Twenty-Six

Twenty-six years ago this week, my mother had little idea that I was breech. She went for her last appointment with the doctor before having me, and looking back, she realizes now that the doctor was actually feeling my rear end instead of my head. She was nine months pregnant with her first child, yet she had no idea the seriousness of what was at stake.

Twenty-six years ago next week, when my parents arrived at the hospital, my mom was surprised when the doctor told her that she needed to deliver C-section. Turns out that there was no other option, and because of the position I was in, my hip was dislocated. For six months following my birth, I wore a brace to ensure that my hip would heal correctly.

Twenty-six weeks today, and I cannot imagine what this tiny being within me is like. I cannot fathom what his facial expressions might be or what bothers him within the womb. I cannot help him when he's uncomfortable, and I cannot soothe him the way I wish I could just yet. Oh, I feel his kicks, turns, and swirls, and I cannot understand why God would bless me this much.

Next week I'll be turning twenty-six years old, and I'll be twenty-six weeks along in my second pregnancy with my first known son. It's unreal to me. It is truly awe-inspiring. There are moments, like my mother, in which I wish I knew what was taking place within. As I've endured the loss of the first pregnancy, I have learned that I love not knowing. For if I did, my emotions would overwhelm me and I wouldn't enjoy this the way I am. I am blessed. I am incredibly blessed.