I just did something hard. To another, it may not seem like much, but to me it is the first step toward a different life. It is symbolic of the end of an era, a thing I have loved with my whole self, in fact a thing to which I've dedicated my life for the last 18 years.
Tonight, I put a large bag of maternity clothes into this bin.
And then I cried and cried.
Nine times, I have read the two lines on the test.
Twice, I have said goodbye too early.
Eight times I have felt those first, tiny movements and felt my heart leap with joy.
Uncountable movements thereafter, sometimes shared with someone else,
but most of the time, a secret communication just between me and my little one.
Night after night, laying in bed after everyone else is long-since asleep, the two of us, falling in love.
My baby, listening to my heart, becoming familiar with my rhythm.
While I learn his and her patterns, personality, energy.
Eight times, I labored.
Eight times he blessed me and cheered me on.
Eight times I overcame.
Seven times I expressed that discombobulating emotion of laughing and crying all at once.
Seven times, I held the newest baby on my skin and felt complete.
Once, I just cried.
They each helped me prove my strength.
I have had the privilege of providing a vessel;
I partnered with Heavenly Father to create
in a most miraculous way.
For 18 years.
And now, no more.
Even as it is time, even as it is right, even as I am ready,
right now, I am grieving.
I gave away my maternity clothes.
I will never be pregnant again.
And that makes me sad.