Today, I’m finding my joy. It’s my big kid’s 10th birthday, and he’s one of the three people I love most in this world. This post is in celebration of both his special day and my 10th anniversary of motherhood. I’m linking up with other bloggers for this week’s Creative Buzz Hop, which, coincidentally, is in its 10th week. If you’d like to participate, follow the link and add your voice.
It’s hard to believe that eleven years ago, I wasn’t sure if I would be a mother by biological means. At just about exactly this time of year, we were waiting to see if the first stage of treatment for primary infertility would be effective. I don’t want to give the specifics, because those are intimate, precious details that only my husband and I need to know. Just understand that it was a difficult time.
I was in transition in other ways, too. I was about to become an auntie for the first time, and I had just started a new job. Because of the uncertainty, I had decided to begin my master’s program. I worked for the college while studying full time. It was also just a little more than a year after my own mother’s death. I suppose that’s one of the things that was most painful for me–she would never meet any of her future grandchildren (if there were any).
Just a few months later, my husband and I sat down to make a plan. Two doctors had told us that we would not conceive by natural means. We consulted a specialist who confirmed their assessments. I had already seen the toll that ongoing treatments took, both financially and emotionally, and I wanted no part of that. I was committed to giving it the six treatments allotted by our insurance and then moving on.
Less than a month after our consultation, there were two blue lines.
I should have known. At work, I was sleepy and irritable all week. I cried when my sandwich wasn’t the kind I wanted. The smell of bread made me feel sick. I just thought I was feeling stressed, and I chalked my food sensitivities up to being premenstrual (I always have mild stomach upset).
I don’t have any good explanation for why we suddenly were able to create this new life. Some people say it was God or prayer or faith. Some people say the doctors were just wrong. Some people say that “these things just happen.” I honestly don’t know, and I don’t care. The how is far less important than the what.
Today, my amazing son is ten years old. He has informed us that he’s not a preteen or a tween; he’s a “pretween” for one more year. He says later he may blog about being ten. We took him out to breakfast at McDonald’s so he could eat an Egg McMuffin and collect the Monopoly game piece. As I type this, he’s watching Minecraft videos on YouTube.
There is so much to celebrate from the last ten years, from his first tooth to his first step to his first dance recital to his first school concert. This Sunday, he and I will enjoy another first: our first time playing a duet in church. I couldn’t be more proud and happy and blessed to be his mom.
Later, we’ll go have some fun together as a family. Maybe there will be cake (or possibly cookies; he has a thing for yummy soft cookies). This weekend, we’ll get together with family and friends to celebrate both his and his sister’s birthdays (hers is next week; I’ll write about her then). Through all that, I’m going to celebrate my joy at having had ten wonderful years with my amazing son.
Thanks, kiddo, for teaching me how to be your mom.
If you like, you can visit his blog over at The Electric Kid.