The next day at the doctor’s office did not go as I expected. Yes, I was bleeding, but the baby was fine. I had a low-lying placenta. I already had some restrictions on the pregnancy because of my history. Now, it appeared, bed rest was in order.
That would be interesting seeing that I was a SAHM with a 4 year old and a husband who had to work for a living. But we managed. There was preschool for a few hours several times a week. My son displayed maturity and understanding beyond his years as he dealt with Mommy having to stay in bed. My husband and that sweet boy bonded during this time in a way that was so wonderful to watch. From where I lay, they really seemed OK with it.
Me, well, as much as I love my bed, it was hard staying in it. I read. I cried. I prayed. I sang songs of healing in my head. But mostly I clung to the prophesy of a 4 year old boy who told me that God said it was OK that I have a baby. God said it was OK. It would be OK. Say it will be OK. Still, my faith was weak.