One year ago, I quietly closed the front door after a full nights work. Slipping out of my uniform & into the bathroom, I turned on the faucet of the sink, waiting for warm water to begin to trickle out.
The box of unopened pregnancy tests sat on the counter & I’d promised myself I wouldn’t take another. I had already taken a small fortunes worth of tests that week, hoping and praying for 2 pink lines, one word to flash across the screen instead of two.
We’d try again next month I conceded. Another negative test would only feel more disappointing so I reasoned I was protecting myself by not taking just one more.
But then I did anyway.
Bare feet on the cold tile floor, standing at the sink brushing my teeth, my heart lurched inside of me when the test resulted.
It’s a moment the splits yours life in two, before and after.
The you you always knew will never be the same. But someone new, something new, just like the new life inside of you.
The disappointment I tried to protect my heart from that day, in an attempt to keep it safe, is a fraction of what’s at stake from the moment you learn you’ll be a mother.
You become vulnerable in the most frightening ways, you become helpless in the worst of ways.
But you become strong in the most beautiful of ways, you become a mother in every way.
Tomorrow morning when I get home from a long nightshift, I’ll quietly close the front door, slip out of my uniform wash my face & brush my teeth.
Before I crawl into bed I’ll lean over the bassinet nearby & kiss the sweetest cheeks of the baby inside.
Soft but strong. Vulnerable yet powerful. I am a mother
