The Day I Found Out I Was A Mom

"Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above" --James 1:17

 

It was Thursday January 26th.

The day my little app told me that I would start my period. The day I would once again feel that utter disappointment that my dream of becoming mom had not yet arrived. We'd been trying for six months, and each month was getting more heart breaking.

On top of an emotionally taxing day, it was a physically exhausting one as well. 

 

I went to work for the first time in two weeks since my big fall in the snow. It was my first time walking, standing, sitting in a chair for four straight hours and my back rebelliously shouted, “TAKE ME HOME TO NETFLIX.”

 

My boss, who is seriously the best, sent me and my weak back home to rest and she reminded me that it was okay to ease back into work.

 

 

Feeling defeated and emotional, I stopped by the store on the way home to pick up dinner for that night and since I hadn’t started my period, I grabbed those dreaded, annoying sticks that you pee on. To which they stubbornly type out the words, “ NO BABY FOR DANI” and then I cry and wait for my inevitable, sucky period to commence. So yeah, I’ll buy you darn sticks, but I will not fall into your terrible trap today.

 

 

 

So once I got home and climbed into my bed that had graciously formed to my very shape since this has been my place for the past two weeks for my healing back, I turned on a really sad Woody Allen movie with Kristen Stewart and Jesse Eisenberg and (surprisingly) Steve Carell about 1930s Hollywood. The movie was quite terrible, but in terms of rest it didn’t quite matter. I was scrolling through instagram and Facebook on my phone hardly paying attention to the incoherent, narcissistic banter on my television screen.

 

 

 

Then, my friend, Jen, texted me, “Did you start your period yet?”

 

See, Jen is one of my mentors. She is a wife and mom to three boys and oh my goodness she is one of the funniest and most caring people I know. She will ask you anything, and I love that about her. Of course, this was the question at the back of my mind, and while the true answer was “No, Jen, not yet.’’ I didn’t want to get her hopes up or worse, mine. Soo….

 

I decided to use one of those pesky little sticks to just be sure, to quash my hopes at least for JANUARY. I knew it was gonna say,  “NOPE, NOT THIS MONTH. I MEAN COME ON YOU FELL 2 WEEKS AGO WITH A BROKEN BACK.  YOUR FERTILITY MONITOR DID NOT SAY YOU WERE OVULATING AT ANY POINT. YOU HAVE HAD MUSCLE RELAXANTS, PAIN KILLERS, ETC. NO BABY CAN BE MADE IN THAT ENVIRONMENT. TRY AGAIN NEXT MONTH.”

 

 

Pregnancy tests are very advance nowadays.

 

So, I pee on my 119th stick since we have started trying and set it on the bathroom counter and return to the quips and tired wit of Jesse Eisenberg marrying Blake Lively. I like a few posts on Instagram. There is a whole storyline in the movie that I must have apparently missed, because I have no clue what the relevance is to the main plot. I figure enough time has passed and make the walk from bed to counter. Little inklings of hope flutter deep down, but in an effort to protect my fragile heart, I begin to tell myself,  "it's not possible" "don't get your hopes up"  "it can't happen"  "it'll just read 'Not Pregnant' because I know that it’s impossible."

 

 

I peer at the test.

 

Pregnant.

 

 

*cue sobs of pure joy and surprise*

 

 

Check one more time that there is really not a “not.” Nope, it just says:

 

 

Pregnant.

 

 

*cue more sobs of happiness and pacing with excitement*

 

 

Through my tears, I fall to my knees beside the bed and through my sobs pray. I know it didn’t sound like anything, but this is what I meant:

 

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. God, this is only possible because of you. How a baby could survive a fall, all that medicine, all the junk food I have consumed over the past few weeks, only YOU could protect my baby. Now, I have a baby. It’s all because of you, Jesus.”

 

So, I jump up and realize that I gotta tell my husband. Check my clock: 3:56pm. Dang it! He won’t be home for another hour and half. I was impatient that we didn’t get pregnant within six months of trying, I sure wasn’t going to wait an hour and a half for him to get home. So, I text him:

 

 

I am not doing well * (sorta true.... I am crying.)

 

Come home now (He will because I have a fractured back!)

 

He calls.

 

I’m still crying happy tears, but they sound sad when I say:

 

Come home. I need you home. (not lying. Those are true statements)

 

 

He is coming straight home. Success! Praise the Lord for this fractured back.

 

 

What do I do? I am pregnant. 

I am pregnant.

 

What did I do to deserve this? I complained every month, I tried to control every little thing, I was significantly impatient with God's timing. There is literally no reason why I should have earned this good and perfect gift. 

 

But that is how God works. He gives because He loves. He gives because He is good. He gives because He is God and it pleases Him. 

 

It's not about how good I am. 

 

It's about how good God is. 

 

Thank you Jesus for this beautiful, good and perfect gift that could only possibly come from you. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ten minutes until husband is home... Stay tuned for the story of how I tell him. 

Video coming soon!