I loved being pregnant. I loved knowing that there was another tiny being growing inside of me. I loved counting the weeks. I loved watching my belly grow and wearing maternity clothes. I loved Chris laying his hand on my belly and feeling the baby move. I loved reading the books about what should be happening and what I should be doing. I loved the doctor visits and hearing the incredible sound of my baby’s heart. I loved the excitement of people asking how far along I was and if we had found out the gender and what our name choices were.
I even loved labor and delivery. (Yes, I know. I was one of THOSE crazy people.) I loved bringing our baby into the world. I loved Chris yelling, “It’s a girl! It’s a girl!” with tears in his eyes. I loved holding our sweet baby within minutes of her birth and giving her a name. I loved drawing her close and nursing her. I loved all our family and friends visiting us in the hospital.
When people tell me they’re sorry that I can’t get pregnant again, or say that they feel badly for me because of what I’ll miss out on, that’s what I think about. I’ll miss the process. I’ll miss the growing belly and the ultrasounds and the kicking feet.
But I know this…
I won’t miss out on motherhood. I won’t miss out on holding our precious baby close and breathing him in. I won’t miss out on loving another child so fiercely that sometimes I think my heart might explode. No, I won’t miss out on family. I won’t miss out on love.
Photo courtesy of Delrae Ward.