False alarm

Bad things happen to other people, right? That's what I like to tell myself. It keeps me sane. Keeps me from freaking out and being that mom who wraps her kids in bubble wrap and a helmet and keeps them inside all the time.

Bad things in utero definitely happen to other people. I can't even let myself think they could happen to me or I'd just lose it. But yesterday, I thought that maybe the Very Bad Thing was destined for me. And I was undone.

For so many weeks, all I've wanted is for Baby Girl to quit her several-hour-long acrobatics every night, so when I woke up after a night of uninterrupted sleep yesterday morning, I was grateful. And then these words kept nagging: "If you experience any decrease in fetal movement, please notify your doctor immediately." I kept swatting the thought away, convincing myself it was nothing. But I still wasn't really feeling her move.

Years of medical school have exposed Phil to just enough nightmarish baby stories that when I mentioned the lack of movement to him offhand, he insisted that I hang up the phone with him and call the doctor immediately. That's when I started to wonder if the Very Bad Thing was coming my way. That's when I started the slippery spiral of what-ifs and fought back tears over even the idea of losing the Baby Girl I love so fiercely.

So, after three hours at the hospital of testing and monitoring, I'm grateful to report that all is perfectly fine with sweet Baby Girl. Praise Jesus, who would be good even if I didn't have such good news to report.

I was at the library with Moo when the doctor's office returned my call and asked me to come in right away. My angel friend who was there with me took Moo for the afternoon (and by angel I mean she has a 3 and 4 year-old of her own and had to get them all fed and down for naps by herself), and God orchestrated all the details down to how many diapers I had in the diaper bag.

But for three hours I had a tiny, tiny glimpse of what it might be like to lose a child before he or she really has a chance to live. And it was about the most heart-breaking thing I've ever felt. So while I'm unspeakably grateful to have a healthy baby (never again will I wish away her kicks), my heart is humbled and heavy for those who have lost theirs, whether through miscarriage, infertility, still-birth, medical complications, accidents, or acts of violence. Thank God that he is close to the broken-hearted.