It's been hard for me because so many of my friends are due around the same time that I would have been, and I just keep finding out about more. I don't want to compare myself, but anyone who has been in a similar situation knows how sensitive it can be to see someone who is as far along as you *should* have been, or who has a baby the same age as one yours would have been if you hadn't lost him/her. I experience this in our small group on Monday nights. For the most part, I love going because I get to connect with more people from church. There is a younger couple (about our age) we have become friends with. They had a miscarriage sometime last year, and they are now 13 weeks pregnant. She found out she was pregnant two weeks after my latest miscarriage. I hate myself for comparing, and I try really hard not to. But I find myself dreading group more often than not lately. Every time I go, I am faced with what we lost. Every time I sit and listen to the prayers for their baby, when it seems that people rarely pray for God to give us one. Of course, I would never wish anything bad to happen, and I also pray for the safety of their baby. I truly hope that everything turns out to be better for them than it has for us. They are kind people who will be great parents, without a doubt. In spite of all this, I still find myself crying on the way home a lot of the time. My heart aches. People say that God fills all needs, but there is a hole that will be there all my life, 3 children that I will never see on this earth. True, the hole grows smaller over time, but every once in a while, the rawness of it creeps back in. Having faith doesn't mean we don't get wounded.
All in all, I'm just sick of being in this waiting game; sick of wishing things were different; sick of hiding how I feel. The christian community can be wonderful, but there can also be a lot of judgment. Many people were supportive when they found out about the miscarriages. But now two months later, people seem to forget how hard it can be. I get comments like, "there's something to be said for smiling through the grief." On one level I know it comes from a good heart, and I know that I can't let it swallow me up or turn me into a bitter person. Neither of those things would make my life any easier. But on the other side of it, I feel like I need to let these feelings out, and I don't think I'm a worse person, or have less faith because of it. I don't have time (or opportunity) to release many of these feelings at home, and it all just comes to the surface when I get away from my regular routine (when I'm not being pulled in a million directions). Truth be told, I'm somewhat looking forward to being required to stay in bed if I get pregnant (and stay that way). I haven't had a true rest in months, and I am genuinely tired.
On a lighter note, enjoy some pictures of my latest concoctions, and just imagine the smells if you can!
Warm bran muffins with dates instead of raisins.
For dinner we bring on 15-bean soup slow-cooked on the stovetop with carrots, celery, onions, garlic, and ham hocks.
And on the side we have homemade whole wheat bread sweetened with molasses and brushed with butter.
How could we skip fresh chocolate chip cookies for dessert?
