Sometimes it’s the people you don’t meet who have a significant impact
on your life.
When I was in my late 30s, my husband suggested that we start a family. I was floored.
I liked our perfectly spontaneous “double income, no kids” life.
He presented a convincing case and I was won over by his enthusiasm. I also imagined
little tykes with his dreamy eyes bouncing around. So I got with the program. All
that baby-making stuff ensued. It was exciting as we planned our expansion.
Pregnancy the first time happened quickly. It was 1997 and I got a tummy ache one
day while having lunch. I had actually gone into labor at 12 weeks and had a miscarriage.
I had two more miscarriages over the next year. The joy of conception was slammed
within a few months and all I had to show for it was weight gain and depression.
Months earlier I was reluctant to get on the mommy track. Now I was making deals
with God to give birth. I was 40 and there was the added risk of genetic frailties
that result in mental retardation and other conditions. I was the fat lady always
near tears who couldn’t handle seeing a happily pregnant woman or someone
pushing a keiki carriage. Yet we kept trying.
We managed to conceive and I took my first child successfully to term. She was born
in 1999. My second daughter was born 21 months later. Through those pregnancies,
I have to admit, I was petrified.
On our way to the hospital for the births, I wept because our family dynamic was
about to change. I was happy and apprehensive. An amazing chemical-like process
occurs when a baby is born. It’s an exponential growth of love. It’s
probably hormones, too.
All told, five pregnancies resulted in two bright little girls and three angels.
Had any of those first babies come to term, I would never have met the little girls
I have now. But those first babies taught me so much about the value of life. Children
are a treasure. They are a statement of hope for the future. They are a reason to
live, and they deserve every opportunity to flourish.