where I should have been this morning...

Last night I checked my calendar to see what today held for me. And my stomach dropped. Not because of what was on my calendar, but because of what was crossed off of it.

This morning was supposed to be my first prenatal appointment for baby number three. But after our miscarriage about a month ago, that appointment was no longer necessary--so instead of spending my morning talking to my doctor about due dates and ultrasounds, I've spent today thinking about our loss.

We weren't even supposed to be able to get pregnant again after my surgery last January. My surgeon declared us infertile, so we just assumed we'd adopt our next baby. But a couple days after Christmas, we found out that the impossible had happened--our positive pregnancy test couldn't have been more...well...positive. Of course we were shocked and a little scared, but mostly shocked.

But who was I to question God's plan and timing? We know full-well that our family has always been in the palm of His capable hand, and knew this wasn't a "mistake" or "accident". So despite my nervousness, I decided to be excited. I started looking forward to all the pregnancy-related things I thought I'd never get to experience again. Yes, even excessive heartburn and outdated maternity clothes sounded fun after spending a year believing we'd never have another baby of our own.

We told our families and a few friends, and were anticipating a big announcement after we got the chance to share the news with our life group the following week. But when I woke up the morning of January 5th, I knew something wasn't right. I knew the baby was gone.

After my doctor confirmed that we had indeed miscarried, we began our grieving process. It was hard--I kept finding little reminders around the house, like the coupons I had clipped for prenatal vitamins, the pregnancy journal I had bought and now had to return.

But there were friends and family that blessed us along the way. We had food brought over so we didn't have to cook. We had friends spend the following day with us so we could take a break from thinking about it--and have loving support in the moments that we did. We shared tearful hugs with people who were genuinely crying with us. We were prayed over and had our arms literally lifted as a representation of our friends' hope and strength for us during a time when we couldn't hope or be strong ourselves. I spent time with women who'd also miscarried, just to be near friends who knew that same pain--one of them just held me and said, "I'm not even going to say anything, because I know there's nothing to say."

I know that sense of loss will always be with me. I know that this is a wound that will eventually heal, but isn't something I can or should just "get over". But I've already come such a long way over the last couple weeks. I know now that God hasnt' forgotten about me--that He feels my pain and is so sorry. I know that this, too, wasn't a "mistake" or "accident"--that it's all part of a divine plan for our lives and our family. And that I need to be okay with not knowing what that plan is or why our miscarriage had to be a part of it.

So I'm choosing to move forward with love and joy. Love for all three of my babies, and the joy of seeing them for the little blessings that they are.