A letter to my daughter

My Dearest Darling,

A single event can change your life forever and your birth did just that. And while it may seem trite, it is true: my love for you grows stronger with each passing day. I am proud to have been called by God to be a mother and not just any mother, but your mother. While I will certainly make mistakes, it will not be because I haven't tried to give you the world you so deserve. 

I remember the morning you were born. It was bitter cold and snow still held on to the shady patches of grass and road. The sky was blue and the sun was peeking in over the curtains that had been drawn the night before. The nurse who had checked us in the previous night had long been off work, but had snuck back in for your arrival. With no end in sight, our room was full of doctors and nurses, discussing options. I was exhausted and the monitors showed that you were too. We had reached our limits. But, as you'll soon learn, the women in this family are fighters and so we pushed through together, without medicine or interventions. And from the moment they placed you in my arms, I knew my life would never be the same.  I looked at your father as they took you from me and thought, How strange.  Everything is different.

And so, as we approach the halfway mark to the first year of life, I would like to share with you just a few things I've learned:

I'm terrified. While I am (fairly) confident in my ability to be your mother, I'm still terrified every time your cry changes, or you roll to your tummy and sleep face down, or sleep for fours hours during your nap instead of your normal two, or that you're still hungry after I nurse you. And that doesn't even touch on the things I know are coming; walking, climbing, school, boyfriends, marriage and your own children. All the things I don't know, terrify me. But it's a healthy scare. A reality check that raising you requires more than what your father and I can give you. It requires faith and help from God.

I can't always protect you, although I will always try. I learned this in just the first week of your life when we noticed something wasn't right. This lesson in parenthood has been the most challenging and painful one to acknowledge. Your pain is magnified in me and my heart breaks with every tear you shed. But you've given me strength I never knew I had, too. And when you're hurting, I am at my strongest, for you. I know I can't always be there to catch you when you fall, but I'll always be there to pick up the pieces.

You are strong. And you will be okay. Long before you were born I prayed for you to have your father's strength and you do. You are brave and show no fear. I hope you always find that inner strength as you continue to face the world.

You bring joy I never imagined. When faced with sorrow, your simple smile brings life back into a room.  When it's the fifth time I've walked half asleep into your room and you put your head on my shoulder, my frustration melts and I'm consumed by your love. When I'm exhausted in a way I didn't know was possible, your giggle gives me energy. For every day we are blessed to have you, I feel pure happiness. There will never be a day I'll be ready to say goodbye.

My sweet, perfect angel on earth, thank you for making me something more than I was before: your mother. I love you more than you'll ever know; my whole heart for my whole life. I love you and am incredibly proud to be your mom.


                                                                                      Love,
                                                       Incredibly Exhausted and Loving It      

No, that's not a beer belly.

We're trading silent nights for sleep walking, messy diapers, and squeaky toys.  Yup, we're going to be parents!  While I may have tried hiding my growing bump during the majority of the first two trimesters, we've reached week 39 and there's no denying our family is growing.  But this, of course, is not new news!  In fact, if you were one of the lucky ones to have been by my side prior to IVs and finally daily medication, you knew from the endless vomiting, the turning down of food (I do NOT turn down food) and the increased naps.  Yup, from the very beginning, it's been obvious.  But the idea of us being parents, apparently wasn't.

 

 

Thirty weeks

 

Once we made the announcement the questions came flooding in as to whether or not it was planned. Oh, here we go again. Let me be frank.  Those who may be sensitive to blunt honesty, please stop reading now.  No, really, stop reading if you're going to be offended. 

Yes, this child was planned.  My husband and I are no longer young enough to feign ignorance or extreme naivety.  At this age, knowing what we know about the birds and bees, how could we ever say she was not (and keep a straight face)?  Yes, she was very much planned.  Was it part of our plan to tell our friends, family and complete strangers when we would start trying?  Well, no, but bless your heart for thinking we would.  

So now that some of you are upset with my honesty (honesty is afterall the best policy, though not always a welcomed one), let me also share this: stop asking.  Stop asking people if the pregnancy is planned.  Frankly, it is not proper to ask, nor is it appropriate.  In the rare chance that you happen to ask the one mother who happened to be the 1 in 100 to get pregnant while using a form of birth control, chances are she's not going to be overly excited to share that their child is indeed unplanned.  Let's face it, when you hear the words "We didn't plan to have a baby", you immediately think "and yet, there you are, all pregnant and bringing a child into the world you didn't even want".  And THAT is just ignorant. 

One word can change everything.

Two weeks ago I pulled up my big girl pants, kissed my husband before he headed off to work and dragged my mom with me to an appointment that I never imagined I'd have to make.  I wore my brave face up until they put me in a small waiting room where everyone was at least twice my age.  They looked at me with pity as the tears began to pool at the corner of my eyes.  While I dabbed quickly, it wasn't enough and they began streaming down my cheeks.  This was more than a hormonal cry, it was reality hitting like a hammer.  I rubbed my belly and tried to focus on the scripture given to me by a dear friend just months before. 

 

"She is clothed with strength and dignity..."

 

But I had no more strength.  I was scared for my life and that of our unborn child.  I wanted someone to reach over and tell me it would be okay, but we were all here for the same thing and we all knew that there was a high probability that for at least one of us, things wouldn't be okay.  I looked at the women around me, composed and reading their magazines as their gowns gapped haphazardly across their chests.  Then I looked at me, clenching the top of my gown as if it mattered.  Funny, the things we hold on to.

 

Eventually my breathing slowed as I remembered something my mom told me just ten years before while I laid in the hospital.  I had asked her if she was scared and she said, "God never gives us more than we can bear."  It wasn't specifically what she had said, but how her words resounded with such conviction and assurance- certainly it must be true.  I decided then there were two ways in which this appointment could go- I'd find out I had breast cancer or I didn't.  And regardless of the verdict, I could count on these three things:  my God would take care of me and those I loved, my husband would find a way to make me laugh regardless of how grave the situation, and our love would become even greater than we had ever imagined. 

 

When they called my name I held my head as high as I could and walked with as much confidence as I could muster.  The doctor explained what we were looking at throughout the process, but slowed over several spots in which were concerning.  She left to show the images to the radiologist and I laid there praying for strength and courage to be able to hear what she would say upon her return.  I prayed to my grandmother, a victim of breast cancer, and asked her to watch over me.  Maybe she heard me because when the doctor returned she explained that we would continue to watch these areas throughout the pregnancy, but at this time, they believed the three cysts were benign based on how close they were to one another.  Benign.  At that moment, it was the sweetest word I've ever heard. 

 

I walked out of the room, found my mom sitting in a separate waiting area and gave her the thumbs up.  I quickly changed and came back.  We didn't say anything and there were no hugs; just tears as we walked out in to the hospital's main hallways.  I knew she was thinking about my grandma and I just looked at her and thought, "there's no way you're getting out of being called Granny."  I flashed a half smile and we finally both breathed. 

 

 

 

 

**In six months I'll return for a mamogram and follow-up ultrasound.  Ladies (and men, you're not excluded), please know your body.  Don't wait for a doctor to tell you, especially now that they only do breast exams only once every two years.  I went from being a monthly checker to a lazy procrastinator and it gave me the scare of a lifetime.  Don't wait, especially if someone in your family has been diagnosed with breast cancer.  Early detection DOES save lives.