More than anything in this world, I wanted to be a Mommy. When you asked me what I wanted to be as a child, that was my answer. When I got married, we had our “life plan.” Five years into the marriage, we were going to start a family. My husband wanted that time to enjoy married life and to get financially stable. I was 24 when I got married, so I thought we had plenty of time.
When I turned 28, I was no longer happy with this game plan. As I once put it to him, my arms ached to hold a child. I wanted to start our family, he wanted to go back to school. I agreed that I wanted him around and involved when we had our children, so I agreed to this one further delay, but no more. And if I were 8 months pregnant on his graduation day, all the better!
So, when we were finally ready, I was not happy that a year and a half went by before I got pregnant. I had almost given up on it, even signed up to start the registration process to become a foster parent, when we got the news. There is a whole story there, too, but that is for another time. Our daughter was born July of 2007. She was beautiful, but had some challenges early on. She didn’t breathe at first, and had really low APGAR scores. If you don’t know what it is, just know it isn’t good. But within 30 minutes she was doing better. Unfortunately, she was shrinking. Due to a feeding issue, she lost over a pound in the first 3 days. Eventually, it all worked out and she is a healthy child today.
We decided to go for number 2, and got pregnant relatively quickly. It never occurred to me that my body would rebel against me after having a healthy pregnancy the first time around, but it did. This pregnancy turned out to be ectopic, meaning the baby was growing outside the womb. My own life could have been in jeopardy. While I was dealing with that, many family and friends told me their own stories of miscarriages, and how they got pregnant again quickly after. That comforted me that I would soon be able to have another child.
Nine months later, I was facing the due date for the child who was not to be, and not pregnant. I was really grieving the loss in a way that the fears for my own safety hadn’t allowed the first time around. I remember praying out that I would be able to handle this so much easier if I was pregnant again, and asked God for another child. On what would have been that baby’s due date, I found I was indeed pregnant. God is good! The next nine months were not without their trials; I had some serious medical problems and was eventually diagnosed with pre-eclampsia after spending 2 months on bed rest. My son was born full term and a whopping 10 pounds, but again had breathing problems. This one resolved faster than my daughter’s, but when he started getting close to a 1 pound weight loss, I started to get nervous. I prayed out to God all night that last night in the hospital for the feeding issues to be resolved. I was feeling desperate, until a small voice spoke to my heart. “Why do you trust me for the Rainbow,” it said, “and not for the Rain?”
I spent most of that night and the next day contemplating that statement. What could it mean? Finally, I came to this conclusion: I was willing to trust God for the “big miracle,” a child when I thought I was not able to have one. But when it came to the ordinary everyday things, like a child learning to feed, I felt I had to knock down the door to the throne room, rather than just trust His design. How often do we all do that? Worry and fret, figuring that it all counts on us, for everyday issues that God will work out in his time? After I figured that out, I finally had peace.
I’m proud to say that my son put weight on before his first doctor appointment and had almost regained his birth weight before he was a week old. Turns out what I was so worried about was a very normal and natural thing. Babies are actually born with an extra layer of fat to help them get through those first few days before they can really eat. God knows what He is doing after all. And here I thought he needed my advice!
Written by Rachael DeWitt, L.C.S.W.
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