For so many months, I didn’t.
For so long, I wasn’t.
Many months, others did.
Many times, others were.
And I didn’t, and wasn’t.
And yet, here I sit–I did, and I am.
I’m the lady breathing heavily while wandering around the grocery store. I’m the one seeing stars after bending over to pick something up. I’m the one hitting my belly on the corner counter because, even after so many weeks, I’m still not used to it being there.
There are still women out there who, month after month, don’t. Who time after time, aren’t.
For 881 days, I didn’t and wasn’t. Compared to some womens’ waiting, that’s not that long. I remember when I wasn’t. I used to say that I actually worried about the day where I was the waddling one in the mall who caused pain in some flat stomached woman’s life. And it pains me that my blessing of a bulging belly has and will continue to cause others stomachs to twist and jaws to clench. I don’t judge them. I would never tell them to be happy for me. I know how it feels.
I wish I could wear a sign. The sign would say, “This did not come easily.” “I do not take this miracle for granted.” “I understand and shed tears over your pain.” “I know the infertility journey.”
Because of God’s goodness, I did and I am. And I pray I never ever forget how it felt when I didn’t, and wasn’t.