Seventeen weeks into my fourth pregnancy at a
routine doctor's appointment I found out the baby I carried no longer had a
heartbeat. We went to the hospital to deliver her and entered a grief cycle to
mourn her loss. Several months later I was once again anxiously anticipating a
new baby. I was once again seventeen
weeks pregnant when my stunned doctor broke terrible news to me. Lightening had struck in the same place
twice. My worst fears had come true
again. The son I loved was lost and I
would not get to keep him either.
Last September I gave birth to a perfect, healthy,
wiggly little baby girl. During the
three preceding years I cried a lot of tears, processed, grieved, lost a lot of
sleep, experienced panic attacks and wondered if I would ever get to have
another baby of my own. Most of all I wondered
how in the world I could live if I couldn't ever have another baby. The mere thought made it hard to breathe.
I experienced a lot in the 37 years before I gave
birth to my rainbow baby, but it feels like I never truly lived or loved before
I had her. I never knew love like this before.
Although I had always loved my family as best I could, I am now capable
of a much deeper love for all of them.
The first time they laid my baby on my chest was the
best moment of my entire life. I cried
happy tears of wonder as she looked up at me and I looked down at her and the
nightmare was finally over. She was
here.
Every day I marvel at her perfection.
I marvel at her perfect feet.
Her beautiful hands. The way her pinky turns in the
same way as her big sister's and her brother who was born sleeping 15 months
before she was born. The way I feel special when she wraps all of her fingers
around one of mine.
How she lays her head on my shoulder.
Her beautiful sad face that is enough to break your
heart.
The way her arms and legs flail excitedly when I
come to pick her up.
When I tickle her, the way she laughs.
The way her dad loves her like only a dad can and
throws her in the air and turns her upside down and makes my stomach turn.
The bond she has with each of our other
children. How she can bring out the good
in each of them in ways I've never seen.
Who wants to take the baby? We
all want to take the baby.
How it is my job, my duty, and mostly my honor and
privilege to bathe her and dress her and feed her and change her and keep her
happy and safe.
How my body somehow miraculously produces all the
food she needs to grow.
The way she lights up a room. How she smiles at her own reflection in the
mirror.
Her big beautiful blue sparkling eyes. The way her red hair sticks straight up. Her
cheeks.
The way she healed me.
Above all else, I am in awe, when I watch her sleep,
of how her little chest rises and falls with the air she breathes. She is alive.
I never appreciated life the way I do now. And for that, I wouldn't change a thing. I wouldn't give up one tear or sleepless
night or helpless panicky moment because now I see what I never could have seen
before. I see her for what she is. She is my miracle.
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