I would be lying if I told you that I celebrated when I saw a positive on my pregnancy test—or all five of them.
I would be lying if I told you that I jumped with glee, excitedly took a photo of the test, and then sent it to my closest friends.
I would be lying if I told you I screamed, “Yes!” when in actuality, I was screaming, “No, no, no.”
I would be lying if I told you I immediately sat down and had a moment of pause, and comfort, and joy when, in actuality, I was screaming, laying, pacing, and straight terrified; soon after, I went and ran at the university gym.
I would be lying if I told you that the revelation of you being in my womb was welcomed, that you were immediately loved and wanted.
You weren’t; you were judged by being within me.
You were hated by some and seen as a sin by others; some didn’t even want you at all.
I would be lying if I told you I immediately broke the news and beamed in pregnancy-glow; I was hiding you until my bump no longer tugged at my clothes.
I would be lying if I said you were drinking nothing that was not meant for your body during the first two months within my womb.
I would be lying if I said I didn’t worry about your health or the fact that my prior choices could affect you forever.
I would be lying if I said I enjoyed pregnancy or that I was happy; I experienced the deepest pits of sadness and depression in my life.
I would be lying, my son, if I said your time in my womb was peaceful and full of sweet whispers. In truth, I would console you with my hand on my belly; I’d tell you it was loud, and Mommy feels big feels and is sad, but we are going to be alright.
I would be lying if I said I didn’t weep at times, thinking of what would happen when you entered this world and what you had to be around your first months of life.
But what I do know to be the truth is: I never, ever, ever, did not love you.
I never did not want you.
I didn’t say no because I didn’t want to be your Momma; I said no because I was terrified that your sacred self was within me.
I didn’t see myself as healthy, capable, or worthy of you; being your Mommy, especially as who I was then, terrified me.
It is almost your birthday, the day your resilient self entered this world, and I do not have any pictures of the day I found out about you. But, if I’m being honest, this best describes it:
Mommy wasn’t healthy.
You awakened me and set my I can’t, I won’t, I’m not worthy self free.
You know our journey; our highs and our lows.
You know how much I love you.
Because of how you beautifully wrecked my world, we have had to work really hard as a team to make our dreams and goals a reality.
Every night I tell you I love you and now, you tell me you love me more and longer. I say, “No you don’t, no way,” and you come back with the truth, “I’ve loved you longer Mom, because I loved you two months before you even knew I was in your tummy.”
Every year I get emotional around this time because I know our journey; life with you in my arms began today, years ago.
I love nothing more than being your Momma; you have made me come alive again.
You gave me a reason to live and love, and begin again.
You are the epitome of bravery, resilience, love, and truth—I’m so proud of you.
You are the most epic, sacred, beautiful divine intervention.