I always wanted a baby.
I got married young, when I was twenty.
My husband said he was not ready for children. Meanwhile, my friends were busy
reproducing. Sometimes I ached when I
went to baby showers to share someone else’s joy.
Finally, after five long years, I was pregnant.
I was utterly thankful to God and to my husband. In my third month, I started to bleed. The doctor told me, “If it stops today or
tomorrow, the baby’s probably fine.” That night, the bleeding stopped. Everything was okay.
I went for my fifth month check-up and the doctor said,
“Something is wrong.” Either I was only
three months pregnant, or the baby had died inside of me, because my uterus was
only big enough to accommodate a three month fetus.
They sent me for an ultrasound. Ultrasounds were rare in the ‘70’s. The technician’s words were, “The baby has no
heartbeat. It’s not alive.”
A couple of days later, I went to the hospital to have my
womb cleaned out. Back in the maternity
ward after the procedure, I lay there recovering next to a sixteen year old who
was eight months pregnant and in danger of losing her baby. A
nurse came in with a baby in her arms.
“I’m looking for yours.
What’s your name?”
“My baby died,” I replied coldly.
“Don’t worry.
You’ll have a baby soon,” she tried to be reassuring.
Back at home, I continued to bleed. My womb was trying to finish delivering what
remained.
Two months later, I discovered I was pregnant again. This pregnancy was healthy. To be safe, I went in for an ultrasound at
eight months. As I laid on the table
with my greased belly, the technicians said, “We’re looking for two, right?”
“What?”
“Well, we found two fannies, so we’re looking for two
heads.”
On March 4, 1977, after twenty-four hours of labor and a
C-section, my sons were born. Brent
Carter was 9lb. 4oz. and 22 inches long.
Bryan Scott was 5lb. 15oz. and 20 inches long.
Bryan and Brent, age 28 months
God is faithful.
God heard my cries. Prayers are
not always answered the way you want them to be. I was elated to have two babies, and I never
stopped wanting my first baby. My prayer
both times was, “Lord, save the baby.”
The first time, the baby died; the second time, they lived. You walk with God no matter what.
Waiting for something you want so badly is incredibly
hard. God’s the author of my life. He knows, He cares, He’s there for me.
My Mom with Brent and Bryan, 1978
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