It feels like it’s taken me a long time to get here. To arrive at this in-between place where I’m finally ready to entertain the idea of ‘trying again.’
Another pregnancy. Another baby.
The thought volleys around in my head. Back and forth I debate whether I’m ready to get pregnant again – whether I even want to. Maybe we have already reached our family’s final number; maybe we will find new ways to grow, just the three of us.
But I know in my heart that I’m not satisfied with this ending.
Not that this wouldn’t be enough. Not that I wouldn’t be perfectly happy leaving things the way they are. But there’s more to this story – it’s not finished yet.
I push my stroller through the drugstore – the buggy that was supposed to be carrying two little boys instead of just one. I pull a bottle of prenatal vitamins off the shelf and grip it tightly in my hand; I read that you should start taking them at least three months before getting pregnant. As the cashier slides the bottle of pink pills through the checkout and into a plastic bag, I feel that I’ve taken one tentative step closer.
It scares and excites me at the same time.
If I could have gotten pregnant again immediately after the delivery of my twin sons, I would have. I had been so focused on bringing home TWO that it was too painful to think about only having one. But I knew that I didn’t actually want to have another baby. All I wanted was to have back the one I’d lost, my sweet Landon.
When these feelings passed, the pendulum swung hard the other direction and I wasn’t sure if I’d ever want to get pregnant again. I felt physically nauseated by the idea which only served to trigger haunting memories of first trimester morning sickness and bleary-eyed exhaustion.
I knew that these feelings were just an expression of my grief – they were different than the desires buried deep in my heart. I waited for time to add its soothing balm to my unsettled emotions and quietly listened for the whisper that it was time.
Fast forward a year and a half. My son is almost two, and my grief feels as if it has been thoroughly explored and charted. While I know that this loss will always be a part of our family’s identity, I am ready to continue building.
I know that this won’t be easy. Gone is the naivety that I had cradled throughout my first pregnancy – the ridiculous reassurance that because I’d made it through the first trimester, everything was going to be okay. Another pregnancy would bring with it a new type of exhaustion, a new type of awareness.
Was I ready to purposefully ask God to breathe life into my womb – all the while knowing that He may call another little one home to Him? Was I ready to open up my heart to this pain again?
Loss hurts because we loved; but I would rather love too much than too little.
It can be frightening to think of what may happen. But I will not let the fear of loss rob me of the opportunity to love another little one. I would rather hold these little ones in my womb and heart for a few weeks or months than not at all.
I don’t know what our completed family will look like – what size or shape it will take. For now, I will take it one day at a time, one pink prenatal pill at a time. I will accept the challenge to boldly step forward out of my comfort zone and place my trust in the One above. I know that no matter the future, He will be with us; we need not be afraid.