My son is a miracle.
A few years ago I was told that each time I became pregnant I had a 30-40% chance of carrying to term (the average woman’s chances are 80%). So with numbers like that and after six miscarriages, I am confidently calling him a miracle.
The whole time I was pregnant I was convinced he would die. Each appointment to hear his heartbeat was one that I dreaded and forget about the 20 week ultrasound.....I near had an anxiety attack were it not for my coaching myself to remain as calm as possible for my baby’s sake.
When all you know is death and disappointment, it’s hard to believe that life and happiness will come.
But they did. Life was born from me and I held him as I looked around the room and told everyone repeatedly, “This is my baby!” They all nodded because they knew where we had been and they knew this boy was long-awaited.
I was the mother of the miracle baby that day.
Fast-forward 18 months and now I am the mother of an active, curious, funny, and determined little boy. He’s sweet when he wants to be and a pistol the rest of the time. He makes my brain tired, my knees bruised, and my heart swell with love for him. Because even when he is defiant and drives me nuts, I adore him and would do anything for him.
We are what feels like eons away from those first few weeks where everything was so new and sacred and the glow of having our miracle boy home with us was still as bright as the day he was born. Now we are settled into the same hum-hum of parenting a toddler like so many others.
But there is still something so different from us and so many others. And the difference is that we almost did not get here. That we have a son almost did not happen.
But we are here and he did happen and sometimes I ask myself and GOD, “How do I mother a miracle?” I am learning the answer is that I don’t do anything different than anyone else.
But what is different is me.
Sometimes in the morning when I walk into his room and he reaches for me all warm from sleep with a smile on his silly face, my heart skips a beat because HIS mercies are new every morning and joy comes in the morning and I am swimming in that sea of provision.
And I almost didn’t get here.
Sometimes when he is throwing a tantrum I sit back and watch him because I am in awe of his lung capacity and the way his legs kick while his arms pump up and down, all while releasing a flood of tears. I can’t be upset or annoyed because I am too busy marveling at this creation that was born out of me.
And I almost did not get to see this.
Sometimes at night when I am holding his slow-breathing body and running my fingers through his hair, I cry because now the weight that sits on my chest is him and not longing.
And I almost never had this.
In those moments- in the quiet of my heart and in humble gratitude to HIM- I thank GOD for my miracle boy. That HE chose me to mother him is something I will never get over.
A friend was once said that my son must be so strong and a real fighter because he did what six other babies weren’t able to do- he grew and grew and grew until he was born pink and loud and he amazed us all.
And he still does.