Ten years ago, I laid on the floor of the spare room in our house. Crying. Praying. Begging. All I wanted was to be a mother. And we waited. And waited. And we got the phone call. Appointments. Ultrasounds. Visits. Phone calls. A night in the hospital. There she was. Our big. All round and beautiful. We fell instantly for her. Scooped her up and fought over who got to hold her.
Then a diagnoses. And hard stuff. Handing her off to a surgeon to have the tumor removed in her leg. Getting her back. Watching her heal. Rejoicing with a clear follow up. Holding my breath with each MRI that it will be the one that gives us different news.
Becoming a big sister. Then again. Hospital stays for them. And more hard stuff.
All this was filled in with books, parks, story times, friends, family, laughter, frustration, parenting failures, teaching, learning, television, bike riding, fevers, hugs, cooking, cleaning, eye rolling, life.
Seven years, and four months. This child has been part of my every day. Tomorrow, that changes. I'm so excited for her. For us. And sad. How I will miss that child. She's a smaller version of my personality. Eye rolls and all. She frustrates me like nobody else can. And she reminds me each day of getting to become a mother. Of my failures and my successes as a parent.
Here's to sending her out on a new adventure.