I haven’t updated my blog for a while and I’d rather I wasn’t updating it now if I’m honest but Gary and I have news that we feel we have to share so here I am – or here we are.
We’re here to share the news that, this week, we have experienced miscarriage for a second time. Last Sunday we got to experience the joy of finding out that I was pregnant for the third time, and the expectation that Charlotte could have a little sibling here in time for her second birthday.
Less than 36 hours later, we faced the realisation that this pregnancy was likely to end in a similar way to our first. And in the days that followed, that realisation became our reality.
In one sense it was no great surprise. Knowing what we know now – and didn’t know in 2017 – about my body when it comes to reproduction, we knew there was probably a significant chance that we could also lose this baby to miscarriage. It’s fair to say the speed with which it happened was a surprise but in one sense it’s a blessing that we hadn’t had longer to become too set on the idea of having this baby before it was taken away from us.
Initially, we weren’t going to share this news publicly. I think first and foremost we didn’t want it to turn into a pity party. As a couple, we don’t want the attention that comes from sharing it. If it had just been about us we’d have preferred to process and work through the experience privately rather than under perceived public scrutiny.
But, soon after pledging that we’d keep this miscarriage more private, the reality of that decision hit. We realised that to keep this miscarriage more private would be to keep this tiny baby more private, and we couldn’t do that.
When we lost Lentil back in 2017 we soon knew we needed to shout his name from the rooftops. Far removed from anything we’d have chosen for ourselves if left to our own devices, God led us down a path that has resulted in literally thousands of people knowing about the existence of our first much-loved baby. There’s no question that Charlotte, our second much-loved baby, exists as we have the pleasure and privilege of watching her grow every day and, so far as is possible in these strange times, sharing that experience with others.
To not tell the world about our third much-loved baby felt to us like we would be doing him or her a disservice, as if he or she was somehow less important to us or less loved. And he or she wasn’t and isn’t. This baby was loved the moment we knew I was pregnant – perhaps even when we only suspected. This baby is loved now and will always be loved, just as we love Lentil and Charlotte – differently but equally.
We know that both the babies we have lost are safe in God’s hands and we look forward to one day seeing them face to face when our walks on Earth are done. Until then, it’s important to us that the world knows they exist as much as it knows that Charlotte exists.
So, world, this blog post come to you today to introduce baby Pip. A baby whose existence can be evidenced only by two tiny lines on a little plastic stick. But a baby who, despite his or her oh-so-short life in my womb, had no less of an impact on our hearts and our lives than either of his or her siblings. Only a pipsqueak to some but the seed of an amazing, precious life to us – the life of our third precious child, truly and dearly loved.
Each of our children is and will remain truly and dearly loved.
It seems fitting to conclude with the same Bible with which I ended my first blog post, more than two and a half years ago, which came just after we announced the publication of For the Love of Lentil. “Many are the plans in a person’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.” Proverbs 19:21, NIV
Sarah Moore is the author of For the Love of Lentil, A journey of longing, loss and abundant grace, which tells the story of her experience of pregnancy and miscarriage. Copies of the book are available here.
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