my pregnancy story

My third daughter was a whirlwind from the start.

About a year ago I found out I was pregnant while my two other children cried at my feet in the hall bathroom. The world literally tilted on its axis. There was no logical way I could be pregnant. In fact, everything pointed at it being a near impossibility.

I remember snatching the test from the counter and running to my bedroom with Gloria on my hip and Ada close behind. My husband was calmly folding clothes on our bed, blissfully unaware of the bomb I was holding in my hands.

For a second, I debated not telling him. For a second, I wished it wasn’t true.

All the while panic continued to flood my body. I told God I couldn’t do this. Not again. The timing wasn’t right. Nothing was right. How could this be happening? Why is God allowing this to happen?

Tears flooded my eyes as I blurted the news. “I’m not sure I can do this again,” I told him. “I feel like I’m barely doing it now!”

My husband’s response in that moment was exactly what I needed to hear. After a few moments of silence, he told me that this child was a gift, chosen by God to join our family at this exact time. It wasn’t our plan, but God knew what he was doing.

Little did I know how much that would be a continuing theme for the next nine months.

At my twelve-week appointment, the nurse told me my placenta was slightly malformed and that I would need to see a specialist for the appointments to follow. There was a risk of it detaching from the uterine wall, resulting in premature labor or hemorrhage.

After a few visits with the specialist and several hour-long ultrasounds, he determined the malformation would be manageable. He told me I no longer had to continue being monitored at such a high-risk level. Praise God.

I would then go on to be hospitalized twice. The first time was at 30 weeks. A test result showed I was high-risk for premature labor within the next 14 days. After twelve long hours of monitoring in triage, I thankfully went home with a clean bill of health for me and my baby.

Exactly two weeks later, I was 80% sure my water broke at home. I went to the doctor, and a test confirmed that yes— I had PPROM and would be in the hospital until it was safe for my baby to be born.

My husband and I frantically made arrangements for our kids and our jobs, we shed tears, and tried to prepare ourselves for what lay ahead. Every three hours I was pumped full of antibiotics and steroids that caused my entire arm to be in shooting pain. I watched my baby’s heartbeat squiggle on the monitor until my eyes burned. I was afraid to move. I was afraid of everything.

36 hours later I was driving home. The doctors had determined my loss of fluid was not significant enough to stay at the hospital. They said the leak was either a high leak that would reseal, or, as I would come to find out during labor, I had an extra, smaller amniotic fluid sac in addition to the one protecting my baby.

I remember being so frustrated and confused. Why the fire-drill, then? Why the positive test results? All they could tell me was that I was an “unusual case.”

I kept telling myself to be thankful that my baby was healthy, and I was. God, I was. But I had more questions than answers, I was disappointed with the medical team and my body, and I just wanted it all to be over. Every moment from that day on was a fight against worry and despair. “What if the doctors got it wrong? What if my baby is in danger? Is it all in my head?”

Each day passed slowly. I saw my OB/GYN once a week for an ultrasound. And God in his mercy sustained me. He allowed me to carry my precious girl until 37 weeks, when it was finally safe for both of us to meet at last.

I’m not sure why all of this happened. I will probably never know. But God knew— and he orchestrated everything exactly the way it needed to be for both mine and my baby’s ultimate good.

Because of the hospitalizations, I received multiple antibiotics and steroids I wouldn’t have otherwise had. Maybe the placenta needed it. Maybe my baby needed them. Maybe I did. Maybe there was someone at the hospital I was supposed to meet. God is always doing a million wise things that we cannot see.

I won’t lie. Those days were really hard. I still feel the pit in my stomach as I remember. Sometimes I still have to fight resentment and frustration over the events that caused so much anxiety for me and my family.

But by God’s grace I choose to look at my darling Rue’s grin instead, and rejoice. Tears come to my eyes. What a journey. This surprise baby and tumultuous pregnancy led to the most beautiful, precious gift. Sounds a lot like a life, doesn’t it?

The Lord is so faithful. Even when it doesn’t make sense. He has blessed me beyond measure with an answer to our ultimate prayer: a healthy baby here in my arms. And every day I have with her I will praise His holy name.