For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to be a mother. Doesn’t every little girl put a pillowcase on her head and dream of the wedding… then stroll their baby dolls around and think about the perfect life? I always assumed I would marry young, go to grad school, teach elementary art and have a house full of children. All before I was thirty. That isn’t exactly how things turned out.
I did meet my soul-mate pretty early in life; I was seventeen and he was captain of the football team. Pretty cliché, right? I knew not long after that that we would spend our lives together, and we have. We married the summer after I graduated college because he didn’t want to wait the one more year it would take for grad school. I always planned to go back, but never did. Although my plans took a very different direction, I am so happy with my career and have never looked back. He graduated college the next year and we began our happy little lives together.
I remember when we decided to start a family. It was just before our second wedding anniversary and I couldn’t believe we were actually going to do it. We still seemed like babies to me. We spent all of our money on fun things, lived in a tiny rental house, adored our puppy like she was our child and ate fudge pops for dinner if we wanted. It was hard to picture bringing a baby home.
I foolishly thought I’d stop taking my birth control pills in June and be pregnant by our anniversary in August. I kept telling myself what a wonderful gift that would be. Our anniversary came and went and there was no positive pregnancy test. In the fall, we found out our rental house was for sale, but decided not to buy it. I dreamed of finding a cute little cottage to bring our new baby home to and in January of the next year we bought the Rock House. It was covered in floral wallpaper, seventies era radiators and had thousands of irises planted all around its borders. It had three big bedrooms, two of which would remain empty for almost two more years.
After eighteen months of begging, bargaining and praying for a baby, I finally saw those two pink lines. It was a Tuesday morning and SD was working out of town with my dad. I called my doctor who had been so kind to us over the last year and a half. Not only did they work me in that morning, but they insisted that a lab company pick up my blood work and return it the same day. They knew how anxious we were and didn’t want us to wait any longer than we had to. Late that afternoon as I was driving over the railroad bridge near our elementary school, I answered the phone to the word “Congratulations” and cried the two miles home. Josh wouldn’t be home for three more days and I held that secret in my hands like something so fragile. I was the only person in my world who knew and it was wonderful.
Nine months passed like molasses and we couldn’t wait to meet our little girl. I think we felt like we’d endured a 27 month pregnancy; like we had waited longer than any other parents to hold our child. After 41 weeks of pregnancy and ten hours of labor, we were rolled into an operating room, so anxious to meet her. She was born on Monday, September 11th at 6:03 in the evening; the day after Suri Cruise appeared on the cover of Vanity Fair and the day before the new John Mayer CD came out. I cried when I saw her and my doctor said she had the prettiest lips she’d ever seen. I wouldn’t hold her for more than three hours and when I finally did, I was selfish and wouldn’t share. She was the most beautiful child I had ever seen.
“For this child I prayed, and He has granted my request.” 1 Samuel 1:27
After a brief NICU stay, seven long days in the hospital and a cardiology scare, we came home to begin life as parents. We cherished every moment at home with her. I held her a little longer, hugged her a little tighter and loved her a little more… knowing how hard we worked for her, how long we had waited.
Naïveté reared its ugly head again when shortly after Ella’s first birthday, we lost our first baby. We weren’t trying to have another, not really ready, but loss is a hard thing to swallow even still. I was depressed for months, trying hard to love the baby I already had while missing the one I would never know. We decided after a few hard months that we would try again and found out in early May we were expecting again. We told our family and friends on Mother’s Day, Ella proudly wore a “Big Sister” shirt and we were excited about our Christmas baby. We went to the doctor, expecting to see our growing baby for the first time and all we saw was negative space. We heard no heartbeat and made no exciting telephone calls. We went home tired and bitter again.
This time we waited almost a year before dreaming of babies again. I couldn’t fathom another loss and even questioned whether I could do it all again. We decided last spring to pray for another child and we were expecting Sophie by July. There was no fanfare when I saw the pink lines this time; only dread. We didn’t get excited, we didn’t even talk about it much. I tried not to be giddy when the sickness came and then exhaustion, I tried to pretend it wasn’t real. The first time I saw her heartbeat on the screen, I thought my own heart would leap from my chest. I think we smiled at each other, but it was hard to be positive with so much time to wait. I said to my doctor, it will feel real when we reached the end of the first trimester. She let me see her via ultrasound every other week until I reached that milestone, but I still felt like she was a figment of my imagination. I said to myself, it will feel real when I feel her moving in my belly. I wasn’t confident. I said to my best friend, it will feel real when I see her again at twenty weeks, when we know she is whole and healthy and she has a name. I was still nervous. I said to Josh , it will feel real when she reaches the age of viability and I know she can survive on her own. I still didn’t believe I would ever hold her. I know there are women in this world who have had it worse than me. Women who waited longer. Those who are still waiting. It is hard to explain the emptiness in your arms as you dream of motherhood, even while you have a beautiful child sleeping next to you.
On the morning of Wednesday, April 14th, I woke up giddy. I had a perfect plan for my day, I was going to meet our daughter and to introduce her to the first little girl who changed my world. Planning a delivery is a strange thing. I took a shower and did my makeup. I changed the sheets and started the dishwasher. We said goodbye to our dog and went to the bank. We arrived at the hospital in the dark and for the first time this pregnancy, didn’t fight for a parking space. We walked through dark halls and were the first parents to arrive for the day. I went to the bathroom, changed into a hospital gown and got an IV. I wrote a really big check to the hospital and showed off a picture of Ella to anyone who would look. I babbled nervously and tried to make jokes with my husband. I talked to my mom on the phone and then my daughter. My doctor came to see me before surgery and just seeing her made me cry. I was wheeled into the operating room at 7 o’clock in the morning. Surgery began fifteen minutes later and Josh was behind me, holding on to me by twenty after. We met Sophie at 7:24 in the morning on her great-grandfather’s birthday. She was purple and didn’t cry, but I did. She had lots of hair and looked just like her big sister, although that would be disputed later. Again, I knew my world had changed.
“Every good and perfect gift comes from the Father above.” James 1:17
Life with two is hard. I don’t have an extra hand. I hardly ever each lunch before 1:30 and a shower before dark is hard to come by. I’m tired and overweight and my chest is huge. Ella is easily frustrated with me; she doesn’t understand why she can’t hold the baby tight or squeal during nap time. It takes me two hours to get us ready and in the car, but we’re hardly ever gone more than an hour at a time. My incision still hurts and I still don’t feel well. But, you know what? I have never been happier than I am on this Mother’s Day. I have two beautiful little girls who fill my life to the brim. A day doesn’t pass by that I don’t remember how lucky I am, that I don’t thank God for the gift of motherhood. I hope we get to do it all over again one day. I hope that it gets easier to wait each time, but I’m guessing it doesn’t. Despite the fact that my life plan was altered, I am reminded that God’s plan is always perfect. His timing is so much better than mine. If things had gone my way, I wouldn’t be having silly conversations with Ella Dean. I wouldn’t be marveling at the long toes on Sophie Kae’s feet. I would have different babies, live in a different house, have a different job and a different life. I have been blessed beyond measure and that’s why every day is my day.
photo courtesy of my sweet sister, Kamin
