A hope and a future

I thought long and hard about what I wanted to say today, my first Mother's day. My thoughts were swirling in a million directions in my head, but it all boiled down to this: 

Motherhood is a gift. 

It's a gift many take for granted, don't give a second thought to, but it is nothing short of a miracle. It might not feel like it at 2 am. or 3 am. or 4am. It might not feel like it on your fourth visit to urgent care in two weeks. It certainly won't feel like it your 12th hour in labor. 

But it is. 

Almost five years ago this time my life was a mess of doctors, labwork, tests, diagnosis; they were throwing around terms I would soon know all too well - pcos, ivf, infertility, iui, clomid, hysterosalpingogram,  and really the list went on and on. I didn't know what any of it meant. And the more I learned, the more it was explained to me, the more I wished I was still clueless. Still hopeful. I thought I would never be a momma. 

 My husband and I spent four years in the trenches with nothing to hold onto but hope. And each other. Doctor after doctor, test after test, failed treatment after failed treatment. Life went on, but we felt as though we were standing still, unchanged. Families grew and swelled all around us, and we waited. And waited. And sometimes, we wondered if it was worth it. Worth the high cost of treatments, worth the emotional toil. But we fought hard. Month after month, year after year, and we never gave up.

And then, a ray of hope. We held to that small flicker with everything we had. And it grew. And I grew. And grew, and grew, until I thought I couldn't possible grow anymore. 

And then, 12 hours of hard labor later he was in our arms, and we knew without any hesitation, he was worth it. 

Those first weeks were beyond hard. In and out of the hospital, up all night and all day, we were zombies. But we made it. And eventually, that little boy started sleeping. He started rolling, and sitting, and talking, and standing. And one of these days, when he's good and ready, he might just walk. He loves pancakes, and peekaboo, and his blue puppy lovey. He looks just like his papa, and is loud and outgoing like his daddy. 

If you are struggling with infertility and are wanting to give up, hang in there. I've been where you've been, and I've come out the other side stronger. You will too.  If you've suffered a miscarriage, or have an angel baby, and wonder how you could ever continue on, how you could ever put yourself out there again and hope, hang in there. Jeremiah 29:11 says "For I know the plans I have for you declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you a hope and a future." A hope and a future. I clung to those words for four long years, waiting. 

Today, that little boy looked right at me and said momma. And he buried his head in my chest and held me close. 

He's a gift. And he was worth the wait.