Monday, January 6, 2014

145 Weeks to Perfection

We are three weeks in as a family of four. That is three weeks back in diapers. Three weeks of not sleeping through the night. Three weeks of having a sweet baby who really is a little dream. Some days, in the middle of feeding him or letting him sleep cuddled on my chest, I can't believe he is finally here. We waited so long for him. I now have an idea of what I can withstand. How long I can wait for what I want. How patient I can be. I can survive anything for 145 weeks. 

145 weeks is the two years it took us to get pregnant, plus the 41 weeks I carried the little dude. Once he was here, and I was holding him, it was like those 145 weeks were the blink of an eye. Every tear, every shot, every headache, every pound gained, every negative pregnancy test, every dollar spent. Having him here and seeing his little face was balm on my damaged mama soul. 

The birth of my son healed me, but it did not make me forget. I will always know what it is like to experience disappointment in myself and my body month after month. Having to admit that yet again I couldn't do the one thing women were doing every day without even trying. Living with the pain of having a body that continued to betray me. 

Every time I failed to get pregnant I felt that I failed in so many ways. Not making a baby. Or not having it implant in the right place. Not being able to give my daughter a sibling. Knowing that I was costing our family money that we would never get back. Watching our plans to have our kids close together slipping away. All fails. But the fails were the catalyst for my eventual bliss. They were what brought me to this moment, of watching my girl kiss her brother while she gently pats his fuzzy head. At some point soon after the Dude was born, I turned away from the anger I have carried for so long. I embraced that this was how things were meant to be. I was supposed to have this baby at this perfect time. I needed to have this guy when his sister was almost 4. My children were supposed to be further apart to enable me enjoy this time with new brother since big sister is now so independent. I realized that what we wanted and planned for our family didn't matter, because the universe knew better. 

The scars from two years of pain and fury and sadness will never go away. But they have faded to the pale silver of an old injury. The kind that you only think about once in awhile now, when you see it in the mirror and remember how much it hurt when you fell. Thank you universe for gifting me with the perfect child for our life. Thank you for allowing me to heal. Thank you for creating the family that I was meant to have, despite how much I tried for something entirely different. And know that every time I look into my boy's sweet face, I forgive you for making me survive the 145 weeks it took me to get to this perfection.

So worth the wait. I mean, look at those cheeks.


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