We were in a pub.
(And I’m not trying to be all cool and English and hip, it really was a pub)
She ordered an iced tea and I looked at her a little funny.
She spilled quickly.
She had seen the heart beat for the first time that morning.
We celebrated that night, because it had been such a long journey.
And this friend was in some desperate need of good news.
I held my breath with her until she hit the safety mark.
But it wasn’t safe.
And only a week or two later.
There were complications.
A uterine tear.
And she was told all she could do was rest and hope for the best.
And despite the bed rest, and the prayer, and the pleading.
It didn’t heal.
But somehow that baby hung in there.
And there was more praying and pleading and hoping.
And just when I decided to trust.
To picture a baby in my arms. And more importantly hers.
And this mom who so deserved it, after one was ripped from hers.
She was back in the hospital. With contractions and bleeding.
And it was too early.
Eventually they sent her home.
Hoping for the best.
And this wasn’t my journey.
And my hope.
And my fear.
But for some reason, I went along.
I went to the hospital.
I sat on the couch.
I got take out.
I watched her belly grow.
I heard the heart beat.
Our kids played, while we looked at pictures of the one she lost.
And I usually cried on the way home.
And I grieved and hoped.
I feared the worst and hoped for the best.
But there were so many things I didn’t do.
I didn’t carry around the loss with me like a weight.
I didn’t get shots in my abdomen.
I didn’t count kicks.
I didn’t hold my breath for 9 long months.
But when I got the text that said she was here.
Safe and sound.
All 6lbs and 4ounces of her.
I cried tears of joy and relief.
Right along with her mom.
Across the country.
So welcome to the world little girl.
We have been waiting for you….
And hoping and praying and loving you long before you got here.
ok, so I haven’t written much about this in a long time b/c my friend Beth moved across the country and I miss hanging out on the couch with her. . .but here are a few of those posts if you want the rest of the story:
bigger than a mustard seed
what hope sounds like