Molly (and Empty Arms Syndrome)

There are a lot of definitions of “Empty Arms Syndrome”. My definition is this:

Empty Arms Syndrome is the feeling you feel when instead of bringing home a healthy baby from the hospital, you’re bringing home a pamphlet about what to do if you’re struggling with miscarriages. Instead of getting up at night to nurse your baby, you’re awake at 3:00 a.m. because you haven’t fallen asleep yet due to hormones, stress, or fear of nightmares that replay those awful moments when you knew your baby was no longer alive. It’s cleaning your house and crying uncontrollably when you get to what should have been the nursery.

It is a physical ache in your arms to hold the child you wanted to rock, physical aches in your hands to stroke your healthy baby’s face, physical pain in the breasts that never nursed. It is a literal, stabbing pain that stabs through your heart until you almost can’t bear it any longer.

It is an actual syndrome that hurts in that ever-present emotional, and at times physical, way. It means your body misses your baby as much as you do.

I’m sure this is more of an issue for those who have delivered stillborn infants or carried longer, but there are times when my arms and heart hurt so much, I think the hand of God literately has to reach down and steady me. It isn’t because I want a baby more than anything…I think it’s because my body is a bit confused at what’s going on. Pregnant, not pregnant, pregnant, not pregnant. Still no infant to hold.

After the last loss, I just couldn’t do it any longer. Losing one child at a time is hard; now my arms were missing two. I needed someone to care for at 3:00 a.m., someone crying for me to hold them, someone to be fed, bathed, dressed. Someone tiny. I needed someone who needed me.

As my options were limited, I considered getting a dog. And because I didn’t want to do something I’d regret, I prayed about it. I called “the dog lady” and asked if any were available. “Around the first week in June.” She said. It was the end of March at the time, and I thought I was going to die waiting. I figured it was God keeping me from taking on more than I could handle. Puppies are a lot of work, after all, and I was so weak. Still, a puppy was often on my mind, and I would think how nice it would be to care for something.

Every pet’s name in my family has ended with a ‘y’. It’s sort of a tradition of ours. So as I’d dream about getting a puppy, I’d try to think of names. Cally? eh. Lacy? no. Buddy? please. (sarcasm here;) Nothing. Then one day, I was praying about my heavy heart again when I suddenly thought, “Molly”. Cute. Perfect. If only I had a dog to give that name too.

Whenever we’d want to name one of our babies, we’d pray about it, and I always felt God answered those prayers. The names we chose always had some special meaning behind them, and out of curiosity, I looked up Molly.

“Wished for child.”

It means “wished for child”, the child someone wishes for. I thought that was rather ironic. Then the dog lady called and said there was one puppy available now, the third week in April, and if I wanted her, I could come up that weekend to take a look. If I didn’t want her, I could look at the little ones that wouldn’t be ready until June.

And I thought, “God, you answered my prayers.”

We went to look at the pups, and the tiny ones were cute, but like typical puppies just scratched and whined for their mommy. The lady handed me a little black one and said, “This is the one that’s ready.” And she was beautiful. She didn’t whine or scratch. She just stared into my eyes. She kept looking, and then snuggled into the crook of my arms.

“Do you want to wait for a light colored one? Faith [my sister] already has a black one.” my husband asked. “No, I want this one.” I replied. So we drove home with an adorable, 1.8 pound, black, poofy Pomeranian puppy. “Everyone,” I told my family, “this is Molly.”

That is going to sound silly to a lot of people. Really? I prayed about getting a puppy, and even think God provided the right circumstances, and her name? Yes, I do. Because I believe God cares about my heavy heart, and He knew Molly could help with the healing process. He knows what Molly means to me. He knows that she is my wished for child.

No, she will not grow up and get married and give us grandchildren. She will never utter the words, “I love you, Mom and Dad.” She will never beg to watch cartoons, be able to listen to me read the Scriptures, or pray with us at night. She is not the same as having a son or a daughter.

But:

She does wake us up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom.

She has accidents we have to clean up, and we get to “potty train” her.

She depends on us for food, water, baths, everything. She feels safest in her little cubby in our bed, loves sleeping with us, and we get to tuck her in every night.

She knows we are her “people”, her family. She spends every day with me, and follows me around like she just can’t be without me. Wherever I am in the house, Molly is close by.

And while she’ll never be able to say those three special words, she says she loves me every time she snuggles with me at 3:00 a.m. because I can’t sleep, again. Or every time she wags her tail when Brian gets home, until I think her tail will fall off. Every time she plops down on my feet to take a nap, or beg to be pet. Every time she gives me doggy kisses, which is gross, yes, but she’s just trying to say “I love you so much.” And I think she says it rather well.

I still pray that God sees fit to allow us to have our very own children, but I am also so grateful that He gives us strength for today. Sometimes that comes as flowers from your sister, (thanks Bell<3) and sometimes it’s your dog plopping on your chest in the morning and giving you a look like, “Yeah, I’m just not ready to start the day yet either. I think I’ll just cuddle with you awhile.” Or when I cry and Molly crawls into my lap and starts licking my arms as if to say, “It’s okay; you’ll be okay.”

And someday, all His children will be okay. And the women whose arms ache for their little one(s) and whose heart hurts for their children, will finally feel that burden be lifted away.

In the meantime, stay in His Word, and enjoy what He has given you: those simple, “little” blessings of everyday.

Including (for me) lots of little Pomeranian kisses.

© Grace Baeten 2020