Sentimentality of a sleep-deprived mother

This morning I have no energy. Aeryn is feeling better, but throughout the night her persistent cough had us both awake at least every two hours. It’s been a few years since I have been up like that through the night and I am no longer accustomed to it.

After hastily getting her ready for the bus, I came home to a quiet house where my mild tiredness rapidly blossomed into full-blown exhaustion. I’m not going to lie, it’s a little rough, but I’m sure you all understand that.

As I look at her yet untouched bowl of cheerios my mind is awash with memories. Her childhood is passing so quickly, as I’m sure most childhood’s do. It feels like it was just yesterday I cried into the night begging for the chance to be a mom.

I remember in 1999 at my annual girl-check the first time I heard the word “infertility” used in conjunction with me. I was on my way back to work and sobbed the rest of the day. It wasn’t even confirmed; they just wanted to run some tests. I’ve never been so afraid in my life. I wasn’t married yet so there was very little evidence to run on, but there were other conditions led that direction.

One Saturday I popped into the local clinic for some blood work. It all looked normal which just meant “we don’t know where to go next.”

Then in 2003 when I was “diagnosed” again, by another doctor, in another state. He initially laughed at the diagnosis based upon his years of experience, and though he questioned the motive behind the tests that had been done, he gave a second voice to the same diagnosis. He gave me a prescription and said “maybe, but probably not.”

Six weeks later I was in his office again. I’ll never forget the disbelief on his face when he grabbed my chart and just said “didn’t I JUST tell you you’d probably never have kids?” Yes, sir, you did, but she clearly had other plans.

This morning as I’m sitting tired and unprepared for the day, I can’t quit thinking about how desperately I waited for this little girl. How many times I begged and pleaded and prayed to a Higher Being to grant me this one little joy. How little I understood. I knew it would be fun. I knew I’d paint her toenails and build towers and bake cookies and play in leaves and go camping and dance silly in the living room. I knew sometimes I’d have to discipline her and that some days I’d just want to cry. But I didn’t know that the days I was most tired would be the days I’d be completely overcome with gratitude and love for her little person.

I didn’t know how worth it everything would be.