These last weeks are definitely the hardest. I’m ready for you to come because I’m ready to see your face, breathe in your scent, and kiss your tiny fingers and toes. I’m not ready for you to come because I still have so much I want to get done on the house before you come. I’m ready for you to come because I hurt all over, from squeaky knees to numb right fingers to carpal tunnel in my left wrist to a stabbing pain in my sciatic nerve anytime I’m up walking for more than 15 minutes. I’m not ready for you to come because your dad is scrambling to get several things ready at work first. I’m a pendulum, sweetheart. Good luck dealing with your crazy mama for the rest of your life!
Little One, you need to know that all the discomfort and pain of carrying you and bringing you into this world is worth it. You are the child we didn’t think we could have- metformin failed, Clomid failed, and intrauterine insemination failed. We were pretty much told the only option left was in-vitro fertilization with cytoplasmic sperm injection. You have no idea the odds and the costs. One try was one-third of a typical private infant adoption, with really low odds in favor of it working and really high odds of it working and the child having all kinds of genetic problems. We chose to wait, and spent a year grieving, for lack of a better explanation. A week before we found out about you, we’d even done a budget and made goals towards making foster parenting and adoption a financial feasibility. Seriously.
Finding out about you felt like a cruel joke at first. The first pregnancy test- it had to be wrong, after having done at least 50 in the previous 4 years and change- all negative. I was so stunned, I called to your dad to come and look at it, and dissolved in tears. We agreed that we’d test again in the morning before we said or did anything else. It was positive, too… and that’s when we got really excited. We had NO idea that you were on the way, or when you’d been conceived, since my cycles are so screwy and it’d been a long time since the last one. We called the doctor’s office the next day, MLK Day, to see if we could get an appointment, and Dr. S graciously squeezed us in. The blood tests came back saying that you were there, but my progesterone levels were a low. I had to take progesterone supplements for 2 months, as a precaution against losing you. Those weren’t painful, but they were a pain to deal with. You grew stronger every day, defying odds and rewarding faith- not just ours, but that of those around us.
You’re nearly here. I hurt all over with the swelling and the unbearable heat (of course you and God worked out a deal for you to come during one of the hottest summers on record), but you’re nearly here. I have no reason to complain, because despite my discomforts, you are healthy and you’re full-term. Your dad and I are so incredibly blessed.
We look forward to loving on you and letting your furballs love on you. You are a miracle, my child. Not that every baby isn’t, but you are our very own personal connection with a very loving God, who heard our hearts’ cries.