So as March rolls in, I realize that my due date is approaching.
Unfortunately, a due date that now means jack shit.
The friends who found out they were pregnant the same time I did are blissfully rounded, have their babies correctly gendered and even named, and are counting down the days until they hold their miracles to their breast and inhale that sweet baby smell.
If we had gotten pregnant when we started trying, we would have a 3 month old child now. If we hadn’t miscarried, I would be 8 months pregnant.
I was due in April. I was fully prepared to feel sorry for myself. To allow myself a bout of depression and perhaps even a frank discussion with God. I was preparing to mourn the baby we didn’t get to deliver on April 12th.
And then I realized…
I realized that April 12th is Easter Sunday.
Yes! A day to shed your mourning and find hope.
A day to give glory to God!
What a sign this must be!
God gave His Son and then raised Him from the dead for me. He loves me and wants me to be happy. He treasures our unborn child in heaven. And He will bless us with beautiful, healthy babies, I know this in my heart.
Easter is coming… and I too, will be reborn!