This time last year, I was nursing a very bad cold. I was sluggish. A visit to the gym didn’t help much, as my arms and legs felt more and more like rubber with every step on the treadmill. I was fighting the urge to fall asleep every minute. I drank Hot Toddies to make me feel better. I lost my appetite, but wasn’t losing any weight.
During the early years of our marriage we kept trying. Every test that came back negative would make me burst into tears. Every time I’d feel nauseated, my hopes would go a little bit higher, though later on they’d be crushed when I’d find out the nausea was just from a bad meal or tired eyes.
We decided to stop planning for a baby. The plan was not to plan.
So last Christmas, pregnancy was the last thing on my mind. It did cross my mind but I’d think “Naaaah, this is my body playing jokes on me again.” I didn’t want to take a pregnancy test for fear of bursting into tears again, even though I had already managed expectations.
Little did I know that all those little signs were signs of pregnancy. The cold that wouldn’t go away. The sluggishness. The lack of appetite. The nausea. There was a little baby in my tummy growing slowly, celebrating Christmas quietly with us.
I wished for a baby last Christmas, without knowing I already had one.
One year later, there’s a four-month-old boy in my arms looking around the living room as gifts are torn open. There are rattles and wind-up toys, onesies and baby books, stuffed toys and teethers. Our yearly Christmas Eve family reunion is filled with even more warmth and cooing, as little Timmy takes in all the love and affection.
To my friends who too want babies of their own, believe in miracles. This is my Christmas wish for you. May your home be filled with the love of a little one soon. Believe in miracles, as I did, and that wish will come true.