It’s an interesting thing growing a tiny babe after a decade of being the-woman-who-had-none, living alongside women who were outnumbered by their children.
In a way, I’m only six months into “recovery” from a decade-long heartache. Slowly beginning the process of unraveling myself from the thoughts and feelings and unspoken, screaming-inside emptiness. As He weaves this babe within, He’s weaving a new identity without. Reshaping my mind. Readjusting my thoughts.
Tonight, I attended a baby shower to celebrate another woman’s miracle. She’s experienced loss. And had never known a successful pregnancy outside of in-vitro. Until her surprise baby girl came along to join her twin brothers. Tonight, I wasn’t relieved when it came time to pray over her so that I could cry freely while no one was looking. And when women were collectively thanking the Creator-of-her-miracle for His miracle, I wasn’t silently pleading with Him for my own, wondering when my turn would finally come.
And caught in the midst of a surprising tension that comes with one foot stepping into the miracle of motherhood and the other stepping out of delayed fertility, I hugged my belly in the dark. Squeezing this little guy in a subconscious effort to remind myself that he really truly is there. And also praying that I will never, ever forget these emotional ten years. So that I can maybe help another woman-who-has-none not feel quite so alone.