I remember when I used to drive to the hospital in the early morning, just to get there when it opened, praying, pleading with God on my whole drive. Then I'd wait the day away waiting for the number to come back in the afternoon. Eventually, my prayers turned to sobs then anxiety, and the drive to the hospital became excruciating.
Over and over and over again, the same news, bad news.
The "bad" hormones, the miscarriage, the molar pregnancy, it changed me forever.
It changed how I go through pregnancy, and it stole my joy of pregnancy. I would never be giddy with excitement at the weekly milestones. But instead I would distance myself from those thoughts about my baby. I never wanted to prep baby clothes, only purge. Just in case that happy day never came. I wasn't bitter, but I ached. An ache so deep, I don't think I'll ever forget how it felt.
But it taught me so much. It taught me empathy, to cry with all those other women who know the same pain. And it taught me so much about hope. That is the whole miracle in this story, hope.
And two years ago, I was about to be overwhelmed by hope.
Ezra is two tomorrow.
I look back now and it seems so long ago, but it wasn't. And when I think about it, I can still remember how badly my heart ached.
Ezra's two tomorrow, and I still can't believe it. I'm always so emotional on my kids birthdays. It just keeps going and going, and I want time to just slow a little so I can soak it all in a bit more.
