By Kim Blakely, pregnant blogging mama
This time last year, I was fresh from the doctor’s appointment where my doctor recommended that I have surgery to address my infertility issues.
For the two weeks after I heard those dreaded words, I wished for a miracle – a positive pregnancy test that would keep me out of the operating room. Instead, my period arrived and I called to set up a laparoscopy. I spent the next two weeks trying to convince myself that pushing through my fears of sedation etc. were key to getting pregnant … and then I waited another seven months to get to where I am now.
Today I had another doctor’s appointment where my doctor laughed with us about choosing a name for our daughter.
(For the record, my husband has made some “interesting” suggestions, most of which I have nixed right off the bat. To be fair, most of you would have done the same. Mojo would like to call her Turkey Blaze. Alrighty. Moving right along …)
You would think that after 2 ½ years of trying for a baby, we would have at least a short list of names to choose from, but, honestly, I was never sure enough there would be another baby to name that I could stand to consider it.
I still can’t believe this is happening. It’s utterly surreal.
Also on the topic of things surreal, my baby turned 4 last weekend. I know this is terribly cliché, but seriously – where does the time go?
Until this year, we’ve just had small family celebrations for his birthdays.
As I watched him tear around after his friends from school at his first party including guests of his choosing, I got a little teary as I remembered the toddler who never wanted to stray far from his mama’s side. Now he was running full-force, utterly oblivious to my presence.
I couldn’t feel too melancholy, though, because the look on his face was pure gold. He was delighted to be a part of all the action, to have buddies and be free and … I guess just to be 4. To see him having so much fun made my heart soar.
Maybe it’s the hormones, but being a mom makes me feel incredibly mortal. Someone asked me once if I felt different after becoming a mom, and I couldn’t really come up with the words to answer that question with any real substance. I told her that being a mom made me see the world differently, but I really couldn’t come up with a way just then to explain that I felt like a big raw nerve. That loving someone so much made me feel more vulnerable than I could fathom, and that looking at the world through his eyes allowed me relive my childhood while at the same time forcing me to see how the passage of time is changing me – would continue changing me. I don’t mean that in a morbid “life is ending” kind of way. More like a now-I-get-why-so-many-people-want-this kind of way.
I can’t wait to meet our daughter, and I can’t wait for Mojo to meet his little Turkey Blaze. I can’t wait to see them interact, those two little people I can’t imagine loving more than I already do.
