This post has been brewing in my heart for several months now.  I haven't spit it out before because it hurts to put these words into writing and because several of my friends who struggle with infertility read my blog, and I have not wanted to cause them additional pain.  (I love you guys!)  But it is time for me to be honest.

Between the birth of my four-year-old Mercy and now, I have had four miscarriages.  (I truly appreciate your sympathetic hearts, but that is not the reason for this post.)  I don't know that I have publicly shared that information before.  In fact, I know that I have not shared that information.  Only my parents, a few close girl-friends, and a sister or two know about my missing babies.  This is not because I am ashamed or embarrassed, but because in spite of my outgoing, silly personality I tend to keep personal things private.  The truth is, I'm not even now quite sure why I am posting this for you all to read, except that I've been having a nudging that sharing is needed.

Credit to: MCCL Blog (http://prolifemn.blogspot.com)

My friends and former roommates, Alicia, Rachel, and I had discussed several times the importance of being real and up-front about our struggles as people and as women because so often we see from the outside a person's smiling face and joyful words and fulfilling actions and we never realize how much pain is underneath, how necessary our prayers for each other are, how important our friendship and support is to someone else who feels like she must be drowning.  But putting that pain and struggle out there for others to see?  Well, that can be very, VERY hard to do.

Jeremy and I had hoped for a largish family since the time we were dating.  I have eight brothers and sisters, and Jeremy has five sisters so we had some knowledge of what we were talking about.  I had a miscarriage before our six-year-old Liberty was born, but I was so young and it happened so early in the pregnancy that I didn't realize until it happened that I must have been pregnant.  Then Liberty and Mercy came along, and we assumed more would follow.  Well, more did follow, but they didn't make it full-term.  Each miscarriage got harder and harder emotionally, and a few of them were very difficult for me physically as well.  I struggled through so many different emotions that I couldn't possibly identify them all for you, but the main ones seemed to be alternating between anger at God and peaceful resignation of the situation.  You see, I already have two wonderful children, and how could I possibly ask for more than that?  I mentioned earlier my friends who so badly want even one child, and I felt selfish and horrible for desiring three or even four of my own.

In addition to that inner selfishness discussion I was having, I also wanted very badly to surrender to whatever God had planned for my life, and I didn't want to hurt so painfully over my babies and my unfulfilled hopes.  I finally decided enough was enough.  I would stop wanting more children.  I would stop trying to have more children.  I would be completely happy with the two I already had (that part wasn't hard -- Liberty and Mercy really are incredible kids.)  Jeremy, who was struggling through some powerful emotions of his own over these miscarriages, was in complete agreement about not trying for any more.  He wanted more very badly, but he was afraid that somehow he was at fault for the miscarriages (which is funny, because that's exactly how I had been thinking about myself), and he hated watching my pain and not being able to fix it.  Together, we decided:  no more babies for us.

It took me a while to adjust to this new line of thinking, but eventually, I made peace with the thought.  I was starting a whole new life.  My daughters were in school.  I had entire days all to myself.  I could do anything I wanted!  I started working part-time in Human Resources, an area I am passionate about, and I loved every second of it.  I started planning out what the next few years of my life might look like.  It was glorious!

After a while, all that baby stuff in our basement storage area began grating on my nerves.  Why take up space with so many things that we will never use?  A little bitterness reminded me, "So many things that you will never be ABLE to use."  That's it!  I decided.  I'm selling it all.  And so I did.  I put every baby thing we owned into a garage sale, and almost everything sold.  We were left with a crib, a potty chair, two car seats (infant and toddler), and a baby seat for the dining room table.  That's it.  And I was mad that those didn't sell.  What in the world am I going to do with them?

Two months later, I found out I was pregnant.

To Be Continued...