Friday, September 7, 2012

The Point of No Return

belly at 33 weeks

Earlier this week, I got taken off bed rest.  I have never so appreciated being able to go to Costco (my shopping nemesis) as when I was not allowed to.  Oh the glory of being mobile!

But the glory was short lived.  Yesterday, it was back to bed rest for me, thanks to the return of regular contractions, which have since disappeared with my re-relegation to the couch.

It's strange -- over the past few weeks, the threat of going into preterm labor never felt real.  Although I dutifully am obeying my doctor's resting orders, it just hasn't felt very serious to me.

Until yesterday.  I don't know what it was, but now I am scared.

I haven't felt scared this entire pregnancy.  That is to say, I haven't felt scared only, without anxiety or doubt or hope or grief mixed in.

Now I feel afraid.  Pure fear.  I spent much of yesterday on the knife edge of tears.

I think I am afraid because we have passed the point of no return.  Past the point where I might -- might -- be okay if another of our babies died.  I am no longer able to reserve some of my heart, to guard against the umpteen tragedies that could so easily befall us.  Again.

I am in this.  I am expecting to take my baby home.  The horrible "if" of this pregnancy has been replaced by a perhaps even more horrible "when."

I can't be numb to the joy any longer.

And it's terrifying.

The closer this baby boy's birthday draws, the more terrifying life becomes.  

There are no words to describe it, really, and no words to defuse the fear.  It just is. 

So I am knitting baby hats like mad to keep my hands busy, trying to rest in God's enough-ness, and hoping my way through even though this is one of the scariest things I have ever done.


  1. Oh girl, I get it. I really do. There is that point of no return, just like you explained. Sending massive hugs as you draw closer to Jacob's birthday. Praying that God can release you from the fear and replace it with his unspeakable peace. And being on bed rest is truly the most trying time of all.

  2. I'm right there with you sister. You are in my prayers <3 just a week left for me and you aren't too far away from that especially if Jacob decides to come early.

  3. praying, praying, praying. may you know the peace that passes understanding.

  4. Sending love as I can only imagine how terrified you must feel. Knitting was my godsend in my pregnancy with Finley as I was confined to the house quite a lot. I look forward to seeing Jacob model all of his hats

  5. Hugs hugs hugs!! It's going to be okay!!!!
    ♥, Margo

  6. <3 praying. What else can i say?

  7. Sending love, sending strength, sending you everything I can and offering it all up for you, sweet rainbow baby, your husband, and Eve.

  8. Prayers and love and more prayers and love all coming your way!

  9. You...beautiful you...have conveyed this precarious waiting that goes on for a mother facing a subsequent pregnancy following loss in the most profound and perfect way. That is what it's like...this balance. Excruciating. I remember once it was safe for our youngest son, James, to be born (after losing Faith, Grace, and Thomas) begging my doctor to induce me...for my mental health...because I couldn't stand to hang in the balance with the panic gripping me any longer. I needed to see and feel that babe alive in my arms. "When" was killing me. He, thankfully, ignored my requests and made me wait another week. But, I remember. The panic of when. The gripping fear that comes from daring to hope.

    I get it.

    If is more familiar. We get "if". We've lived "if". It's the "when" that sends us to this almost unexplainable place.

    Covering you...beautiful you....and your sweet babe in prayer, as you hold on...just a little longer.

  10. Courage my friend. As you get closer and closer find rest. Its really not long now.

    Thinking about you and the day I see you with that pic of you holding Jacob!


"I am glad you are here with me."
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King