Praise be to God, because I am going to barf all over the keyboard here in a second.

Really. Praise Him.

What started out as an iffy pregnancy with the touch-and-go symptoms of a threatened miscarriage has–for now–given way to a healthy 6 week old little beanie-sized baby with a good, strong heartbeat. We expect little Alvin Mad Dog to arrive in late September of this year.

2 weeks ago I experienced spotting and cramping like nothing I’ve ever felt. Scratch that–I’ve felt it before, 2 years ago when I had a miscarriage. I was examined at the emergency room and scheduled for a number of follow-up lab tests, ultrasounds, and doctor’s appointments.

The spotting and cramping continued on and off; even with all my self-pep-talk about celebrating good news, my physical symptoms made it difficult for me to completely embrace the possibility of keeping this baby for very long.

I prayed for peace. I prayed that I would be accepting of whatever happened. I prayed that it would happen quickly and as painlessly as possible. I prayed for my children, who would be absolutely broken-hearted after it all went down. I prayed…and I dared not ask God for anything impractical or impossible, not even when my husband told me “You know, it’s okay to pray for something you want.”

Cheyenne and I discussed this at length: When we pray, can we really pray for what we want? Doesn’t God have a master plan anyway? Does He really hear our prayers? Cheyenne said this: “Sometimes when I pray about my future, I’m all like ‘Dear God, please let…whatever is going to happen…happen? Because, um, your will is best?‘ And then I’m like, not into it, and then I feel bad.”

The girl is so dead onto my train of thought, it’s just creepy.

I cramped and cried my way through the weekend all the way to Monday’s sonogram appointment. I was bummed. I was in physical pain. I was not as hopeful as I wanted to be. As I lay in that awful bed with that awful nurse looking all around with her awful ultrasound machine, I squeezed Caleb’s hand and braced myself for the worst news.

“Okay, let’s see–” said the nurse.

And in that moment a prayer popped into my heart and I never prayed so fiercely or so quickly from the depths of my soul for anything ever. God, give me a heart beat. Just give me a heartbeat, please, Oh God, please please please.

“–here’s your heartbeat! Right there. See? It’s a good one,” the nurse continued. And honestly, everything after that I forgot.

And I continue to forget. But I do know this: that in that room on that day, I genuinely felt the power of prayer and the hand of God. We came to find out, at the exact time of my appointment, a group of our friends met and prayed for us. Chills? Goosebumps all around?

My backache is gone. My cramps are gone. My spotting–gone. Morning sickness is officially rearing its nasty, disgusting head, and I am more tired than ever. My baby has a heartbeat. Though we are not totally out of the woods, we are a thousand times more hopeful than we were this time last week. Can I be allowed to ask for miracles now? Mkay good. Because that is what I promise to do from this day on.


About Toni

Mom. Wife. Artist. I take care of the kids and pretend to clean sometimes. I can cook spagetti and I have never been arrested. View all posts by Toni

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