Heartbeats and Miracles

These are some pictures of a quilt I started six or more years ago. It wasn’t one of those baby-hungry, jumping-the-gun kinds of things. A friend and I threw a baby shower for another friend and we had a quilt set up for people to work on at the shower. We used this fabric. I really liked it and found out that they were maybe going to discontinue this particular pattern, so I decided to just get it then and save it for whenever. Sometime that year I had a really bad cold, so I had a lot of sitting around time and made the quilt, but I never finished the edges. I put it in a box and meant to finish it soon.

Probably a year after that, we moved to a two-bedroom apartment, hoping that we would get to use that second bedroom as a nursery. I found the quilt again but promised myself I wouldn’t finish it until I was actually pregnant—I didn’t want to get ahead of myself, which is such an easy thing to do when planning a future. Occasionally, over the next several years,  I would come across this quilt, look at it and be sad for a while that we still didn’t have a baby, then fold it up and put it back in its box, still unfinished. Some of you are more aware than others of the difficulties we faced during those years. Infertility is such a sensitive issue and not one that people are generally open about. Brady and I kept this pretty quiet—for a long time probably quieter than we should have. We worked with all kinds of doctors trying to get my health more stable and trying to figure out why I wasn’t able to get pregnant. We went through various fertility medicines, tests, and procedures. The doctors couldn't explain why none of the procedures would work for us. By last summer, we were completely worn out with the whole thing. After a lot of prayer and struggle, we decided to be done with all the treatments. We felt that we would be parents someday, but how and when really wasn’t up to us.

Well, all of that is quite a bit of exposition just to say that I finally get to finish my quilt. Early in March we were caught completely off guard by a positive pregnancy test. We were so reluctant to believe our eyes at first (I dreaded even taking the test—we’d had so many disappointments).  Again, we’ve kept this pretty quiet, just so cautiously excited. This morning we got to hear the heartbeat, though, and it is becoming more and more apparent that the “someday” we felt assured of before is finally here.

This struggle with infertility has been one of the most challenging experiences of our marriage and we are grateful to be to this point. Sometimes people say they are grateful for their trials because they become stronger. I’m not sure I’m to the point where I can say I’m grateful to have struggled with this, that I’d have it the same again if I had the choice. I think if Brady and I had our choice we would have had a whole mess of kids by our eighth wedding anniversary instead of just barely expecting our first. But I can say that I am grateful to be where I am and for the things that have gotten me here. We have had a good life so far. I got to do things that I didn’t think I’d get to do until my children were older (go back to grad school, be “Professor Wiggins,” etc). Brady and I have gotten to work in the temple for over a year now, which has strengthened us tremendously. We have learned and grown a lot and have truly felt guided throughout this process, as difficult as it has been. So while I wouldn’t choose to do it again, I am grateful that we are where we are and to be a part of this miracle.

I realize this is much more of a sentimental post than we usually have on here, so I will end with practical stats now: 13 weeks, beginning second trimester, not really much in the way of morning sickness (strangely, lots of sneezing), due November 9th (ish since they seem to always change the due date anyway). So that means everyone will have to come to Knoxville to meet Baby Stinklebert (what Brady has dubbed the fetus—I’m open to other placeholder names, though).