Pregnancy Journal December 30, 2015

Little one, 

Yesterday I sat in a dark room, nervously waiting as the doctor tried to find you. She found a small black circle and zoomed in on the screen and my breath caught in my throat. 

"There's the heart, already beating," she explained as she pointed to a small white spot, flashing quickly. "Still too small to hear but we didn't expect to see the heartbeat yet so this is good." 

I was crying at this point, tears of absolute joy, as I watched your heart, still only two tiny chambers, beating so quietly inside me that the sonogram couldn't register it above my own blood flow. But it was beating. It didn't matter that I couldn't hear it. I could see it, and that was more than enough. 

From the moment I found out about you, I was scared. Scared I would lose you, afraid I would never hear that heartbeat. The fear is still there, but it's not overwhelming. It's small and insignificant. Overshadowed by the complete joy I felt when I saw your tiny little heart flashing on that screen. 

I won't hear that sweet sound of life for another few weeks. I won't feel you move inside me for months. Your Daddy won't feel you fluttering inside me for even longer. And we won't get to hold you in our arms for eight long months. But it doesn't matter how long we wait. The joy you bring us as you're nestled inside me, safe, warm, and completely loved, is more than I need. 

-Momma

Pregnancy Journal December 17, 2015

Little light,

At this point, I don't even know if you're real. I could be imagining those two lines on that test. That second line was so faint, it could be a false positive.

If it's real, then you are just a tiny, little thing, just beginning inside me. So small, in fact, that a microscope would be hard pressed to see you.

But regardless of your size, you are loved so very much, little one. I've been praying for you, hoping for you, trying for you, for such a long time.

I am scared though. I'm afraid you won't be real, afraid that I'll lose you, afraid to let that hope continue to blossom inside me. 

But I will not be sad. How can I be with the knowledge that you may very well be tucked safely inside me for the next nine months? 

You are my child. Regardless of what happens. Regardless of how long you are mine. You will always be my child, a precious piece of me that will forever be lodged in my heart. 

So my dear, sweet spark of life, I will do everything I can to make sure you are safe and healthy and I will love you, so very much, until the day I get to meet you. 

Love,

Your Momma