A Gender Reveal We Never Got to Have
Gender reveals have become one of the newest celebrations, in addition to baby showers, to honor the birth of a baby. They’re just another way to gather family and friends, share in the joy of pregnancy, and—let’s be honest—receive diapers, wipes, and other helpful gifts before the actual baby shower. By the time a gender reveal happens, a pregnant woman is usually close to halfway through her pregnancy, if not already past that point.
“For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.” — Ecclesiastes 3:1
I was in the middle of planning our gender reveal. Initially, it was supposed to take place in Atlanta, but we later decided on Dallas instead. Looking back now, that decision alone led to an argument between my husband and me. That memory still eats me up inside, because at the time, we had no idea that we would lose our son before we ever got the chance to have a gender reveal at all.
My husband and I had already chosen our theme—everything was planned. It was an “Under the Sea” theme.
“Under the sea, he or she, come sea what Baby Goodwin will be.”
I had already purchased all of our supplies: the centerpieces, the cake, and the sweets—completely unaware that we would never even get the opportunity to celebrate this moment publicly. Our gender reveal was scheduled for November 18, 2017. It never took place.
Many are the plans in a person’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.” — Proverbs 19:21
At our anatomy scan on November 7, 2017, the doctor handed us an envelope with our baby’s gender sealed inside. It was top secret. That same day was also when we found out that my cervix was short. I remember having to call and text everyone, telling them that we had to cancel our baby’s gender reveal. I explained that I had been placed on bed rest per my doctor’s orders. What no one knew—what we didn’t fully understand ourselves yet—was just how serious everything truly was.
If you haven’t read my first post, I shared my entire experience of losing my son. After discovering my short cervix, I had a cerclage placed. Only three days later, the cerclage had to be removed due to premature rupture of membranes (PROM). That same night, after the stitch was taken out, I had to give birth to my son because I had already dilated to 2 cm. My amniotic sac was bulging out of me.
Our gender reveal ended up being nothing like we ever imagined.
We held onto hope and faith, believing our baby would survive this storm and that I would somehow go full term. Because of that hope, we never opened the envelope with our baby’s gender inside. Unfortunately, we lost him. Before I took the medicine to induce labor, my husband and I took time to reveal our baby’s gender together—just the two of us. I handed him the envelope and let him do the honors. It was one of the most sacred moments we have ever shared.
He opened the envelope and immediately began to tear up. The moment I saw his face, I knew—we were having a boy. He turned the paper toward me, and it read, “IT’S A BOY!” We both started crying instantly. We had already felt it in our hearts. I had a mother’s instinct that told me who my baby was before I ever knew for sure.
Our gender reveal was deeply emotional. We never imagined finding out our baby’s gender just moments before having to give birth to him. This was never part of our plan—losing a baby was never something we could have imagined. Still, I know that this was all part of God’s plan for us. God works in mysterious ways, and while I don’t understand why this happened, I believe that one day I will have answers. Not knowing why still boggles my mind. I know we’re told not to question God, but it’s all I can think about sometimes—and I believe it’s okay to feel that way. It’s natural to have questions after experiencing such a profound loss.
If you are reading this and have lost a baby due to Premature Rupture of Membranes (PROM) or Incompetent Cervix (IC), please know that you are not alone. There are many women who have walked this road—not just once, but sometimes multiple times. I am truly sorry for your loss and for the pain you’ve had to endure. I pray even harder for those who have had to experience this kind of loss alone. It is okay to cry. It is okay to be angry. It is okay to let it all out. Just don’t beat yourself up. Pray and ask God for the strength to heal.
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” — Matthew 5:4
With love,
Morgan Goodwin
