Tonight's guest blog comes to you courtesy of the famous Baby Mama:
Dear Embie,
The past 10 days have actually gone by quite fast, considering. As you might imagine, I’ve been doing everything in my power to stay busy. I’ve cooked more in the last week than I probably have all year (to the point that I’ve broken my crockpot). The house is spotless (except for the ceiling fans which I’m tackling today soon). The dogs are WELL exercised and fed (I made them homemade dog treats) and I’ve even started the now famous Gilmore marathon on Netflix on Crystal’s recommendation. All to keep the “what ifs” at bay.
But they still sneak up on me. During my morning coffee. Whenever I see a baby in the grocery store. Right before I fall asleep. Oh, and in the shower. I’ve had some really good crying jags in the shower.
It’s been hard to know whether to cry tears of joy or sorrow. I am, of course, overcome with joy that we’ve come so far. Knowing that you’ve been snuggling up in Crystal’s “fluffy” uterus has taken the stressful weight of almost two years of ups and downs to get to this point off of my shoulders. You’re safe in there - and it’s all up to God and nature now. But we still have milestones to hit, Embie, and I vacillate between wanting to be the crazy-excited-momma-to-be and the gotta-keep-my-head-on-my-shoulders realist that I am. And so I cry for the “what if” that I just don’t want to think about, but need to, just to prepare myself.
Today, there just doesn’t seem to be enough to distract “Daddy" and I from the impending phone call. It’s dreary and raining and he doesn’t feel good, and apparently I've run out of ways to “nest”, so we’re shuffling around the house, trying to squeeze by the huge elephant in the room that’s taking up all of our space and oxygen. I’m getting desperate, I'll admit it. I’ve read and re-read all of Crystal’s texts (and lack of in the last few days), and triple analyzed them. It’s getting me nowhere, other than I know she knows. But we wanted “official” so...
The only thing left to do is bug the clinic for the results, and I don’t even have my normal gumption to do that. Thank God for Crystal. She’s picked up on my desperation and is calling and emailing and doing the bugging for all of us, even while tending to her own sick child. How did we ever luck into her? She’s a blessing, let me tell you. I hope you can sense that - that you’re being cared for by a generous, talented, and crazy funny girl. That you’re being surrounded by a loving family that is sharing her unselfishly with us and pulling for you.
She’s even telling our story. I tried early on not to read her blog; it felt intrusive and I think I was afraid of what I might learn. But she’s capturing it all in a truthful and fun(ny) way, and I’m glad I’m seeing it from her side. It’s definitely helped me get to know her and her family better, and she’s brought us to tears a few times too - usually when she’s describing the love story that has brought us all here and her own personal reasons for wanting to help. And here’s the really interesting thing about it: there’s this whole group of people reading along with us and offering their support and wishes. A whole group of people that we don’t know, who are pulling for all of us. It’s really quite touching, especially now!
You see, for the most part, we’re keeping you and this journey under wraps on our side for now. There are a lot of reasons why, but mostly because of the roller coaster ride of uncertainty. But it’s comforting to know that it’s being documented by someone who cares, and that a wave of prayers are behind you.
The phone is ringing and I know this is it. I answer, put it on speaker, and walk out to be with Daddy. He mouths “I love you, no matter what.” We hug, and she’s talking and I’m shaking and all I hear is….
“wah wah wah, positive, wah, wah wah”
I’m pretty sure we didn’t even say goodbye. Just tears and hugs, and giggling, and tears, and smiles, and a whole lot of I love you’s, and more tears.
It’s later now, and I’m writing you this letter for Crystal’s blog. I wanted to share our big day with the people who have been following our story through her (especially since she would have told them anyway!), and let them know how much it means to us. We won’t be telling your family about you until we see them all for the holidays, so it feels a little like cheating… but I’m pretty sure that our beautiful secret is safe for now.
No matter how crazy happy we are now, we also know that we’ve just entered a brand new set of woods. So here’s the last thing I want to tell you. Keep fighting baby. It’s in your DNA, so I know you can do it. We’ll be praying for you out here.
Love,
Mama
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