Noah’s car pulled in the driveway as the pregnancy test in my hand read “Pregnant”.
I stared. Trying to read and re-read the word over and over again.
I moved from the bathroom to the bedroom and sat on the edge of our bed as he walked in the door.
All those futuristic plans of how this would happen one day and I would surprise him in some extravagant way immediately left. My voice shook as he walked through the door. “H-hey”.
“Hey there!” he exclaimed.
I held the test up towards him and he reached for it.
One glance and an immediate smile grew across his face. “ARE YOU SERIOUS?”
I guffawed. “Yes.”
“ARE YOU SERIOUS?! How are you!?”
“I’m FREAKING OUT” and then I immediately burst into tears, apologizing about how we should’ve been more careful and it’s my fault and we have to move and our car just broke down. All the unknowns and what if’s flooded the room with that one word.
I wasn’t ready. We weren’t ready.
It had been this big joke every month “Ha… what if I’m pregnant.” Never seeming like a reality and like we had all the time in the world.
Yet our 7 month anniversary came the following week and I realized so much of me never thought I’d get married and pregnant in the same year.
The fear that followed came in waves. Practicals like jobs and daycare and a new apartment and a car still ebb and flow over me as I rub my 13.5 week belly.
In 5 weeks, this baby will have an official name.
And while I am no where near full term, there is something else that followed immediately behind the fear; shame.
Shame that I would ever feel fearful.
Shame that I would ever not want to be pregnant.
Shame that all I could (and often can) think about is my dreams dying.
And most prominently… shame that we didn’t “earn” this baby.
Over the past few years, I’ve watched friend after friend struggle with infertility. I’ve interceded for God to please give certain couples a child; to make a way in the desert.
This year alone, I’ve had four close friends be told that getting pregnant would be extremely difficult, near impossible, for them.
This year alone, I’ve had three friends endure heartbreaking miscarriages.
Couples who fervently want children. Who are praying and interceding and pleading with the Lord to give them one. Just one.
And here we are.
Pregnant without trying.
And it just doesn’t seem fair.
Where was the battle for this baby? Why didn’t we have to endure the years of prayer and struggle? Why us??
I went to war for my husband.
My husband – this huge, ginormous promise from the Lord – I battled hard for him.
I fought in the unseen. I labored and groaned and warred for this man; for a marriage. I fasted and carried the promise and let it die and watched it resurrected and believed in the unseen and I freaking warred for him.
And then there’s this baby.
This unearned baby that I put no intercession into.
That I haven’t fought for in this life yet.
And it doesn’t seem fair that so many of my friends are in the midst of their own battles; warring and waging without a breakthrough yet.
I have never felt so undeserving of something so big in my entire life. The weight of it alone is overwhelming. This life. This precious life growing and developing inside of me that we have done nothing to deserve.