This past year has shown me how strong I am. And how weak. How flexible I am. And how unyielding. How carefree I am. And how anxious. Continue reading
As we counted down the days until we became a family of four, I sat reflecting on this pregnancy and everything that had gone in to it.
This entire year seems like a whirlwind; Brett left a job to run his own agency full-time; five minutes later we discovered I was pregnant! Throw in a major house renovation and a toddler and it all adds up to a chaotic, messy nine months.
It’s been a (mostly) beautiful mess. During the last nine months I’ve watched my husband grow and support a business; something he’s wanted to do for a long time. I’ve watched my son grow and thrive in ways that catch me off guard and take my breath away. I’ve watched the relationship between him and his dad evolve, strengthen and deepen. It’s such a beautiful thing and I’m eternally grateful to witness it.
I’m forever grateful for the opportunity, because there were times when I thought I’d never get to see it.
We have been pretty open about our journey toward starting a family and the struggle we endured. Henry is our miracle; fearfully and wonderfully made. It took a long time and a lot of tears to get him here. What most people don’t know is that the journey to get his brother here has been equally as difficult.
After Henry was born, we knew pretty quickly we wanted to grow our family. And since we didn’t know if we would experience the same challenges, we started trying as soon as we could. And we gave it time, and no expectations. And were met with the same challenges. Month after month. It was hard to walk through the battle of infertility a second time.
But then, last July, after nearly a year of struggle, I had a positive pregnancy test! We were elated. We did the calculations and discovered that we’d be having a St. Patrick’s Day baby – how fun!
But, the pregnancy didn’t stick. I was home by myself with Henry. I called Brett at work, sobbing. I could barely get out a sentence. “I need you to come home.” I choked out. And he did. And we sat together and cried at our loss. Wondered if our house would be full of kids like we had imagined. I felt guilty for my sadness since we have Henry and he’s perfect.
It took nearly another half of a year, but eventually I received another positive test! I was ecstatic. And terrified. And anxious. I told Brett and we cried happy tears and worried together; every day. Until we heard his heart beat. It was beautiful and perfect. We cried more happy tears. We worried some more. Until the fetal scan that showed us how strong our son was growing. We cried more happy tears.
When March arrived, I told Brett “I think the timing of this pregnancy is not an accident. I think the universe knew that March was going to be a hard month for us, so while we fight through the grief of not holding a baby like we expected back in July, we have a new joy in this pregnancy to help us through that.”
And now, nearly two and a half years after Henry made us parents, we are finally a family of four!
I am so looking forward to watching Brett and Henry grow closer, and I’m equally excited to watch him bond with our new son. I can’t wait to see Henry as a big brother; I think he’s going to be amazing.
I sit in awe at the absolute miracle that life is. And while my path to creating it has been anything but smooth, I am so grateful for the opportunity and blessing. I hope I teach and show my sons that they are precious and loved. And I hope they understand that if I seem like I over-worry about them it’s because I made them from scratch and they are the best things I’ve ever created.
You’ll never remember the two and a half years you spent as an only child.
You’ll never remember life before your little brother; before you were promoted and given the title Big Brother.
You’ll never remember a time you didn’t have an upstairs bedroom and that your brother’s room was once yours.
You’ll never remember that two days before your brother was born I made us take this picture.
That this is the last picture we have of you as an only child; our last picture as a family of three.
You’ll never remember that I hugged you extra hard as you left for school the Friday before you became a big brother. That I sobbed as you walked out our front door saying “bye, Mommy.” for the last time as an only child.
You’ll never remember that you went to bed on a Saturday night as our only baby and that when you woke up on Sunday we weren’t there because your brother was being born.
But I will.
I’ll remember all of those things. I’ll remember the two and a half years where my time and energy weren’t divided; where my sole focus was you and your every need.
But, I’ll also remember the look on your face when you came to visit us at the hospital to meet your baby brother. How you beamed the best, most proud smile I’ve ever seen. How you immediately knew to be soft and gentle with your brother.
I’ll remember your sweet voice saying “hello” and “I love you.” And how you gave soft kisses on his head.
I’ll remember that you were very concerned about all the people looking at your brother and you instructed the nurse “don’t hurt my baby brudder.”
I’ll remember how excited you were when we came home with your brother and how you just wanted to sit next to him and hold his hand.
You’ll never remember any of that. But I will.
And I’ll get to witness every single day of you as a big brother.
“Nobody was sleeping well and everyone was miserable.
It all came to a spectacular finale yesterday. I spent the entire day in my sleep deprived, anxiety-raddled funk.” Continue reading
Fortunately, I was able to notice the signs in front of me telling me to slow down, readjust my attitude, my attention, my focus. Take a deep breath. Step out of my little mess and focus on how big I’m blessed. Continue reading
“This year… I got to celebrate my husband. I got to watch him hold his son, and play with him. I got to buy cards for him; one from me and one from our son. And I got to make cute little baby crafts that he now has displayed in his office.” Continue reading
You are officially 48 hours old. So I guess, technically, it’s not your birthday anymore.
We are lying in bed at the hospital, in the middle of the night, and I am just staring at you through the dim light I have in the room.
Becoming your mom created a piece of my heart I didn’t even realize I was missing; so thank you for that.
I guess in a way today is my “birth”day, too. It’s the day I gave birth to my new role in life…Mom. I like the sound of that.
I like the way you fit in my arms so naturally and so perfect – like you have always been meant to fit there; like you’re the missing part of a puzzle piece.
I like your soft little whimpers and the way you nuzzle your head against my chest. And I like the way your tiny hand wraps around my finger and holds on as tightly as possible. Like you’re holding on for dear life and asking me to never let go.
The last thing I wrote before you were born was about things I hoped to teach you. This time, I’m telling you don’t worry; I’m not letting go.
I’ll give you space and freedom to explore and fail, but I’ll always be here. To help you back up. To help you find the lesson. To show you how to keep going.
That’s my birthday present to you. Never letting go.