Eighteen years ago this month God blessed us with our daughter. It’s quite suitable that our only girl be born smack dab in the middle of my most favorite season of the year. The earthy smells, the brisk air, the majestic fall colors all bring that time back with a sweet ache.
She was quite the surprise, coming to us after 16 years of marriage, following the adoption of her two older brothers. After numerous infertility doctors, more tears than I thought I could shed, along with heartfelt prayers, I went through the classic five stages of grief, experiencing what I thought was the death of my dream of becoming a mom.
After denial, anger, bargaining with God, depression and finally, acceptance, we prayed and were led to pursue adoption. We desperately wanted to parent a child and began a life-altering course of direction, resulting in abundant blessings within three years: two beloved baby boys.
Our families held a baby shower for us for our oldest, and my sister gave me a plaque with the adoption creed encircled by a heart. After 25 years I still have it sitting on my dresser drawer. I could have written it myself. “Not flesh of my flesh, nor bone of my bone, but still miraculously my own. Never forget for a single minute, you didn’t grow under my heart, but in it.”
The highlight of the shower was when my husband brought our newborn son to the party, presenting him to all the ladies gathered there. Yes, the Kleenex was dug out, this time for happy-sharing tears.
Filling our hearts to the brim and spilling over, we enjoyed our boys for four years before finding out incredibly, that we were pregnant. A new journey began, one I had not experienced with our sons. I treasured everything about my pregnancy, sensing deep in my heart that this was the only time we would partner with God in this amazing miracle — something of my husband and something of me, creating a complete little being. Such wonder. Such marvel!
Not all moments were grand, however. I really enjoyed coffee but during my pregnancy it went against me. I had to hold my breath as I went through the coffee aisle in the grocery store. If I had caught even a whiff, I would have had to visit the ladies room right quick. Every morning for the first trimester I was sick to my stomach behind our straw cart in the barn.
One day we had a friend come to pick up some cattle. He saw me handling a hay bale and I was obviously pregnant. He pleasantly scolded, “What the heck do you think you’re doing?” I never over-extended myself, but always cautiously kept active, keeping up with my farm work as much as possible, for I wanted to remain strong for the day of our baby’s arrival. At that time we did not know the sex of the baby. God knew. That’s all that mattered.
The morning of October 13, 1995, dawned, rainy. I had gone out in the barn and finished my morning work, came in and got my boys off to school. Our middle one had just started 4-year-old kindergarten that fall. Starting to feel a little “different,” I pre-made BBQ for lunch and fussed with some light cleaning. Little did I know, but I was nesting, getting ready for the baby’s arrival that next day.
My husband came in from the barn and after talking, we decided to go to the doctor right away. Calling his mother to tend to our children after school, we left for the clinic.
After the examination our dear Dr. Thomas said, “Well, it looks like we are going to admit you in the hospital, just to be safe.” Our doctor had been with us for years, knew our situation and, in fact, had been the one to inspect our newborn boys. With a smile and a reassuring pat on my back, he declared them healthy and growing well. (When I told him I thought I was pregnant, his jaw had dropped.)
Settling in with my Pitocin drip, I labored through that night and into the next morning. At 7:50 a.m. we met our daughter. Never having left my side, my husband called my sister and brother-in-law, who had taken care of our night and morning milking.
“How’d the milking go?” My husband asked.
I heard my sister yell, “Never mind how the milking went! What did she have?”
Holding our daughter for the first time is beyond description. She had kicked me, made me nauseous, made me gain weight and altered what I could eat and drink. I could not have loved her more. I loved her with a passionate, fierce, tender, protective love, exactly what I felt for her brothers as I held them. It’s an amazing thing, this mother-love. It permeates everything else, controls your heart and turns a woman into a warrior. You hurt my babies? You’re gonna have to face me first!
Getting home from the hospital, we settled into life as a farm family of five. The years flew by and now we have two gone from the nest and our girl teetering on the edge.
The sweet month of October brings it all back. Thank you, Father, for answering prayer in your timetable and for the amazing miracle of life!
(“For You created my inmost being; You knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Your works are wonderful, I know that full well.” Psalm 139:14)
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