I am amazed at my wondrous gift that was given to me 20 months ago. My little boy, who caused me so much morning sickness and so much drama at his birth is alive and well. The days I spent while pregnant, terrified each time I threw up, because I was afraid that my baby wouldn't get enough food to live. The time I spent worrying about every anti-nausea pill I took because the only pill that worked for me was one that was for chemo patients. Surely anything designed for chemo patients couldn't be good for a developing baby. Yet each time we went for a check-up, BB was doing well, even if it wasn't always the case with me. The swelling and feeling like a fat cow that only increased as his due date came and went. The contractions that finally started once I left the hospital from my failed induction, and refused to come every five minutes regularly so that I could be admitted. The epidural that worked wonderfully until it came time to push, and then ran out. And the anesthesiologist who was too busy to come and do anything about that. The pushing for an hour, only to be told to stop (worse pain ever, and I think it's because you're fighting your body's natural instincts when you don't push). Then finally the delivery, which resulted in someone having to climb on top of me and force BB out. Post-partum wasn't much fun, either. I alternated between thinking that BB would be better off with anyone but me for his mother and feeling so sorry for him that I would cry because he had me for a mother, and wanting to violently hurt everyone who just wouldn't go away and give me some time alone with my son. I was terrified to be alone with him, yet equally scared that if I never got alone time with him I would never bond with him and he would grow up to be some sociopath. And let's not even get into the feeding difficulties with no one to help me because they either hadn't done so with their kids, or they never had any problems except for TOO much milk and their babies latching on TOO well. (GRRR...)
But you know what? Despite all of these things, BB is right on target, I am finally over all the complications and baby blues and most of the time I love being a mommy. The past week or so I've been reading an acquaintance's blog about her daughter who passed away 12 hours after birth. She and her husband knew that their daughter wouldn't live long, so they arranged for a photographer to capture their moments together so that they could simply focus on getting to know their daughter in her lifetime. The faith and the grace that she exhibits in her blog astounds me. This blog led me to other blogs that are similar to hers. So many parents have children that they only knew for a short time, or their child is struggling with an illness that causes the parents to know it's only a matter of time. These parents will never have the rewards of being a parent unless it's through other children. They won't hear their sick baby talk, or see their baby walk. Yet they open up their hearts to these babies and love them immensely in their short lives.
Each day is a gift. Each moment is a blessing, a miracle. There are so many things that could have, should have, with every pregnancy and baby. How can I ever be tired to being a mommy, or ever be annoyed when some parents never get the chance? Each new day, each milestone is so precious, so joyous to watch. BB has his own little personality and he's the sweetest and best little boy ever. I know the terrible twos are just around the corner, but I welcome them. Too many people won't get the chance that I have. I need to constantly remember that.