Happy Birthday, #BabySuddreth

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.

You’re beautiful and perfect and I am so in love with you.

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.

A Letter to My Unborn Son

Dear Son,

I’ve been awake for the last three hours. That happens a lot these days; being awake. But, I’m not really complaining. I’m tired and uncomfortable, but that’s okay.

It’s okay because I know that all of the sleepless nights and backaches (and swollen feet) are going to be worth it.

Currently, I’m laying in bed feeling you move around. It’s such an amazing feeling; odd, but amazing. I’ve been in awe of you since I found out you existed. Since I learned that your father and I created a miracle from scratch. You are such a blessing and an answered prayer. And in 12 days, you’ll be here and I’ll get to meet you face to face.

I wanted to take a moment to let you know how loved you are. How happy I was when I found out you were coming. How overjoyed your dad was when I got to tell him our family was growing. How your grandparents screamed with joy when they learned they were getting a(nother) grandchild. How excited all of your cousins are for a new cousin to play with. And how happy all of our friends were when we told them that you were coming. You are so loved, Son.

I want to tell you those things, because I know that sometimes, the days will be really long and we’ll call those “bad days.” There will be days where we just won’t know how to communicate with each other, and we’ll both cry; probably a lot. I know that when we take you home from the hospital they don’t send us with an instruction book on what to do with a new person. And that means we’ll just have to make things up as we go.

Which means I’ll have to be very patient, something I struggle with right now. But please know that I am trying. But, I’m going to fail. Probably everyday. But, I’ll try again and again and again to make you happy. To make sure you’re healthy. To ensure that you have everything you need, and some of the things you want.

Your Dad is going to teach you how to do things; things like take care of the yard, and how to fish. He’s going to teach you the meaning of hard work and why it’s important. He’ll teach you how to play baseball, and my heart will swell and I’ll probably cry. He’ll show you so much love and patience and that will help me be more patient, too.

I hope to teach you that kindness, compassion and empathy are not bad things. In fact, they are the greatest tools you can possess and will make you stronger than anything you’ll ever face. I hope that I teach you that being silly isn’t a bad thing, and that life is a beautiful miracle worth celebrating every day. Even the days that are yucky have good moments, if you remember to look for them.

Most of all, I hope that you always know how loved you already are. How loved you were before you were even created and how loved you will always be. If I can show you that, then I will know that I have succeeded in this world as a person, but more importantly as the person chosen to be your mom.





Happy Mother’s Day

What a difference a year makes.

This time last year I was not looking forward to Mother’s Day. Not because I don’t have wonderful women in my life worth celebrating, but because at the time I was in the midst of an infertility struggle that I hadn’t planned on ever experiencing and the pain of celebrating all of the awesome moms in my own life and not being part of the celebration was almost unbearable.

I did all of the things I normally do on Mother’s Day; went to church, called my Mom, spent the afternoon with my in-laws and sent messages to all of my girlfriends who were celebrating their Mother’s Day with their own children.

And I spent a lot of time crying. Crying because I was celebrating and not being celebrated. Crying because I was giving gifts to mothers and not being given gifts. Crying because yet another box of unsolicited baby formula had shown up at my house and reminded me again that the baby I wanted didn’t exist.

Needless to say, it was a long and painful day. And I felt so selfish for those feelings. But, they were there.

This year, I’m 18 days away from becoming a first-time mom. I’ll do everything I did last year, but this time any tears will be tears of joy and gratitude instead of ones of pain and longing.

So to all the moms out there; the veterans, the first timers and the moms-to-be, a very happy Mother’s Day.

And to everyone for whom this day is a painful reminder of something lost or unfulfilled, I wish you the day you desire and the peace you need to get through today.