Can you imagine having excruciating cramps every five minutes, then clots of blood flowing down? Placing pad on top of pad making it seem like you’re wearing a pamper? Finally the pain and the bleeding is too much the bear, so your mother takes you to the emergency room where you find out that you are having a miscarriage. They pull this little thing out of you and place it in a jar. As you watch them so many emotions run through your mind. The first thought, why me? Second thought, why did this have to happen on Mother’s Day? After seeing your doctor, he tells you that you will never be able to have children. What? The? Fuck? Feels like a ton of bricks are hitting you and instead of falling down on you, they are all being thrown at you.
You eventually accept the fact that you can no longer have children and hope that whomever you end up falling in love with doesn’t want any. Sounds fucked up but hey it is what it is. Right?
Imagine months later you have praying hands touch you in a spot that only you know isn’t right. They place their hands in that spot and begin to pray and pray.
Now imagine years after that, giving birth to two amazing, handsome, smart, energetic, funny, loving, outgoing boys. Or girls.
After having a miscarriage, being told that I couldn’t and having praying hands, I birthed two boys. One came via c-section and the other I was able to push out.
As I watch them sleep or just stare at them I’m always amazed. I always said that if I ever had kids, I wanted a boy. Not one but two chose me to be their mother when they said it wasn’t possible.
I look at them and I truly believe nothing is impossible. So as I move forward, I know any and everything that I want for not only myself but for them is possible.