Repost/Guest-post from My Man: Our Little Flicker Turns Seven

This was originally published on 10/29/2010, with the title, “i cried.” It was written by my husband, Robb. We had just had an ultrasound that showed the heart beat of our 3rd pregnancy, which would become our first child. This little flicker turned into our Henry. He’s turning seven years old this week. I can still recall all these feelings Robb describes, and I am taken by his words, his love, our love, this survival, and our miracle. These things take pieces out of you, and I don’t know think that they’re ever filled, but the scars do make for interesting texture.

“i cried”

the accumulation of doubt and triumph resulted in tears of joy when i saw a little flicker on the ultrasound screen.  it was immediate and unmistakable.  our baby has a heartbeat and is more than likely going to be born in june.

for reasons beyond my comprehension God has carried me in His hands, so things in my life generally work out.  when sarah was pregnant for the first time, i assumed we’d be proud parents last march.  when she had spotting and we went in for an ultrasound, i knew we’d be ok.  i had assumed it’d be a life changing moment to see my first child’s heartbeat on the screen, but it really wasn’t.  it was a matter of fact.

but we lost that baby (miss u, snowpea), and then another (xoxo, blueberry), and it has been very difficult for me to watch the anguish that sarah has felt so much more acutely than i have.

i have felt grief and sorrow, too, but at no point was my biological function in question.  we lost the first to a zombie bite.  from a numerical perspective, this will not happen again.  but it wasn’t my body that endured 106*F (41.1*C) and flying pig hallucinations.  so i could be confident to try again, but that didn’t stop the doubt from creeping in for sarah. i could mourn later, so i had to help her through it.

the second miscarriage amplified the sorrow, disappointment, fear, doubt, and self-loathing.  it didn’t end with a bizarre catastrophe like the first.  we had nothing but, “this happens in 30% of pregnancies.  this is normal.”  that’s great when you’re being rational, but it doesn’t stop her from wondering if she isn’t meant to carry children.  that is a difficult concept to face, and i did what i could to carry her through.  the beauty of a marriage is that we share everything.  usually we’re sharing joy, but sometimes we share desperate devastation.

i was elated that the lab work showed her third pregnancy is healthy.  i trust the lab and cumulative data of millions of women.  and i’m the optimist between the two of us.  but the morning of our ultrasound it occurred to me that maybe something could go wrong with this pregnancy, that maybe the baby wasn’t fine. by the time we went to the doctor that afternoon i was back to optimism.  apparently, though, the doubt we shared had accumulated in my heart.  i felt like we were vindicated, like i could just feel some joy for my sarah, for what she had to think about herself in the last year.  i cried when i saw my baby’s heartbeat because of the certainty, the peace it gave her.  i was so relieved for her, so satisfied to see her comforted, at least a little.


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