Fiat

On the feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe, I gave my fiat. 

We found out God had given us a surprise baby at the end of October. I was not pleased. My last pregnancy was horrific - full of so much physical, emotional, and mental pain. I did not think we would safely make it to the end of it. I have nothing against more babies - in fact, this past year was the first one ever where I felt anything that could be considered "baby fever". I had everything against pregnancy. 

The first few weeks actually weren't that bad. I was able to keep the nausea at bay with lettuce and cucumbers, for the most part. And I was even able to manage my insomnia, thanks to a tip from a friend about adding calcium if extra magnesium wasn't helping. Unfortunately, that didn't last long. I ended up with pretty constant nausea, and my digestion wasn't moving like it should have, which made everything worse. The depression and anxiety didn't seem to spike much, which was a blessing, though the brain fog was intense. Still mad at God for doing this, totally afraid of how I was going to survive 9 months, but also looking forward to doing the newborn thing again. (After 5, I feel like I kind of have the baby stage down pretty well.) 

I had literally asked for all the prayer. My last pregnancy was so bad, I was so scared of what this one might do to me. So I asked for prayers from everyone when I first found out, and again when the nausea and brain fog got worse. 

I was 11.5 weeks on the feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe, and I woke up and all my symptoms were pretty much gone, the most notable being my lack of brain fog. I felt I could think better than I had for weeks. I didn't think much of it, because I had felt tangible relief (even if only briefly) every time I had asked for prayers, and 12-ish weeks is often when symptoms tend to subside. That night, however, I noticed spotting. Not much, but enough to note that that was not a color I should be seeing. 

On the feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe, I gave my fiat. Much as I really hated to be pregnant again, I also really wanted this baby. I wanted to know if they would be as enthusiastic and cheerful as Sweet E, our last. I wanted to know if they would be super blond, or brunette. Would they be our Italian baby? Or our southpaw? I was just coming to acceptance about being pregnant, and now I was faced with the possibility that we wouldn't be making it to 9 months. To look at my hopes, and to say "Let it be done according to Your Will", even when it was the complete opposite of what I wanted. "Let it be done, O Lord, let it be done." "Not my will, Lord, but Yours..." Did Mary also know--like really know--when she said her fiat, that she was also saying yes to her Son's death?

That week was one of the worst weeks of my life. Every moment was an "I want what You want, Lord" battle. I had my first prenatal that Wednesday. No heartbeat. We took blood on Thursday, to test for the pregnancy indicators. I got the call Friday evening that the numbers were too low, far too low, for this to still be a viable pregnancy. I cried a little, not as much as I would have expected. But I had spent the whole week grieving - knowing for sure was a relief of sorts. All that was left was to wait for my body to do what needed to be done. 

Overall, I experienced an emotional peace after that, very much in a place of acceptance. Which I think was a special grace, so that our Christmas might be a happy one. My one prayer, really, at that point was that there would still be enough fetal DNA left in my blood so that we could find out if we lost a son or a daughter, and that I wouldn't deliver until after I was able to get a blood sample. The Lord heard my prayer on both counts. I delivered our daughter on December 22, what should have been 13 weeks. She was so tiny, and didn't look like she was developed past 8 weeks. I regret not holding her before she was laid to rest next to Julian. I am grateful for the picture I do have. 

I say that my emotional peace was a grace, because I was able to contemplate the juxtaposition of the world preparing a manger to receive the Baby Jesus, while I was preparing other things to receive my baby, and did not have a sad reaction at all. I could see others snuggling their babies and feel nothing but "Good for them!" Today, however, not so much. Yes, still good for you, but now it's accompanied by the tinge of pain because it's not going to be me. Others are partaking in the joy of Mary at Jesus' birth, while my postpartum is more akin to the barren womb of Elizabeth. 

The kids have taken it pretty well. They got to see her before she was buried, and have added Anna Rose to the list of intercessors for our family. It's weird, facing the same future that I thought I'd be facing back in Sept., except everything is different now, because I had to mentally change all my plans during Nov. to account for a baby in July. And now it's back to my plans from Sept., except I'm not excited and happy about them anymore, because they are just a reminder of what we have lost. 

Anna Rose, pray for us!

10/29/21 - 12/22/21