Mother's Day 2017

This is the original of the picture that I posted to Instagram and Facebook yesterday, on Mother's Day. I posted it with the following caption:

Never imagined I'd ever take a picture like this. My miracles number one and number two. #picaday #motheroftwo #babyeleanorann #bigbrothersam #mothersday #proudmama #ivf #infertilityjourney

For anyone who has ever struggled with infertility, loss, or childlessness (by choice or not), or anyone who grieves the loss of a mother or a relationship with her mother, Mother's Day is a complicated holiday.

For me as a daughter, I am one of the lucky ones. I have a fantastic mom, and we have a fantastic relationship. I have a wonderful mother-in-law, and we, too, have a wonderful relationship.

But for me as a mother, my emotions on Mother's Day are still plenty complicated. My life these days is busy. Pleasantly so. My days are full of church and family, work projects and home projects, cooking, not enough cleaning, not nearly enough sleeping, lots of joy, not so much time for self-reflection.

Yesterday evening, right after eating ice cream on the back deck, right before going in for Sam's bedtime, we hurriedly took a few Mother's Day pictures, because it's what you do on Mother's Day. It took about sixty quick-fire shots on my phone to get even a handful of shots where we were all mostly looking at the camera and not blurry with movement. And what a handful of amazing pictures those turned out to be! At first glance, I was pleased by the above picture simply because we all looked nice.

But I couldn't take my eyes off of the picture the rest of the evening. I kept picking up my phone and looking at it. Again. And again. And again.

Because in a weird out-of-body moment, I looked at that picture and saw - REALLY SAW - that it was a picture of me. And our two children. Our. Two. Children.

Words I'd never expected to be able to write. A picture I never imagined I'd be able to take. A life of motherhood that seemed like such a crazy and impossible wish just a few years ago.

A few weeks ago, I went back through this blog and my calendars to consolidate our entire journey toward parenthood into one play-by-play list. It is easy to forget just how hard we fought and persisted to get to this place. But the battle is still so deeply a part of me, of us.

I know what it is to be a mother-in-waiting and a mother-in-hoping and a woman-who-may-never-be-a-mother and a mother-to-babies-who-were-never-born. I know what it is to feel the mix of deep grief and deep joy at pregnancy announcements made by friends and family. I know what it is to keep a stiff upper lip after a failed cycle. I know what it is to dissolve into embarrassingly uncontrollable sobs after a failed cycle. I know what it is to summon all my strength to stay hopeful. I know what it is to worry incessantly during the first trimester. I know the special joy of hearing a heartbeat on a doppler, a sound that I will never tire of hearing, a sound that symbolizes not just joy, but hope, and reassurance, a sound better than any other sound in the entire world.

I am grateful beyond belief for my mother and for my motherhood. I also know that I am one of the lucky ones. Sam and Ellie are the greatest blessings in the world to me, but not of my own deserving. I do not carry the badge of motherhood lightly, as if everyone's struggle with infertility comes with such a doubly happy ending. I do not for one moment take for granted this opportunity that has been given me - to birth two babies (by whatever means necessary!) and to hold them close and to watch them grow and to be amazed by them and terrified that I am responsible for the care of their lives. Even the hard days are beautiful. This journey has been too long and too hard to resent my children or to complain about them as if they were an inconvenience. Yes, I'll whine about sleepless nights or inconsolable babies from time to time, because even the most miraculous children can bring you to wits' end, especially when you are tired. But you'll rarely hear me whine about such things without making a pointed follow-up statement expressing my love for them.

I keep looking at the above picture today as well - the magic hasn't worn off. Because despite all odds, despite all the bad luck, despite the feelings of hopelessness, despite the fear of needles and blood draws, despite the challenges of their births, despite the fact that my two children have had three surgeries between them...I have somehow emerged as a mother to two beautiful children, beyond all my wildest dreams.

For this, I am amazed. And grateful. And humbled every day.