Some days it’s hard to believe that 3 and almost 1/2 months of nausea equals a baby. [Yes, I’m aware that they’re in there for longer than that.] And yes, I am confident that while my first trimester ends on Wednesday (or according to our insurance, ended a few days ago) the nausea will carry with me. Why am I convinced? Well, vomiting entered it’s late-stage presence during week 11 of pregnancy and it has only become a more steadily available option. And according to the Doctor’s experience, the nausea was suppose to tapper off and get less severe after week ten. Well, week ten was fiercely nauseated. But week 11 brought projectile. And then week 12 brought wipe-out, especially at the end. And week 13 has brought the routine of throwing up at work at least once per day and then moving on with life. I’ve really began to get good at the system, sadly.

Last night at about 5:15p we heard our baby’s heartbeat. “Don’t get upset if we can’t hear it yet,” the Dr. explained as she lubricated my stomach and put the microphone close, “it’s hard to catch it s…” and then our child filled the room with a steady thump-thump. “That’s a strong heartbeat,” a med student said.

And for a few seconds, I just wanted to hold the baby right then and there. I was so proud.
Well done, little one, well done.

It just became a little more real, especially since a few days earlier I told Matt I didn’t feel pregnant. “You are.” He remarked quickly.

It’s funny but some days it feels like Matt and I are playing parents. We’re playing expecting. We’re playing a beginning family. And it’s weird to think that my dreams of being a mom, the very thing I could not be more sure that God has set me apart to become… it’s actually closer than I can imagine.

I don’t care what any scientist may say… there’s a baby inside of me. No mere word “fetus” can capture the pure miracle that God is making within me. That in there folks, is a baby.

And it’s my baby.

Yet some days that concept is so crazy to me. And I think… did I just say my baby? Mine?

See, I’ve taken the spit up, the nasty diapers, the throw up and so many other “mom-like” drawbacks of a good handful of kids in my lifetime. I’ve done some of the dirty work, the cooking, the staying up all night, and even witnessed many hours of tantrums and biting and you name it. But I’ve never claimed to be a mom, despite the fact that I’ve been accidentally called mom by many kids. No, I am well aware that moms have far greater sacrifice and a far deeper love. Yet, I’ve often felt a depth of love for the kids I have been blessed to care for… those are my kids. For that point in their life, they were part my kids. [Maybe I’m just crazy, but I really loved them all that much.] And I’d take care of a sick child, and do all the other “mom-like” things all over again, in the blink of an eye… it’s just what I love to do.

But now it’s a bit crazy to think that to this little baby growing inside of me, I’m going to be mom. “Mom” like what I think and what I feel when I think of my mom. That’s mom… and I’d do anything for her… She’s always there when you most need, reliable, and ready for a hug.
That’s my mom.

I love her so much.

– a mom –