As I’m writing this, I’m currently eleven weeks pregnant. The last two months have been anything but easy.
We found out, by mere chance, when I was only four and a half weeks. If you know anything about how pregnancy works, that means I was really only about two and a half weeks pregnant, since pregnancy is counted from your last period, not the moment an embryo attaches in your uterus.
At that point, the baby, and I do believe it is already a baby, looks more like an alien shaped thing with a beating heart. At just two and a half weeks from the point of conception, it is already blooming with life.
Two days after we found out, I started bleeding. This was before I even had my first blood test confirming the pregnancy, and long before anything could be seen on ultrasound.
My heart lived in my stomach for weeks. Panicking every time I saw blood. I was so afraid that the tiny miracle growing inside me wasn’t there to stay.
At almost six weeks I finally had my first ultrasound, and held my breath until I saw a heartbeat. At that point we had already told our closest friends and my parents, and seeing a strong heartbeat was the purest relief.
But the bleeding got worse, and I was still cramping. The doctor sent me in for another set of blood tests. This time the reason for visit was listed as “threatened abortion.”
Those words ate a hole in the bottom of my stomach. I felt empty as I sat in the waiting room, ready to be called to have blood drawn for the third time in two weeks. I didn’t know before then that abortion is just a medical term for a pregnancy ending. I had always considered it to be something elective. Something you chose. I had never thought about it as something that could just happen to you.
My body felt foreign. Hostile. Like it was potentially rejecting the thing I have been praying for, begging for, for more than a year.
But by the grace of God, all my tests came back clear, and my hcg levels (human chorionic gonadotropin- a hormone secreted by the placenta during pregnancy) continued to rise as they were supposed to.
Despite the good news, I was suddenly adjusting to a life that was very foreign. Because I was bleeding, and it seemed to get worse whenever I was active, I was put on modified activity. No lifting. No cleaning. No chemicals. Nothing that would get my heart-rate too high. Basically nothing aside from mild walking, and even that was exhausting. Suddenly things that used to be so easy took all of my energy. I was perpetually exhausted, struggling to complete basic daily tasks because of the level of restriction I was placed in (and the limits that my own body seemed to be imposing.)
Thankfully this isn’t everyone’s experience of pregnancy, but it has certainly been mine. I have a myriad of health conditions that made just getting pregnant in the first place a bit of a miracle. Between endometriosis, and poly cystic ovarian syndrome(PCOS) , my chances of becoming pregnant naturally were a lot lower than the norm for someone my age and my chances of miscarrying were significantly higher. The normal percentage of couples that get pregnant each month when trying is 20%. With endometriosis, that number goes down to 2-10%, which is a staggering drop from 20%. Because of my PCOS, I was also only ovulating every other month, so our chances to get pregnant were once again cut in half. It didn’t seem possible, but I know that our God has always done the impossible. And He did.
As much as I am so excited to be pregnant, and it’s literally the thing I’ve been praying for for over a year (all I’ve ever wanted to be is a mom), I don’t think that I’ve fully let myself celebrate yet. Everyone we’ve told has been so thrilled. Like screaming/jumping up and down happy. I wish my own happiness looked like that, and to be honest it doesn’t. It’s so much more reserved than that. I didn’t really understand why until I was reading through a post someone had written on recurrent loss and pregnancy, and the words she said rang so true. She called it the miscarriage mindset, and went on to describe it. “You desperately yearn for the baby you’re carrying, but are never fully convinced you’ll get to meet them.”
Eleven weeks in and I still feel this with every fiber of my being.
We haven’t shared this with most people yet, but we’re pretty sure we miscarried earlier this year. I wasn’t certain until I got pregnant this time, and had the strongest “I’ve been here before” feeling. I had the exact same early symptoms. The nausea. Exhaustion. Craving fruit and carbs. And the weirdest of all was that I immediately couldn’t sleep comfortably on my belly. I had to be on my side. I took so many pregnancy tests when we thought I was pregnant before and none of them came back positive, but somehow when it was confirmed that I was pregnant this time, I just knew. Knew that I already had been. That I had lost a baby I didn’t even have a chance to bond with or a proper way of grieving for.
I would have been super early. Like three or four weeks. I know most likely it just wasn’t a viable pregnancy, and that’s why my hcg levels never rose properly, and honestly for the most part I’m okay with that. After all, it’s God’s plan over mine and some of the things that happened in the months following would have been incredibly difficult to cope with emotionally had I been pregnant.
In fact, less than a month before I found out I was pregnant this time, I was thanking God that He knew better than me. That He hadn’t given us a child yet. Because some of the things that happened this November would have been so much more difficult if I was pregnant or had a child. The emotional stress alone would have been unhealthy, and I would have had to take a back seat to things that I’m so grateful I was able to be fully present in.
The timing then would have been chaotic and overwhelming. It’s so much sweeter now. And I’m doing my best to cling to my understanding that this -is- His timing. That it’s okay to feel all the things that I’m feeling, but that hope and excitement and pure joy should be on that list too. That no statistic about miscarriage or PCOS, or even endometriosis should be able to rob me of those feelings.
It’s two more weeks until my next ultrasound, and I’m counting down the days. I think it’s only during my ultrasounds that I feel fully confident, getting to watch the little bean wiggle and squirm around. Seeing it strong heart beat. It’s so easy to forget how alive it is when you can’t see it, but it’s so human already.
It has fingernails now. And officially has been either a boy or girl for three weeks already which is crazy. It’s not even two inches long yet but it’s already able to move it’s little hands around and touch its face. It has a sense of smell. Most of its organs are already developing and functioning. At just eleven weeks, it already looks like a baby, albeit a very small one.
At this point you’re probably wondering what the title of this blog has to do with absolutely anything, and that’s okay. If you’ve made it this far- thank you.
I felt like it was necessary to share my own pregnancy journey here first to let you know where I’m coming from.
I haven’t changed my stance on abortion. I’m still fervently pro life. I still believe life starts at conception, and a baby is a baby whether or not they’re relying on someone else’s body to breath and eat and survive, because that’s temporary. There’s still a distinguishing factor between my body, and the child growing inside of it. We are separate. Two beating hearts. Two sets of nervous systems. Two different brains. Hands. Feet. Wiggly little toes. And yet we are also together- and it is the most beautiful and profoundly difficult thing I have ever experienced.
I wanted this baby desperately. Prayed for it over and over. And sank into my own disappointment each time the pregnancy test was negative. And there have been so many times.
I think I’m prepared, as much as possible. I’m in a stable relationship with my sweet husband of more than two years. We have a safe place to live. Enough food. Health insurance. A wonderful community of friends who have been an absolute God-send, checking in on me constantly the last couple of weeks. Praying for me, for us, for the little one growing in my womb to stay and grow and thrive.
We have good relationships with our families, and siblings. A church we love. And enough previous knowledge to feel as prepared as possible for raising a child- because really no one is ever “prepared.”
And it is still one of the most difficult things that I have ever done.
So what if I had none of those things? No stable relationship, no place to live. What if I constantly worried about feeding myself, let alone an infant?
What if the person who’s child I was carrying was abusive? What if I knew I couldn’t care for the baby, but I also had no one else who would. No adoptive family to step in. No prenatal care. No health insurance. Only a guarantee of relinquishing my child into the foster care system. What if I was addicted to drugs and had absolutely no resources?
What if I was sixteen? What if I was terrified of what people would think? I know too many people who look at pregnancy as an outward expression of their shame. As proof of their guilt. Especially people coming from conservative backgrounds. I know people who’s families would disown them if they got pregnant out of wedlock. I know people who’s own parents have pushed them towards abortion because it was “easier.” Because it “isn’t a baby anyways.” Because their life is more important than the completely helpless life they are carrying.
So what if that was the case?
Would I still choose life?
Absolutely I would. Because it is -still- life. And life is intrinsically valuable.
But in a way it never has before, my heart aches for these women who feel like they don’t have a choice. Who are in unfathomably hard situations, with opinions and judgement flying at them like bullets from every angle.
I can’t imagine having to handle all of that on top of being pregnant. Pregnancy on its own can be daunting and overwhelming. So often I feel like a passenger and not a pilot in my own body, completely run by sleep schedules and cravings and mood swings. The first trimester is seriously no joke.
I can’t imagine on top of everything I’ve been through the last two months having someone I trust tell me to consider aborting my child. That I can’t handle it. That I’m ruining my life. That it isn’t a baby anyways. Just a clump of cells. That I need to make a decision now while I still can (before the clump of cells magically turns into a baby.)
Honestly the thought of someone doing that makes me so angry, but it is a reality for so many women. And they are vulnerable and they are scared and I can’t even fathom being in that space.
Some of you may not know this about me, but I’ve always been more of a doer. I see a problem, and I want to take action. So I couldn’t just feel these big feelings and be okay with it. I immediately started thinking about what we could do.
It isn’t enough to just say “life is precious and abortion is wrong” without backing that up with action. It doesn’t help these women put in impossible situations. In fact, the only thing it does is increase guilt and shamefulness for women even considering abortion.
It isn’t educating. It isn’t the same as saying “can I tell you about where your baby is developmentally? Can I show you what your baby looks like right now? Did you know your baby already has a heartbeat?(Which happens at 16 days- way before most women even find out they’re pregnant.)”
It also isn’t an offer of support or encouragement. I think so often people who are pro life really only come across as pro life for pre-born babies. I think we have to be pro all life. That means supporting the mother during and after her pregnancy, whether or not she decides to give her baby up for adoption or keep it.
It means reaching out and offering to drive her to appointments because there may be no one else to take her. It means helping her figure out medical insurance, and prenatal vitamins, and signing up for WIC to make sure she’s getting the nutrients she needs even before the baby is born. It even means dropping off groceries or home cooked meals for her because cooking with morning sickness is basically impossible. It means helping her find maternity clothes (a lot of women can’t even afford these.) or helping her sign up and go to birthing classes. It means helping her write a birthing plan, and gather everything she needs for her hospital bag. It means not just speaking God’s truth on the value of life, but being the hands and feet of Jesus in a tangible way.
And for the church family, it’s means stepping up and adopting the babies of women who carry them to term knowing full well that they don’t have the means or desire to care for them themselves.
We cannot keep asking women to make impossibly hard choices without the promise of support. Going through with a pregnancy that you don’t want is incredibly brave. We need to be able to encourage that. To acknowledge how hard it is. To offer help to these women, instead of judgement.
Over 600,000 abortions occur yearly in the untitled states.
At the same time there are an estimated one to two million couples on adoption waitlists, praying desperately for the child that someone else cannot care for or doesn’t want. Only four percent of unwanted pregnancies ever get to adoption.
I don’t know how to bridge the gap between those two numbers, but I know that it is staggering, and it is heart breaking. We have to do better.
If you are currently experiencing an unwanted or unplanned pregnancy, please don’t hesitate to reach out. You are not alone in this. Your life, and the life of your child is so valuable.
I would love to be able to connect you with resources, counseling, and support however I can.
If this is a choice you have already made in the past, please know that nothing I have said here is intended as judgment, and that if you find yourself needing resources, counseling, or support, I’m more than happy to help you find that as well.