me, and I did my best to wipe my eyes and nose, to no avail, and Jordan was looking at me mouthing, "Are you okay? What's wrong?" And I shook my head, trying to brush off his questions, and then they were in front of me, and Rylee was wrapped around Jordan's neck, and Ryan was shrieking, "Daddy! Daddy!" from his car seat, and Jordan's boss was shaking my hand and jokingly apologizing to me for keeping Jordan from me for too long and making me cry, and I did my best to go along with it all, tears still falling from my eyes. And then his boss left us, and Jordan looked at me and asked me again what was wrong, and I shook my head and stared at the asphalt for a few seconds before finally answering, "I lost the baby," and the sobs started up again as he asked me what I meant and how and why. And by the time we got home, my lower back was aching like it always does when it's time, and I knew it was coming. Jordan pulled the van into the front yard and put it in park, and in that moment, I felt it release. I walked into the house and went straight to the bathroom, and the deep red was glaring back at me. My baby really was gone.
Tonight, I am missing that baby. The one I never got to hold in my arms. The one I never even got to see. I am missing that baby more than words can describe. Tonight, I'm longing for the 21-week basketball-shaped belly I would have by now. Tonight, I am missing the little flutters and kicks I would be feeling by now. We would've been halfway to the finish line by now. We would've known "It's a boy!" or "It's a girl!" by now. But instead, my womb is empty tonight. My heart feels so empty tonight. This emptiness hurts. It bores into me... into the pit of my stomach and straight through to my heaving back between deep, heavy, continuous, uncontrollable sobs. My head is throbbing. I stare blankly in the mirror. Swollen red eyes with eyelashes glued together by tears stare back at me. The reflection triggers a new wave of sobs, and the cycle repeats. Lord, please take this grief from me. I miss my baby.
"Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted." Matthew 5:4
