I have been nervous, really, really nervous this past week. All of a sudden, after my nipple making days, all pregnancy symptoms disappeared.
Every dang single one of them.
No more freakish hunger.
No more little cramps and twinges.
No more manly burps. (Yes, I wrote “manly burps.” I am not proud.)
What the heck? What in the world did it mean to be suddenly “symptomless?” Of course, since I’m a pessimistic worrier, I instantly thought the worst and shared my fears with my mom and husband.
And, of course, I also turned to the internet. That didn’t help. I found positive stories and negative stories alike.
My hourly prayers became modified. Instead of just praying for the health of my little one, I began tearfully praying for God to give me morning sickness, nausea, gas. . . . ANYTHING to act as a sign that my baby was still alive.
I got NADA.
I became more and more scared, losing faith in the miracle God had given us. Losing faith in God’s purpose and plan.
Saturday night, as I sat on the couch, worried, I remembered a post I’d written in December. The post, “D@mn Hallmark,” was written on a night when I was struggling with my past miscarriage and my infertility. I questioned why I desperately wanted another child instead of being content with the beautiful baby God allowed us to adopt. I questioned the fairness of God giving me such a desire without giving me the ability to get pregnant (or the ability to finance a second adoption).
I was basically feeling sorry for myself.
As I reread this post the other night, I noticed the date of “publication:” December 8th.
What’s so special about December 8th?
According to my due date, the baby’s measurements, and everything else that goes into the calculations, December 8th was the day my baby was conceived.
The very day my husband’s super swimmers broke the tough wall of my obstinate egg.
I couldn’t (and still can’t) believe it. On the day that I questioned God and His plan for all that we’ve been through, He was working an absolute miracle in me.
And, that was my sign. Not a sign that my baby was ok, but a sign that God was in control. That God had planned this, created this experience. . .and did it when I was at one of my lowest points.
God did all of this in the midst of my doubt.
And, I’m sure He was laughing the whole time . . . knowing that soon I would learn of a tiny life, fearfully and wonderfully made by His hands, in my broken body. He laughed knowing that soon I would realize the extent of His grace, love, and purposeful planning (planning that doesn’t require any prior knowledge on my part for it to succeed.)
That same Saturday night, I shared the entire story with my husband, letting him know the full extent of God’s hand in the conception of our new child.
Sunday . . . the hunger, fatigue, twinges, and (sigh) the manly burps all came back with a vengeance.
And, I found the baby’s heartbeat on my new doppler.
All is well.