Patience and strength.

I shared on Instagram back in May that we are expecting a baby girl in October! And I can still hardly believe it – that she’s a girl, I mean. I guess because for the last eight years, on my side of the family, we’ve added four boys to the crew. I also spend a lot of time with my sister and her boys since they live just down the street. And I have my own boy, so for a lot of reasons, I just assumed that this baby would also be a boy. Never mind that baby’s gender has everything to do with Aaron and not me at all.

If you want to see the balloon pop, you’ll have to check my Instagram. Anyway!…

I had my second miscarriage in December 2020. As devastating as it was, we wanted to try again right away for another baby. After my first miscarriage, we waited six months to try again. But I know I was letting fear run my life instead of faith and I wanted to do it differently this time, even though I was still afraid.

By the kindness of God, we found out I was pregnant again at the end of February. I didn’t immediately take a test – and not because I thought it was negative. I knew based on how I felt that I was likely pregnant. I was more afraid of how long it would be positive this time – a week? Two weeks? Could I get my hopes up again about a baby only to let them shatter a few weeks later? So I tried to ignore it. I finally told my husband I thought I was pregnant after several days but that I didn’t want to take a test. I already had three positive pregnancy tests in my life and only one baby. I didn’t think I could see that word show up again.

At the time, I mustered the guts to write out a prayer to God,

“If you have another baby for us now, I’m ready. I trust your plans for us. I trust you with my heart… just please hold it tight if it has to break again.”

I finally did take a test and it was obviously positive. But every day after, I waited to see what would happen – would I still be pregnant at the end of the day? The week? My bloodwork came back saying everything looked good. And at 6 weeks, on the dot, just like with Nixon, the nausea set in. I thought I was prepared. I got all the same foods I had when I was pregnant with Nixon. I was stocked with crackers and hard candies, mac and cheese and mashed potatoes and snacks to curb that sick feeling. With Nixon, I felt nauseous, but if I ate I was usually okay. We had lots of visitors to Hawaii during my first trimester with Nixon and we went on hikes and to the beach and out to dinner. I didn’t always feel the best, but I was still able to eat and I wasn’t throwing up at all.

But this time. What a difference this pregnancy has been since the start! The nausea set in so I tried my usual —crackers to start the day, something bland —but nothing would settle the sick feeling in my stomach. And I mean nothing. Not the crackers. Not the drinks we stocked up on. Nothing. I was dizzy and nauseous and motion-sick.

I finally called my doctor because I was unable to function. I was throwing up multiple times per day. I couldn’t take care of my child, or my house, and barely even myself. By week eight, I had a black eye because of popped blood vessels from puking. I asked Aaron one time, “How do you know if you need to go to the hospital?” We kind of laughed about it because he didn’t know if I was serious and neither did I. I couldn’t look out the window at cars passing on the street let alone drive my own car without being sick. My doctor prescribed me an anti-nausea medicine that I was hesitant to take because of what I read on the internet about the risks for the baby, but it came to a point where I just had to take it in order to live. And tons of people take this medicine and their babies are fine – I know because I asked just about everyone! So I told my baby that I was doing what I could to keep us both alive out here and she just needed to keep growing in there. We’d both do our parts. We were a team already.

The medicine helped some, but I still threw up every day. I know this is more common now because of last year’s pandemic, but there was one point where I didn’t leave my house for two weeks straight. I simply woke up in the morning and went to the living room to lay on the couch and then at the end of the day, I moved back into bed. My husband’s company graciously let him work from home again because without him, I don’t know what we would have done in those weeks. Our moms were both a huge help to us, coming over to play with Nixon and clean the kitchen and help us pick up, but Aaron and I were both wearing very thin. Through it all, I became increasingly thankful for the covenant of marriage. You don’t watch your wife throw up in the sink and pee her pants at the same time (Was that an overshare? I’m sorry —pregnancy isn’t all fancy Instagram announcements and constant bliss) then help her get to the bathroom to take a shower without deep, abiding love. That is covenant love.

So those early days of this pregnancy were a struggle. A struggle physically but also mentally and emotionally. I remember feeling mildly depressed during first trimester with Nixon —just a bit blues-y because of hormones, but this felt like another level because I was so sick. It’s hard to stay positive when your only reprieve is sleep. I cried to my mom one day because I I felt like all the sickness would be for nothing and I would lose the baby anyway. The weeks seemed unending. Making a whole new human being is not for the weak.

But I started saying a prayer in those weeks that I keep repeating even now. I asked God to take away the nausea. I even tried to barter and say I’d take hormonal acne over nausea. Tradesies, please! I’m joking. I mean I did pray that, but it went something more like this:

“God, please keep this baby safe and if you can, please take away the nausea. If you can’t, please give me the patience and strength to endure.”  

Patience and strength. That’s what I needed the most. Give me patience to deal with this every day. To count down the days to their end. Even if it lasts the entire pregnancy. Give me patience to wait this out. And give me strength. To take care of myself and my family. Give me strength to do the next thing, whatever that may be.

I kept praying for patience and strength for all those early weeks. Sometimes it was just those three words repeated over and over again. Patience and strength. Patience and strength. God doesn’t need fancy prayers and well-worded monologues. He wants our gut prayers —the ones that come from deep in our souls when our hearts are weary and we know he’s the only way we’re going to make it through.

Maybe that’s what you need today – just the simplest prayer – to have the patience and strength to endure whatever it is you’re going through, wherever you find yourself. Patience and strength to keep going. Keep fighting. Keep holding on for what’s ahead. Because every day is new and every day has the potential to be different than the day before. Just look how far you’ve come already to get to where you are now.

And I can tell you, sitting here at 24 weeks pregnant, that God answered those gut prayers of mine. By the sweet mercy of God, the nausea started fading ever so slowly around 13 weeks and by 17, after one last victory-lap throw up, I felt so much better. It felt like the days would never end at the time, but I made it through one by one. And I’m excited to meet this little lady in a few more months. At our ultrasound appointment a couple of weeks ago, she actually showed us the side of her face – something Nixon never did in the womb. Such a sweet gift to see the miracle of her growing body and the way He’s been forming her little hands and feet, her eyes and nose and mouth all this time.

So I just want to encourage you today –whatever it is you’re experiencing, he will give you the patience and strength to get through it. No matter what it is. No matter how long it lasts. Even if you feel like you can’t keep going. You just have to ask. After all, he tells us, “Ask, and it will be given. Seek and you will find.”