Certainly the dust has settled a bit. The first trimester changes and daily reminders of nausea and not-so-content blood sugar levels have begun to stabilize.
Back then, my mama told me there are seasons of hardship and grief. But she reminded me there are seasons of joy too.
This is my season of joy. I am joyful. I wake up every morning to a dream come true. I carry my babies with me wherever I go.
And though I am joyful, I fear that something is—in fact—missing. Am I faking it? Must I remind myself how my babies were conceived? Must I doubt myself … the mother I am to them … how much of them are mine?
Does it really matter? In my heart and mind, I know I am just as much their mother as my mother is mine. And I can tell you this, the people who matter—it certainly doesn’t matter to them.
There is power in creating babies. I acknowledge that. When I chose my husband, I also chose him as the father of my children. He chose me too. There is power in legacy.
I suffer a great loss … but what I’ve gained. Oh, Jesus, what I’ve gained.
It is a difficult and unique teeter totter game my heart often engages in. And my babies—they will be LOVED. My fear is not in who they are … all four inches of them and their preciousness.
My fear is learning how to heal and cope with what I have lost. There is guilt. Am I allowed to still grieve my loss, or is that selfish?
My loss is inevitable, though. There’s nothing I could have done; there’s nothing more I can do. Regret doesn’t haunt me, and I thank Heavenly Father for that. This is my story; this is how I became a mother.
I’ll be damned if I’m not a mother! Hey, you—fear, regret, loss, grief—I’ll be damned if you strip my title from me!
My journey toward motherhood is not second best. It is the best for me. I have conquered my infertility. I am victorious!
The Lord hath taken away—but He has also given me more than I asked.
He changed my heart. I will carry these lessons I’ve learned throughout my life.
Inside me I carry my husband’s babies. You know, when you’re 19 years old too shy to look into the eyes of your future husband, you just don’t think about what that man will give you. He. has. given. me. everything. No one else can love me like that. I am blessed to be loved so passionately and desperately by that man.
He gave me two! Jesus, all I began to fight for was one. All I’d asked you for was one. But—no—He gave me two. It just doesn’t get any better. I am blessed. My heart is full. My belly is full of two beating hearts!
So, as the dust has begun to settle, there are moments. I am fragile; my mental health is fragile. Sure, my mind is doing the best it can on its own*. But I believe this grief is real; I think that’s okay. Where’s the self-help book to heal? I’m swimming through these emotions on my own, in my heart and mind.
And I have faith I’ll get there. And while I’m on my way, I’ll live in the joy of two beating hearts in my belly.
I’ll live in the joy that I’m finally a mother.
*I have suffered from depression/anxiety most of my life. It is clear to medical professionals, loved ones, and me that antidepressants are necessary to provide me with a more fulfilling life. My psychiatrist, my husband, and I have chosen for me not to take antidepressants while pregnant, though, because of the potential health risks to my babies. I am very at peace with this decision. But, as my husband says, “Once those babies are out, we’re mainlining that shit.” I can’t disagree with him.