I lay here tonight anxiously awaiting the arrival of our sweet boy, knowing (and hoping) he could finally come at any moment. Finally gathering my months worth of jumbled thoughts into something I can hopefully craft into something more lovely than what they have been, and maybe help someone else who is right where I am tonight.
Right before we embarked on this adventure about nine months ago, I remember praying separately then agreeing together that if it were God’s timing for us to be blessed with a child, that it would come to pass. And if not, we would both be ok with that answer, too. I had just attended a Church conference where one of the speakers had spoken about giving birth to a miracle. The sermon was more on the topic of bringing forth a physical miracle into your life than actual childbirth, but both were spoken of all the same, and there were too many coincidences and things said relative to our situation to ignore. It was that sermon that got my husband and I in agreeance that if the time was right, it would happen. Not even three weeks later, we found out we were pregnant. It was something I had wanted for a long time and it was pure joy. It seemed like God’s perfect timing.
The first half of our pregnancy (apart from the misery of what is the first trimester) was pure bliss. I was overjoyed that I was finally getting to experience what I had been jealous of so many others for for so long, and that we were finally getting our own little joy. Together, we got to experience so many firsts surrounding what we found out was our son. Every visit, one doctor or ultrasound tech or another would say how “perfect” Rhett is, that his growth was right on track, etc. etc. The whole pregnancy in general has been near perfect, very smooth and problem free and for that I am beyond grateful.
Fast forward to the second half of our pregnancy, and the beginning of 2020. It started off slow, and for a bit, continued normally as all our pregnancy thus far had. Then, with the introduction of covid-19, things began changing faster and faster. And not in a way that was ok, especially for a seriously hormonal, emotional pregnant woman that had long awaited this moment in her life. Suddenly, all the new experiences that come with being first-time parents were being jerked away, one by one. All the classes I had us registered for, were cancelled. The hospital policy changed, not allowing anymore visitors than one for childbirth. That rules out all parents, siblings, family, friends, and everything in between to meet and celebrate our sweet boy the day of or after his arrival into the world. In the third trimester when they’re supposed to increase, doctors appointments (one of my big joys, getting to see and hear about Rhett) became fewer and more far between in an effort to deal with the virus and the other patients. Regular supplies that you would stock up on for a newborn (along with plenty of other basic human essentials) became scarce for a good while. We had to cancel not one, but three attempts at a baby shower that had been in the works since 2019, and on Pinterest boards of mine long since before that. If all that weren’t seemingly enough to hurt and leave us heartbroken, the Churches were then closed and hours at work became less until there were none, leaving me home most days, alone with my thoughts. Never in my life would I have imagined how taken for granted falling on your face at an altar would feel until it weren’t an option anymore. Before all this even started, I promised myself I would run to the altar and fall on my face before Rhett came and get what and where I needed to be. So when Church opens back up and you’re thinking the same and putting it off, don’t. I pray I do the same.
One thing I had noticed one day earlier in our pregnancy was on a sheet they sent home with me, containing mine and Rhett’s vitals at that visit. In the section that listed my information, right below where it said “allergies”, there was a section that said “problem list.” Below that were the words, “Recurrent Major depressive disorder, in full remission.” Upon first noticing that, and even now, I cry when I read it. When I first noticed it, I cried because they considered me fully healed of that the hell that is depression. At the same conference where giving birth to a miracle was mentioned, was also said I was healed of my anxiety and depression. Each new time after that I would see it on the paper, especially into 2020, I would cry thinking, “am I really, though?” I fully came off of all antidepressants for the first time in a while probably a month before we found out we were pregnant with Rhett, and I haven’t taken any the whole pregnancy. There were some days, more few and far between, that I felt like I couldn’t go on but I always chalked that up to pregnancy hormones. I never wanted our child to have to see the side of me that had to take a medication to stay functional, and often worried about myself before becoming a mother for that reason. Post-Partum depression was always a big concern of mine, when taking my mental health history into account. If there is one thing I can say I’m proud of myself for, is for not feeling like I need antidepressants throughout this whole regular, hormonal roller coaster ride that is pregnancy, but especially with the current state of things on top of it. (Don’t get me wrong at all, mental health drugs are a great and amazing thing that can help you through many times in your life, and I’m all for their use and benefits. I’ve been on and off them for about a decade now. But for me, their time in my life, at least extended use, is over.)
I say none of that at all to say I haven’t struggled, and aren’t still struggling. You’ve all seen me struggle. My poor husband more than anyone has had wipe away more than his fair share of tears off of my face this year alone. After finally receiving our miracle, I have questioned so much and so hard as to why things had to go the way that they have. Why the joy of something I had long prayed and waited for been stolen at every turn, with each new rule. Why, all of the sudden, nothing was as we planned it, or how it was supposed to be. I suddenly found myself back in the old place I used to be before becoming pregnant: jealous of others. But this time, not for them being pregnant, but getting to experience and do all the things that any expecting, especially first-time, mother should. So many people mentioned alternatives to so many things and I appreciated the help, but at the same time, the Constant reminder that it was never going to be what we planned was often too much to bear. In an effort to help, people kept telling me I would probably be too tired for visitors anyway, or that I could just FaceTime or have a virtual or drive through shower. And maybe they were right. But all I wanted was the experience we prepared for, surrounded by our loved ones, celebrating one of our greatest experiences. I’ve had people tell me I should do a newborn pandemic photo shoot, or that I would eventually look back on all of it and laugh. No. This is the last thing I want to look back and associate Rhett’s pregnancy with, even if it is the reality. I’ve heard the phrase “must be a terrible time to be pregnant,” more than I can count, and each new time, it still hurts more than you know. If anyone would have been able to tell me the shape the world would be in when we finally get to bring a child into it, I would have told them they were crazy. This is not the world I wanted to bring our miracle into. I’m not going to say for a second that I’ve been ok with it. I’m not going to pretend. I’ve been hurt. I’ve been shattered. And I’ve been heartbroken. For my husband, Rhett and myself. I’ve sat and cried many days and just asked God why. And I don’t yet have that answer. I might never have that answer. I feel like people may see me as ungrateful but even for my loved ones that are where I was, praying for a child, I would not wish it for them in this situation. I’d rather them get to experience the fullness of it, after waiting so long. Because while it’s obviously still worth it, it’s been a painful journey. Even in the midst of all these feelings and troubles there was a time a month or so ago, not even over the span of a whole week, it was like God was giving us or me three small miracles. Almost even like the verse Hebrews 13:2, “Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.” Like God saw me hurting and sent me these reminders. I definitely needed them. I still struggle sometimes daily wondering why this all had to happen now, but each and every time, I’m reminded and brought back to our prayer: “God, only if it is your timing for us to have a child, bless us with a child.”
Despite everything going on, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Rhett will grace this world with his beautiful little soul at exactly the time he’s supposed to, such a time as this. (Esther 4:14) All I can think is that it’s definitely not my timing, but it is still God’s. I definitely don’t understand, and am still hurting, but I trust God even though it hurts, and I believe He understands my pain. I don’t understand, but He does. And I can only imagine that it must mean greater things are in store than we ever even imagined or prepared for. I may never know why. But what I do know is that he is still our boy. Without the plan we both expected. Without the classes we registered for, he will still be our boy, and we will still raise him right. With or without a baby shower, he will still be celebrated and we will have all we need. With or without hospital visitors, he is still our boy and we will still know we’re all loved. Without the first time parenting experience we might have hoped and planned for, he is still our boy. Our first boy. It’s not at all how I wanted it. I may not see it now or for a long time, or maybe ever, but maybe it’s how I needed it. I had this perfect picture in my head of how it was all supposed to go. But don’t we always? We have our whole lives mapped out according to how we want them to go, but God says, “The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps.” -Proverbs 16:9. Out of nowhere, walking outside the other day, the song “Worth It All” by Rita Springer came to my mind and stuck there. It hadn’t been a good week by any means, literally everything had seemed to go wrong, but through all the hurt, the worthiness of the whole process is something I never once doubted. The song goes,
“I don't understand Your ways
Oh but I will give You my song
Give You all of my praise
You hold on to all my pain
With it You are pulling me closer
And pulling me into Your ways
Now around every corner
And up every mountain
I'm not looking for crowns
Or the water from fountains
I'm desperate in seeking, frantic believing
That the sight of Your face
Is all that I need
I will say to You
It's gonna be worth it
It's gonna be worth it
It's gonna be worth it all
I believe this
It's gonna be worth it
It's gonna be worth it
It's gonna be worth it all
I believe this.”
We haven’t yet been blessed with meeting him, but I can’t even imagine just how much more than worth it this little boy will be. As if God has used them to speak straight to me, I’ve had not one but two people tell me of prophetic type dreams they have had about our son. But not after finding out we were pregnant. One months, and one years beforehand. Both saying things such as “he will bring great joy, and do great things and be so kind and help many people.” Ever since we found out about him, the word Joy comes up surrounding his name from people everywhere. God promised me Joy in 2019, the year he was conceived.
Though we’re so incredibly blessed beyond measure, I had felt very robbed throughout this whole ordeal. I keep getting reminded of the verse in John 10,
“The thief comes to steal, kill and destroy..” I’ve felt that so heavily the past few months. He had come and stolen my joy, killed our plans and destroyed seemingly any and everything he could. But thankfully, the verse doesn’t end like that. It continues to say, “I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.” I can’t even begin to imagine the fullness of life we will feel in the next moments, hours, days or weeks when Rhett makes his way into this world. I can’t begin to imagine the fullness his life itself will hold, and continue to grow with, with all the glorious plans God already has for him. I can’t begin to imagine how all the troubles of this year will I’m sure fade away as soon as we see his face. I can’t begin to imagine that as much as he will need us for survival alone, we will need him so much more.
Things did not go as planned. Things did not go as planned when I was in high school and first diagnosed with major depression and anxiety. But out of the dark of that situation, came first time salvation and a relationship with Christ. We as humans, when we make plans, we often just plan for the best. But my, how much more beautiful our lives turn out when we go through the painful things that we didn’t plan for. Even if not, He is still good. And like I said before, we often don’t see the reason why in the moment, and maybe not for a long time afterward. But there is always a reason. I still don’t know the reason for this, but I can already see the good soon to come out from beneath all of it. His name is Rhett, and he’s going to do great and amazing things.
“In the same way, I will not cause pain without allowing something new to be born.”
-Isaiah 66:9
