And so it begins. The start of all the annual anniversaries of the best of times and then the worst of times.
One year ago today, I found myself feeling a little under the weather (just like today). I was tired and *it* was late. I sauntered into the corner Walgreen’s. I took my sweet time as I neared the pregnancy test aisle. I spotted a co-worker and I quickly made a detour to the snack aisle. Once I knew he was gone, I headed back and picked up a 2-pack of First Response pregnancy tests. You know, the Early Results one. I, like so many times before, believed that by merely peeing on this stick, it would bring on the abnormally-delayed Aunt Flo.
I was back in the office, ventured into the bathroom and took out a test and aced it. Say what!? Two lines. And right away, too. And really quite obviously pregnant. I began to shake. I began to cry. I began to freak out! I wrote my husband to tell him and I’m pretty sure I sent a text of the test. I sent a text to my best friends. There it was, in my hand. In my womb. I was pregnant. Holy ish! I had never really gotten pregnant on my own before.
From that day forward, I had one mission – to get my health in order and get this baby here safely. My hope was that a year from May 9th, I’d have an infant in my arms. I would whisper to my baby that today I found out that he was going to exist. The miracle that he was. I’d be excited to finally find myself honored on Mother’s Day, instead of left out like the so many years before.
But, that isn’t how today is going to go down. Instead, I sit here, probably one of the only people in the world that knows what today is for me.
May 9, 2013 was still a hope-filled day. I’ll still remember it for the rest of my existence. It was the day that my son was born into my heart. He’ll always remain there.
I’ll love you forever,
I’ll like you for always,
As long as I’m living
my baby you’ll be.