In July we found out that we were expecting Murray Baby #2 in March and we were over the moon happy. On August 19 (two weeks ago today) we went to our first appointment and had an ultrasound... the baby measured close to 8 weeks but had no heartbeat. Deep down I felt peace and could literally see that tiny baby safe in the arms of Jesus, but at the same time a wave of sadness that I didn't expect came over me. I was devastated.
This had been the farthest thing from my mind... I honestly never really thought about miscarriage and had no physical signs of it whatsoever. I never excpeted it to feel like we lost part of our family. The more I have thought about this in the last couple weeks, the more I have concluded that I'm not just sad about this baby not surviving; but maybe even more sadness comes from mourning the death of my hopes.
What I mean is that it probably wouldn't have mattered if I was 1 week or 20 weeks along. As soon as I saw that positive pregnancy test, I was filled with hope. I could imagine this little child's face, I could see Charlie James being a big brother, I saw them sharing a room, I imagined Charlie meeting this sweet baby at the hospital, I pictured taking the baby to meet friends at a wedding in May... I was filled with so much hope for this little life. That hope died during the ultrasound.
Things are getting better -- I can finally talk about it a little without having a complete meltdown. I'm not sure I have any big life lessons from this experience, but I know that it has helped me refocus on what is truly important in my life. I am more thankful than ever for these two guys:
We have a lot to be grateful for and are just trying to do normal things and move forward, but the sadness still sneaks up on me unexpectedly. Every night I pray that God can give that sweet baby a hug and kiss from mommy.