I didn’t know you for very long, but even in that short time we spent together I felt like I already knew you. You hated spicy food, which was a shame. You also hated rich desserts or overly sweet food, but I snuck a few in there anyway. You got hungry a lot, too, and I’ve never been so tired in my life than that few weeks you were growing inside me. but that’s okay, because it gave me an excuse to go to bed early.
I’ll admit, I wasn’t ready for you. We had prayed for you, yearned for you, pleaded for you, but when you finally showed up I wasn’t ready. You caught me off guard. The night I found out that my cold was just you trying to make yourself known I burst into tears. How was I going to do this? How would it affect our adoption process? How would I be able to take care of a baby? I know nothing about babies.
But after my initial freakout I started making plans for you. You were going to be the most loved baby there ever was. Your dad and I couldn’t wait to tell the world about you, although in our excitement we let the news slip pretty early to some close friends. I googled information on cloth diapers and midwives vs. doctors and parenting tips and how to make my all-day-sickness go away. I read tips from mommy bloggers from my phone to your dad at night before we went to bed. I made a list of what I would need to do in order to get my life together before you made your appearance. I walked around holding a secret in my belly that I couldn’t wait to share with the entire world.
But then I woke up one morning, and I knew something wasn’t right. And when I saw you on the ultrasound, I knew that you weren’t staying around for much longer. The doctor tried to assuage my anxiety by saying maybe you were newer than we thought, but I knew. I knew you were leaving. And when came home I cuddled on the couch and cradled you and tried saying my goodbyes, even though I so desperately wanted you to stay.
We went to the emergency room that night, after I was doubled over in pain and couldn’t keep any food down. The doctor did another ultrasound, but by that time you must have already left because we didn’t see a picture of you. And three hours later when the bloodwork came back, we knew you weren’t really there anymore. So we came home and wept until I didn’t know which tears were mine and which ones were your dad’s.
It was an odd feeling after that, knowing that as I sat and watched TV, or as I made dinner, or that while I took the dog on a walk I was having a miscarriage. It’s a weird thing to think that I knew about you for a week and it took a week before you were finally fully gone. It took that same week before I became a full functioning member of society again.
Everything happened so fast. I wish I had taken a picture of when we were in the ER, or of the ultrasound tech doing her thing, because dear baby, I wish so much that I had gotten to see you. I wish I had made the tech print out a picture of you, even if it wasn’t your best. I wish I had gotten to feel you inside of me, more than just the constant wave of nausea. I wish I had known if you were a boy or a girl. I wish you had gotten to hear my voice.
Your dad and I named you. It’s a strong name, one that we won’t ever forget, I promise you. It’s a name that perfectly describes just what you mean to us, and even though you didn’t stick around long, I am oh so very thankful that you decided to come to us at all. I am so grateful for the time we spent together. I’m thankful that you showed me the innermost desires of my heart. I’m so very blessed to have been your mother.