If You Really Want to Know...

If you really want to know how we're doing, read on. But before you do, I have a few requests.

1. Don't assume that because we've been through this before, it'll be easier. So far, it's been harder.
2. Don't assume that because we never saw a heartbeat, it doesn't hurt as bad. It does. You don't have to hold your baby to love him, and you don't have to see your baby on an ultrasound screen to feel attached. From the moment that egg was fertilized, we had a third child. I don't need to see a baby to know it was there. Small, yes, but still there. And still our baby.
3. Don't assume that because it's awkward, I want you to ignore the topic. Asking about the pregnancy shows you care. You might say the wrong thing. To be honest, I somewhat expect that. I'd much rather you say the wrong thing (out of love) than say nothing at all.

That being said, here goes. I'm not doing well. On Thursday, I read in the book of Matthew about how Jesus didn't do very many miracles in his hometown because of their lack of faith. It got me thinking, I don't want my baby to die because of my lack of faith. After a lot of time in prayer Thursday morning, I had hope again. I actually thought God would let us see a baby with a heartbeat on the ultrasound. I even wore eye makeup. I think that was my attempt to show God I really did believe he would do a miracle.

He didn't. At least not yet.

I've had a few people ask how they can help. Here's how:

1. Pray for a miracle. Medically, I'm pretty sure our baby is gone. But I know God is able to give us a healthy baby on Wednesday. I know he's able; I'm just not so sure he will. Pray he will.
2. I'm torn between wanting to have hope that our next ultrasound will be positive and not wanting to be disappointed again, so I don't really know how you should pray for me. At this point, I'm praying for survival. I don't want to hurt anymore, and I don't feel like I'm strong enough to do it again.
3. Talk to me. Don't avoid the conversation. It's on my mind every second of every day. It's not like you're bringing up something I'm not already thinking about.
4. Show me you care. We had a lot of support last time, and part of me thinks people are saying to themselves, "Enough already. Stop blabbing about your dead babies." (No one has said that. It's just a fear of mine).
5. If you're pregnant and we end up losing another baby, I say again to you what I said last time: don't avoid me. Here's a letter I sent to my pregnant friends after we lost Eden. . .

Hello friends,
I just wanted to let you all know that I'm so happy for each of you. I know sometimes when someone has a miscarriage, it's hard for other people to know how to act. They're afraid, especially if they're expecting, that their presence or words will upset us. I don't want any of you to be afraid to be around me. Just b/c I lost my baby doesn't make your pregnancy any less exciting. You don't have to avoid me when your belly looks pregnant. And please don't hesitate to talk about your pregnancy around me. I might cry, so I apologize for that now. But my tears are NOT because I'm not happy for you. They're just b/c I miss my baby. I love you all. Hope this makes sense. I just didn't want you all to be afraid to talk around me. I need my friends now. Love, Linz

That letter was one of the most difficult things I've ever written. Seeing newborns breaks my heart. Watching ultrasounds creates an ever-growing ache in my heart.Watching my friends' bellies grow is a constant reminder that my baby is gone. But as much as it hurts, it's not their fault. I've already lost a baby (and maybe two); I don't want to lose all of my friends too. Please stick by me.