I have struggled with fertility issues for about a decade. There would be years when I couldn't get pregnant, and other years, when I would get pregnant, but would miscarry.
My grandma would always tell me not to worry, because I was going to have another baby.
Even in the midst of her struggle with Alzheimers, a time when she treated me like a stranger, and hadn't known my name for years, there would be rare moments when she would get a sparkle in her eye, I'd see a hint of recognition, and she would shock me by talking to me about my "babies."
In between sentences that didn't quite make sense, she'd clearly tell me, not to worry, because I was going to get my baby.
Then, 9 months ago, when my family and I were vacationing in the Rainbow State, grandma passed away.
A few days after her funeral, I began having pregnancy symptoms.
A. Few. Days. After.
To be honest, I wasn't feeling very positive. While, I was having pregnancy symptoms, I was also having the same symptoms that I had with each of my miscarriages.
Weeks after I had taken the pregnancy test, when my husband and I were laying in bed, the neighbor's porch light turned on and light poured through our blinds creating letters on our bedroom wall.
They spelled, LIFE.
L-I-F-E. I thought it was the neatest thing.
It had been a very hard month.
One life that was so very special to me had been taken away, and there was a new little life growing inside of me, but I was fearful that at any moment it could be taken from me too...