After ten years, six miscarriages, and more disappointments than either of us could bear, my husband and I had almost given up hope of ever bringing a baby home.
So when our daughter was finally born healthy, crying, and perfect, I thought the worst was over.
I made a mistake…
Caleb and I had set ourselves a rule during the pregnancy: not to celebrate too soon.
No hay baby shower
Maternity photos are not allowed
No countdown on social media
After six defeats, hope had become something dangerous.
When I was twenty weeks old, my sister offered to buy us a crib.
—Not yet—I told him.
At thirty weeks, Caleb discreetly broke our rule.
One night I woke up and found him assembling a crib at midnight.
“You’ve broken the rule,” I whispered.
He looked at the half-finished cradle.
“Return it if you want.”
I didn’t do it
Neither of them said what they were thinking.
Perhaps this baby was going to come home after all.
Yesterday morning, I woke Caleb up at 5:12.
“I think it’s happening.”
He shot from a standing position
“I’ve been having contractions for two hours.”
“Did you wait two hours?”
“I wanted to be sure.”
He panicked so much that he put on two different shoes.
I laughed
It was the first time in months that I laughed with real carelessness about this pregnancy.
