This has nothing to do with Eggo waffles and nosebleeds.
This has everything to do with God being a world-class (galaxy-class?) showoff.
You heard me.
If you follow along, you’ll remember we got some bad news in January. If this is your first time here, welcome! I don’t have any cookies for you, but I do have a recap: In January we found out I wasn’t the only one with fertility issues – Trev had them too. Essentially, our chances at conception took a nosedive from their already less-than-favorable position. It was tough news to swallow.
And we had a baby shower to attend the next day. (Bratty timing, right?)
So we went to the shower and I kept it together until we left. Then my heart crumbled into tiny pieces as we wound down the tree-flanked mountain roads and I explained to Trev (in tears) that it was just starting to hit me that this might really be the end of the line for us. And even though I was at the end of my rope – so done with the endometriosis pain and the hormonal imbalance and general un-wellness – I actually wasn’t ready for it.
As the days rolled by we just processed and prayed and thought about our future kids. We already wanted to adopt before getting this news. But finding out a biological baby might not be in the cards for us really stoked that flame. We had conversations on our brown couch about how amazing it’s going to be to one day tell our child who didn’t come from us, “Welcome home. We chose you. We fought for you. We love you.”
Our smiles grew as we imagined what our family would look like and where the heck they would come from.
My therapist told me, “Hope is never a waste of time.” That changed so much for me.
As we hoped for our future adopted kids, as we processed the fact that we were both proud owners of problematic pelvises, great things happened. My depression lifted and we felt excitement and anticipation because we knew something was coming.
I just thought that something was going to be the green light to call it quits, get surgery, and begin my journey to healing.
It was not.
January wasn’t only rough because of the bad news, it was rough because we were on month 11 of the 12 month fertility window my endometriosis specialist had given me the year prior. And I had just started my second round of Clomid (it’s like Hulk serum for fertility) one day before we got the bad news. Again with the bratty timing.
But we decided to keep going with the treatment just in case pigs started to fly and the sky opened up and somehow something happened. I just wanted my body to be as ready as possible if the highly unlikely were to occur. Just me being practical. Not faith-filled. Not anticipating a miracle.
And by the time that cycle was up, I knew nothing had happened. My cramps had arrived and knew what would follow. I called my doctor and told her to refill my Clomid prescription for round three. She told me it was ready to go.
But I woke up the next day feeling like I should take a pregnancy test.
“Tell me not to do it.” I half-shouted at Trev from the toilet, half-asleep and feeling obstinate. I’ve made him hide pregnancy tests from me before. Told you I’m crazy.
“Do whatever you want.”
So I did. I waited a minute while the test window did its thing. It revealed just one line. Dangit.
I set it down and went on with my morning routine of stretching and grumbling and deciding whether or not to wash my hair. But when I came back to throw the test away…
Two. Freaking. Lines.
I took another test the next morning: a capital Y-E-S greeted me at 4:30am. I cried myself silly straight through sunrise.
Jesus, are you sure? Are you sure? Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou.
Guys. I meant it. God is a show off.
It didn’t happen until month 11 of our 12 month window.
It didn’t happen until I was at the end of my rope.
It didn’t happen until we found out Trev had fertility problems too.
It’s as if God wanted us to understand the magnitude of the miracle before He let it happen.
This was only Him. Only when He intended it.
I’m humbled, ecstatic, and grateful beyond measure to say: Baby Lee is landing earthside this Halloween. (And of course Halloween because God knew how much we would love that.)
Holy freaking crap.
I’m ten weeks pregnant with our cute little alien. And I almost wouldn’t believe it if it weren’t for the pain and the nausea – the coolest reminders of life I have ever experienced. Every time our kid grows and muscles it’s way through my scar tissue it hurts like a brat and makes me so grateful for endometriosis. It gave me a threshold for pain. And now, for the first time in my life, I get to celebrate it.
Now pain is a privilege.
Every spike is an opportunity to revel in the wonder of this little miracle. Every encounter with discomfort is a reminder of this insane gift.
It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever experienced. Every detail.
Thank you thank you thank you Jesus.