I once had a dream that I was in my grandparents’ backyard laying in the grass. I was alone, soaking up the warm breeze. Slowly I got up, went inside, and walked up the stairs into a bedroom. There was a crib in the middle of the room, no other furniture or anything on the walls. I picked up the baby and held him close, stroking his dark hair. That was the whole dream. Somehow when I woke up I knew that the baby was mine, and his name was Blake.
Fast forward to July 11, 2017 and I thought I was dreaming when the pregnancy test displayed two pink lines instead of one. After four years of negatives I hardly expected a different outcome. I cried hysterically for a minute before calling my sister, “This can’t be real.”
It was three days before I could tell my husband, as he was living four hours away at the time. I nestled the three positive pregnancy tests in a little gold box with white tissue paper. I could see the incomprehension at first, then the joy spread across his face. It was amazing. It was as if our lives finally made sense; as if we could see clearly for the first time. I felt lighter somehow, but also fuller. I was filled with love I had never felt before. I was sure that everyone would see it in my face but I didn’t care if the whole world knew. We waited so long for this. For six days I walked on air.
Then I had my first doctor’s appointment. The one where she was supposed to confirm that everything was perfect. Instead she said, half squinting at the ultrasound monitor, “I don’t see anything,” and the roller coaster ride began.
Those next three weeks were the longest of my life. We held out hope that it was a mistake. Maybe I ovulated late; maybe the ultrasound didn’t pick up what was really going on in there. Maybe the baby will keep growing.
August 8, 2017 was the third ultrasound. My mother-in-law and sister-in-law were both there. We prayed together before I went in. The technician was quiet while she maneuvered the ultrasound wand, saving picture after picture. When she was finished I said, a little desperately, “Is he still there?” She gave me a ‘please don’t’ look and started to say that someone would call me. I asked her again, a little more desperately, “Can you tell me anything? Please. I need to know.”
“I’m so sorry. There’s been no change.”
I felt as if my whole body was caving in on itself. The technician apologized again and I thanked her for telling me. As the door closed behind her I collapsed in tears, “How am I going to tell David?”
I held his tiny, precious life for just a moment and it changed me forever. I walked around like the sun shone from inside me. I still smile when I think about it and I’m grateful for that bit of peace. Now there’s a tiny shadow in my heart. I don’t mind it, though. I think about him every day. When I do finally meet him he’ll know how loved he is. That makes me smile too.
❤ JK
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