For the past sixteen or so years, I have pretty much been like clockwork. Except a few times. Like that June in 2008 when at about day thirty-four I hit up Walgreen's while The Hubs was in an evening class, and then sent him a message asking him to call me on his break.
And after losing that pregnancy, I charted like a crazy-woman. I didn't even have a chance to be late. I tested the Wednesday morning before Thanksgiving, saw the world's faintest plus sign, and then that Saturday evening threw up while I was home for the holiday.
Then there was that rainy day in May 2010 when I was late, and something didn't seem quite right. The test I took had some malfunction, so I had to go out in the elements carrying a not-quite-one-year old into Walgreen's (it's always Walgreen's) to get a second test. I believe I threw up even before the official second plus sign appeared.
So this month when day thirty-three rolled around, I began to think, "That's odd." It is really odd considering we have taken pretty good measures to not have any more pregnancies due to the fact that I have an irritable uterus. (My official medical diagnosis for being unable to carry babies to term.) Still, stranger things have happened to people. Plus I have been so exhausted lately. A couple of days later, I sent The Hubs out for a test... negative. Two more days. Test again.. negative. And then another day- day thirty-eight and the official no, absolutely not. Stop looking up baby names. Stop stressing that you have given away all of your baby items. It is a no, just as it is supposed to be.
I cried a lot over a day or two. At one point my face was buried in a towel in the bathroom so the boys would not hear. This disappointment was so heavy. I curled up in bed, crying one night, feeling so much like the same person who cried herself to sleep on July 9, 2008. Even though I shouldn't put my body through a pregnancy again, I had felt like maybe God was giving me a chance anyway. He knows I always wanted four kids, maybe He was intervening to give me the desires of my heart. But no.
And so the anger and sadness came, much like when I miscarried. Five and a half years ago I wondered why I had even been pregnant in the first place if I was just going to lose the baby. Last week I found myself asking why was I so incredibly late and tired and nauseous...Why was I given this unexpected glimmer of hope - just to have it ripped away?
I do not know.
Almost a week has gone by now, and I am doing better.I still have lots of questions, questions involving why some people seemingly have what I do not, questions about timing and biology and did we make the right decision two years ago? Questions, questions, questions, but not a lot of answers. I cried much of this out in my bathroom with the door closed, and Jesus was not afraid of my tears. He didn't really offer any explanation, instead He just listened and let me cry. There is some comfort in that.
(Honestly, I am afraid to hit publish on this post, but maybe someone out there is experiencing a loss of hope. Maybe someone else out there has questions without answers. Maybe someone out there needs to know they aren't alone - even if her tears are for a completely different reason than mine.)