Growth

When I think about where I was a year ago and where I am today, I am in complete shock at how much growth and transformation God has done in me. This time last year, after 12 months of trying to conceive after our miscarriage, I was feeling lost.  12 months of trying may not seem long, but in my mind I assumed we wouldn't have to "try" so hard.  I distinctly remember a feeling of emptiness and longing. I was longing for a baby. I remember writing a very lengthy letter to my husband. I told him I was depressed. I told him I felt lost. I told him I couldn't bare the thought of never giving Sophia a sibling. I told him my heart was restless. I told him I needed God to take my burden. I told him I needed to escape. I daydreamed about running through a field to the top of a mountain and screaming as loud as I could. Maybe then God would hear me.

The next day James called me while I was at school and told me he was booking us a hotel for the weekend in La Jolla. He didn't ask me; he told me. That assertiveness ignited my heart so much. You see, very seldom does my husband make decisions without me because he knows I'm a control freak, but in this instant I needed him to take the reigns, and that's just what he did. We packed our bags the very next morning and the three of us drove six hours to the beach. Though we were only there for a mere 30 hours, it was so therapeutic for me. I soaked in that time with my sweet daughter. I thanked God for the gift of her. I reminded myself that here and now I am her mother. Rather than dwelling on the children I'm longing for, I was able to remind myself of the child in front of me who just wants her mother to be there.  And I was there.

For the first time in my life, I knew what it meant to have faith. To patiently wait on The Lord. Sophia was already 3 1/2, a much bigger age gap than I desired for my children. I didn't understand it. But I sat back and waited. And trusted. During this time, with the guidance of my doctor, I decided to take meds to help regulate my erratic periods. This was a difficult decision to make since I am very natural minded. We were pretty sure I wasn't ovulating, and my doctor said that without giving my body a "kickstart",  I may never conceive again. Knowing that the medication was approved by the Catholic church, I obliged. Although after 3 rounds of meds, I gave up because they didn't seem to be working; my cycles were still long and irregular, a clear indication that I probably wasn't ovulating.

James and I began to pray harder than we have ever prayed. We begged God to reveal His will. We didn't beg for a baby, we simply begged for His will to be done. My periods became longer and longer and despite my despair, I prayed my heart out. I fervently slept with a St. Gerard prayer card under my pillow and James and I prayed the Saint Gerard Novena together. Every week after mass, my mom and Sophia went to light a candle for us and pray that we would conceive.  My sweet Grandma even added us as an intention to her weekly rosary group. We had numerous friends praying for us, and I took comfort in that. I failed to mention that my sister was pregnant with her second baby during this time. I was in utter shock at how quickly they conceived. Despite the shock, I was never jealous, not even for a second. I remember being grateful. Grateful that I could carry this burden of miscarriage and infertility and that my sister didn't have to deal with such pain.

On February 12, the unthinkable happened. My sister went into labor at 22 weeks gestation. Everything happened so fast and they just weren't able to stop her contractions. She delivered her sweet baby girl who lived for a mere 3 hours. My heart was broken for my sister, for this horrible loss. I felt dumb for ever mourning my own miscarriage. This seemed so much worse. I was so angry at God. I had hoped that I bore the cross of a miscarriage so that my sister wouldn't have to. And now this. Why God? Why, why, why? We had the funeral for sweet baby Celeste on February 20, 2013. It was just beautiful. A perfect celebration of her short life here on Earth.

The day after the funeral, I mentioned to James that I STILL hadn't gotten a period! It had been almost 2 months. My thought was, "that stupid medication didn't do a damn thing!" Despite my fear and anxiety, he made me take a pregnancy test. I nonchalantly peed on the stick to appease him. When it was positive, I screamed. Then I took FOUR more tests.  They were all positive. After 15 agonizing months of trying, we were finally pregnant.

What we had been praying for for months had happened and I found myself a little bit angry. What kind of cruel God would take my sister's sweet baby to heaven and then the very next day bless me with new life? I was completely petrified to tell my sister I was pregnant. Part of me was ashamed to be pregnant at a time like this.

Ironically, she was the first person I told, and her reaction was priceless. I have never seen any person smile as big as she did that night. And I have never seen such heartfelt tears of joy. I knew in her reaction that she was truly, genuinely happy and that meant the world to me.

Now here we are just weeks away from welcoming our second baby. I look back on this year, rather, the past two years and I am grateful. God has truly taught me the hard way how to have faith. So often we want things to happen on our timing, and yet I hear God's voice telling me, "just you wait and see what I have planned, just you wait".  Even still, it breaks my heart a little bit to think of how large the age gap is between these two children. Being a cradle Catholic, I was always taught that you are "supposed" to have lots of babies and they are "supposed" to be very close in age. Well I'm here to say that's a load of crap. Now I know that God will guide the spacing of our children exactly according to His will. He has a unique and beautiful design for every family. There is something so liberating about giving it up to the Lord, especially for a control freak like myself ;)
 Jesus I trust in you.