A letter to my daughters, part 1.

  

  
Becoming a mother was IS the greatest achievement in my life. Like many other women – I dreamed of the day I could call myself a mother. Carrying my baby dolls around with the gentlest of care, brushing their hair, making them pretty. Dragging these poor little baby dolls around to every corner of the world that I found myself. Patiently waiting to become a woman, knowing my abilities to carry a child was even closer.  Stealing away every little bundle of blue or pink that I could, giving the mom or dad a much needed break was heaven for me. Finding attachment to a baby that returned the feelings was a much needed confidence boost.   Eagerly awaiting my turn seemed like forever. But eventually my turn came, and my life forever changed.

The fear of almost not having our first baby was real and life changing. First- the emotional roller coaster of finding out I was pregnant at 23. Boy the hormones were in full swing at only 6 weeks along.  The fear of becoming a parent, the heavy responsibility that suddenly hung heavy over my head. The long awaited for moment that had arrived left me paralyzed with fear. Is it real? Could it be possible? A little person is growing inside of me? Am I really to be a mother?  A person responsible for keeping another little human alive and well for the next--- 18 years lifetime?

 I remember the moment your daddy found out. Munching away on some chips – as he believed it was only a false alarm. Telling me to take the test to ease our (his) mind.  Showing him the result I saw his mind suddenly shift gears from enjoying his afternoon snack to becoming stiffly serious. “I don’t know what that means!” as he stared at the test – confused and nervous. I tried to show him the box so he would be able to decipher the result himself.  But the adrenaline left him unable to comprehend what he already knew. He was to be a father, a parent himself. At this point the nerves for me are shifting to excitement and the complete happiness I had long awaited for. I try to adjust now to your father’s shock – he had hoped to wait a few more years, hoping we would be in a better place financially. But he now admits that we were in the perfect place – because if we had waited, we wouldn’t have you, our firstborn little girl. 

A couple of weeks later, combined with some lower right sided pain & results from a recent blood test, the doctor warned that we may be losing you. An ultrasound showed they could not see you – where you were supposed to be. “Ectopic pregnancy”, they said. “Your hormone levels should be doubling but they have gone down. And we cannot see the baby in the uterus.”  If that wasn’t bad enough to hear, the doctor followed up with “we may have to give you a shot at the hospital – so that you lose the baby and it’s flushed from your system.”

As I sit here today writing this I am struggling to find the perfect words to explain the sheer dread and utter panic that paralyzed my emotions. But I can’t find the right words to express how horrible it felt to hear those words. I cried. I cried like I have never cried before and haven’t cried since. I cried at work.  I cried at the hospital. I cried at the doctor’s office in the waiting room before they took more blood to confirm their suspicions. Pregnant patients, older patients and office staff all sat quietly and watched as my heart was being ripped from my chest. I remember crying to my mom – thinking my chance to become a mother finally will now be put off for the few more years that your daddy had wanted to wait.  I ached for your existence. I felt pain for your life that might be cut short. For the next 48 hours your existence in my belly was our only concern. Sharp needles taking blood, ultrasounds of my tummy, and many hugs and tears in-between was how we spent those 48 hours. Counting. Waiting. More counting. Looking at the phone wishing it would ring --- or wouldn’t ring. Maybe we didn’t want to know what the doctor was going to say.  I had become so exhausted from the emotional battle we were fighting that I passed out next to your daddy and finally found a few hours of sleep. Then the phone rang, and it was the doctor. I took a deep breath, prayed for strength and answered the phone. As I write this, I tear up. The emotions of the saddest sadness I had ever felt quietly creep back into my heart. I have never longed for hearing good news from the doctor, like I did in that moment. Your daddy quietly listened on. “They think they see something in utero. And your blood work – though a little low – is going up.” And that my dear, oldest daughter was the greatest news I had ever heard. As of that moment, you were still safe and sound in my tummy where you were supposed to be. Pure relief. What I thought was taken away from me was now returned. 

 

Resurrected, in a way. 

Exactly what your name means. Asia – “Resurrection or Eastern Sunrise.” To me, you were resurrected. You survived the hardest battle I had ever faced. And now like a ray of warm soothing sunshine, you were rising in the east comforting all who you touched. And today you continue to warm the souls of anyone you touch. Your deeply seeded emotions brings me to tears at times, observing how you put others feelings ahead of yours in a way that no 7 year old should understand at this stage in life.  You held back your tears over your passing grandfather for 7 long months, keeping the emotions suppressed and buried deep down inside so that you wouldn’t cause your daddy more pain. And when you finally broke and allowed yourself the chance to cry – I cried with you. Not for the sadness of losing a loved one, but for the fact that such a beautiful young child had the level of maturity and love that you possess. Most adults are unable to hold back their tears, but you did.  

I watch you today, my little genetic twin; possess the same desire to be a mother. Mothering and caring for your little sister, so often needing reminders that you are not the mommy and therefore need to sometimes, take a step back. Frustrated, you’ve more than once responded that “you are a woman, and will one day be a mommy”, so it’s hard for you to not act like a mom right now.

 I know what that feels like. You have so much love oozing from your little beating heart that it is almost impossible to not mother whoever and whatever comes near you. My darling little girl- please never change. Always stay true to you – the beauty that you are. Exuding passion and whimsical daydreams, creating visions and mastering them, celebrating life in the grand way that you do. No matter what happens live, laugh and love as hard as you always do. Do not let fear stand in your way. And always remember that I love you in a way that you cannot understand until you one day become a mommy. 

Loving my girls to the moon and back, and then back again is simply not far enough to express the length and depth of my love for my little girls. My angels, my beauty's that I have the privilege of calling my own.Thank you Asia and Serenity for making me a mommy. 

Part 2 to follow..........