relief

[written a couple of weeks ago when we went for a 12-week ultrasound to meet the baby growing inside of me]

that morning I sat down on my living room floor and tears began streaming down my face and within seconds, I took off my glasses and sobbed into my hands. mischaela paused and quietly watched, standing barely two feet in front of me. I thought about pulling myself together. so I tried. but it was making me nauseated. so I continued to allow the tears to stream down my hands. after two minutes of stillness passed, mischaela walked up to me and opened one of my hands to put in her fistful of cheerios. she walked back to her snack cup, grabbed another fist full and dumped them into my hands. she then began methodically eating the cheerios out of my hand, one by one, happily telling me, "mommy, hold chee-chee. shay shay eating!"

"mommy is sad, mischaela." was all I could whisper in return.

I am sad. and afraid. and torn. and I wish I didn't feel this way. I'm afraid I'll go to that hospital room and see on the ultrasound that my baby is not developing well. I'm afraid there will be no heartbeat. I'm afraid something will be wrong with me. I'm afraid of going there alone. I wish trusting that God has the best outcome in mind meant I could stop thinking and remembering. remembering the first time I lay in that hospital room hearing the news that my unborn son would die. remembering the pain of bearing that pregnancy. remembering the grief that invades and breathes hot in my face every time my heart longs and yearns for him again. I miss him. and it aches. and I don't want to go through that again. but I want to be willing to walk faithfully through whatever God has for me. I don't know if I can go through with this.

my husband came running down the stairs later that morning to tell me that someone had offered to watch mischaela so he can take some time off work and come to the appointment with me. I breathed a sigh of relief. and I was thankful to know my husband will be with me for this one.

on the drive down to the hospital, I was nervous. I wished for calmness, but a storm was swirling around inside me. my husband squeezed my hand as we rode the elevator to the seventh floor.

we saw a familiar face as we got off the elevator. it was dr. v. he stopped midway through the conversation he was having with a colleague and warmly greeted us.

"it's so good to see you guys. and if you're here, then there must be some good news!" he rubbed my arm gently.

I sure hope so.

we sat in a surprisingly uncrowded waiting room and within minutes were called to start our ultrasound. it was the same room. the same room we first saw abel and mischaela. the same pink curtain drawn the same length around the bed. the same screen that blankly stared back at us while we waited for the examination to begin. the fellowes was being thorough with his preparations. I wanted him to show me that my baby was okay already.

it began. he probed around for a few seconds and quickly found our baby. for a gripping moment, I couldn't recognize what we were looking at and all the worst case scenarios began to flood my mind.

"there's your baby. and there's the heartbeat, nice and strong"

I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

and as he continued, he took time to highlight the different organs and limbs, repeating every time that everything looks normal and healthy. dr. v. came in and smiled warmly at what he was seeing on the ultrasound monitor. all the anxiety and turmoil started to lift and I held back tears as we saw our baby roll and turn. "every thing looks great you guys," dr. v. kept reassuring us, "every thing looks great."

we left the hospital that afternoon feeling like a huge weight had been lifted off our shoulders. I felt like I could breathe again. we replayed the ultrasound procedure over and over again, reiterating how we each felt the moment we saw the heart beat, when we could make out the profile that revealed a nose bridge, how the brain was developing normally, and each time I would exhale deeply and my husband would knowingly agree with a reassuring, "yeah, I know."

but there were still tears.

tears from emotional exhaustion. tears from relief. tears from that dull ache that still finds its way to the surface and hovers over me. and I remember how I long to be with abel. how missing him still cripples me. how his life continues to teach me.

how grateful I am that we get the chance to walk through this pregnancy journey again.