Poem

For those of you who read this (is there anyone?!), I apologize for not posting in over a month. Work has been slowly and consistently gaining speed as we gear for the last two weeks of school and PreSchool graduation. I have done this for the past two years; however, both of those years I worked with another teacher. I didn't realize until late that she was an amazing person and a God-send (no joke). I have cried more in the last month than I have more year due to the added pressure of end-of-year and graduation stuff.

We have decided to switch to a different OB - the one that we initially weren't sure about. He seems to be much more attentive/aggressive in concerns of our case and has promised that when we do get pregnant again, he will do everything he can (read: weekly appointments and bloodworks and frequent ultrasounds) to help us and our baby and to keep everyone on top of everything.

I've been extremely tired lately due to late night bedtimes and early morning wake up times for school but I wanted to post this poem I found on Kelly's blog around Mother's Day. She has since taken it down from her blog, but I believe she has posted in on another one of her blogs that she moderates. Please understand that I post these words with the pain and heartache of losing three babies and the pain that this has caused my husband, family and friends. I also mean these words with an overfull heart of love and concern for my children.

I have longed and waited.
I have cried and prayed.
I have endured and planned over and over again.

Like most things in life, the people who truly have appreciation are those who have struggled to attain their dreams.

I will notice everything about my child.
I will take time to watch my child sleep,
explore,
and discover.
I will marvel at this miracle every day for the rest of my life.

I will be happy when I wake in the middle of the night to the sound of my child, knowing that I can comfort, hold, and feed him and that I am not waking to take another temperature, pop another pill, take another shot or cry tears of a broken dream.
My dream will be crying for me.

I count myself lucky in this sense; that God has given me this insight, this special vision with which I will look upon my child.

Whether I parent a child I actually give birth to or a child that God leads me to, I will not be careless with my love.

I will be a better mother for all that I have endured. I am a better wife, a better aunt, a better daughter, neighbor, friend, and sister because I have known pain.

I know disillusionment, as I have been betrayed by my own body. I have been tried by fire and hell that many never face, yet given time, I stood tall.

I have prevailed.
I have succeeded.
I have won.

So now, when others hurt around me, I do not run from their pain in order to save myself discomfort. I see it, mourn it, and join them in theirs.
I listen.
And even though I cannot make it better, I can make it less lonely.

I have learned the immense power of another hand holding tight to mine, of other eyes that moisten as they learn to accept the harsh truth when life is beyond hard.

I have learned a compassion that only comes by walking in those shoes. I have learned to appreciate life.

Yes, I will be a wonderful mother.