The Baby Who Almost Wasn't

I’ve spent the better part of the first trimester wondering if I would even make it to the second. And yet, here I am, rapidly growing belly and all. But to rejoice in the baby now means understanding all that this baby has endured up to this point. You see, it was just 8 weeks ago that we were certain that this baby was never going to make it outside of me alive. Here is the story of the baby who almost wasn’t. And how God surprises us even when all seems lost.


All was moving along normally until it wasn’t, and I found myself crying on the bathroom floor begging God to not let this pregnancy end in another miscarriage. All signs pointed to it ending. Even the on-call doctor confirmed my fears as I frantically searched for answers in the middle of the night. After listening to all my symptoms he said, “It sounds like a miscarriage.” “

“I know,” I told him. “I’ve had two already”. I just needed to hear him say it, to confirm our fears.

“Check with your clinic in the morning,” he said.

So we went to bed, expecting that the worst was just ahead of us. Nausea lingered, but I’ve had nausea with a miscarriage before, so I knew better than to trust the symptoms. Friends and family texted and prayed. They’ve mourned with us for our losses. We all knew what to expect. An early morning ultrasound would confirm that the baby was indeed gone, or at least we all thought it would.

As a dear friend came (with her own kids) to watch our boys she said, “I’m praying you see a heartbeat.”

“I’m glad you are,” I said. “I can’t even pray that prayer.” I know miscarriages. This all seemed so textbook. And yet, God hears the prayers of his people, even broken ones from a scared momma who doesn’t have the words to pray.

Daniel and I sat in the waiting room together. Silent. Alone. These rooms hold such conflicting emotions for us. We’ve experienced great joy in them and great sorrow. We’ve walked a painful road in these waiting rooms. We didn’t say a word as we waited for my name to be called.

And then the tech called us back. She was the same tech from our last miscarriage, only increasing my fears that this was only going to end badly. Here goes the inevitable, I thought. I mustered up the courage to get on the ultrasound table and wait for the terrible news, my heart cold and numb to the reality that I was losing another baby. I’ll have as many babies in heaven as I do on earth, I thought to myself. How do you live with that ache and longing? We waited and waited and then the tech looked at both of us.

“Do you want to see the heartbeat?” she said.

The heartbeat. This baby has a heartbeat.

And just like that, our baby was alive.


I’ve heard the heartbeat three times now. Each time is just as sweet as the last. I’m not naïve enough to think that the second trimester means the end of my fears, or the reality that this could all go wrong at some point. It could. I have a complicated and rocky relationship with pregnancy. But I’m thankful for the life that keeps growing, the heart that keeps beating, and even the nausea that keeps reminding me that the baby I thought was dead is indeed alive. And Lord willing, we will have this baby in our arms in July.