I remember the day I found out you were coming. I’m not proud of my initial reaction, but at the time, it was how I felt. I called a friend, who knew more about pregnancy tests than me, in a panic because part of me wanted it to be a false positive. I ran to the drugstore and bought a 2-pack of tests and then ran home and took another one. Positive again.
What was I going to do? I was 43 years old, and by the time you’d be born, I’d be 44.
Our youngest, my stepdaughter, will be 19 this year, and we had plans to travel and finally do the things we wanted to do.
How was I going to tell your father? I had been told on two separate occasions, 10 years apart, that I would not be able to conceive without fertility treatments. We had tried about seven years ago to have a baby, but that wasn’t what God had planned, and we didn’t want to go the fertility treatment route. Your dad and I had been together for almost nine years but only married for five months when I found out you were coming.
Our world was flipped in an instant.
Over the next few weeks, I moved around in a fog. I struggled with a ton of guilt. I felt guilty because I felt like it was my fault that I got pregnant. Rationally, I knew it took both of us, but the guilt still won out. I repeatedly apologized to your father, who by the way, took the news you were coming a lot better than I did. I felt guilty because I wasn’t jumping up and down for joy, picking out baby names, designing a nursery, and doing all those things I imagined a woman who has been trying to get pregnant for years does.
I felt guilty because I kept thinking about all of the plans your dad and I had and how I ruined them by getting pregnant (again, not rational, but at the time that wasn’t my state of mind). I felt guilty because I knew there were so many women who would kill to be in my shoes, and I was being so ungrateful.
Then I cried. I cried because you weren’t even born yet, and I was already a terrible mother for having all these thoughts. I’m not sure how your dad and your sister put up with me, but they did.
Amidst all these thoughts and feelings, I prayed.
I prayed for God to keep you healthy and safe and to give me time to adjust to what would become my new normal. I prayed for forgiveness for not appreciating the beautiful gift of life God had given us and for being so selfish. I prayed for God to remind me of Sarah, and if she could be a mother at 90, then I could do it at 44. I prayed to God to let Him know that I knew He had a plan and I just needed time for the shock to wear off.
I just prayed.
It’s been two months since we found out you were coming, and we are excited to meet you. I still don’t want to pick out nursery items or clothes yet because I feel like it’s too early, but I want you to know the shock has started to wear off, and I love you. Despite the chronic, debilitating migraines, the morning sickness, and the fatigue, I love you, and we will weather it all together until you get here. Your dad and sister are just as excited to meet you.
I got to see you at our first ultrasound, and you are so beautiful. Your little heart was just beating away and even though I couldn’t hear it, I could see it. You were moving your little arms and waving them around, and the only regret I had at that moment was that your dad and sister couldn’t be there to see you.
Always, always, always remember you are a beautiful, wonderful, unexpected, undeserved gift from God, and you are more cherished and loved than you will ever know.
You are a miracle, and when you think about how I felt when I found out about you, that’s what I want you to know. I want you to know you are a miracle and God has special plans for you.
Now, we patiently wait and pray for your safe and healthy arrival. Thankfully, God is omniscient, and He knew before we did, how much we need you.