Far From My Mountain: Mother's Day

Several people asked me on Sunday if this was my first Mother’s Day. I told them it wasn’t. Last year Annabelle was a couple weeks old and we all went out to eat a fancy meal in Nairobi after church. She was still wrinkled and blurry-eyed and I was still puffy and severely sleep-deprived. But in the pictures you can tell we are all so happy.

This Mother’s Day was only the second of what I hope will be years and years of celebrating. But I have to admit, this year was one for the books. If you know me at all you know I can hardly ever keep my own secrets to myself. And this space, though public, feels an awful lot like journaling to me sometimes. So I apologize if the following post strikes you as a little premature, a little too intimate, a little too much of me. If a big ol’ slice of the raw inside of my heart is not what you are looking for this morning, you should read something else.

On Sunday morning I sat down in my pajamas to a big cup of coffee. It had the perfect amount of thick vanilla cream swirled though (at least a third of the cup) and was steaming perfectly. Bryan was on the phone with his dad who had just called to wish him a happy birthday and Annabelle was playing with her singing teapot in the living room. I was just about to take a big delicious sip of my morning brew when a thought crossed my mind that made me pause. It was a highly unlikely thought. I came really close to shrugging it off and drinking my coffee down. But it left just enough residue of doubt in my mind, just enough “What if..” that I sat my warm mug down and went to the bathroom.

I pulled out the box of “just-in-case” pregnancy tests and opened it without looking at the instructions. In my mind this was just a quick act to give me peace of mind. The ticket to another month of guilt-free caramel macchiatos and sushi. I gave the test a cursory glance – no sign of changes – and started to put on deodorant. I piddled around for a couple of minutes and then glanced back down at the test as I started out the door. When I saw that faint blue line I nearly passed out.

Let me first just say this is exactly what I wanted to happen (sorta). Last time we did this I spent six months paying attention to every little twinge of my body, peeing on sticks and crying at disappointments. In a world where six months to wait for a baby is shamelessly misplaced emotion, I was a tad bit dramatic. And I didn’t want to do that this time. I wanted to be open to possibilities and free from anxiety. Whatever happens will happen in its own time. No great hopes or great fears. Just…whatever, whenever. Well, the first month we were ahem, “open to possibilities” whatever happens will happen happened.

I ushered Bryan into the bathroom mumbling something about needing a second opinion. He was grumbling thinking I was worried that some new dress made me look fat (as if that has ever happened). But when I showed him the test, he was quiet for a moment and then, to my intense relief and joy, he started laughing. Then he kissed me. How I love that man…

I am thrilled. Sobered perhaps by having children less than two years apart, but ridiculously happy. You can’t think of new life and not just be overwhelmed with joy! I am guarded. This is all still very early. I am not too naïve to realize that things could still happen. I feel a little guilty, though I know that’s silly. I have so many dear friends and family members I have who are struggling with waiting (we’re talking years, not months), trying, miscarriages, failed adoptions, and loss.

Most of all I think I am just grateful. I can’t stop thinking “Thank you so much!” I feel like I have been given such a gift. One that I know I don’t deserve. There is something about bearing a miracle in your own body that is incredibly centering. The future is complicated, daunting and a bit overwhelming sometimes. But today I am a Mama. Today, by God’s Grace, I am a keeper of life whether by washing sticky fingers or taking a prenatal vitamin or praying for help to do it all well.

This Mother’s Day was not at all what I was expecting. But it held surprising joy. I am still reveling in the precious gift I have received.