A Letter to My Embabies
Originally posted on my fertility clinic's website. Thank you, Missouri Center for Reproductive Medicine, for letting me share my story with your patients.
To my embabies, the day after transfer:
I feel like I’ve known you my whole life. And you’re home now, with me and your dad and those furry brothers who make all the noise. I know you’re still growing and fighting in there, so I just want you to know how much you’re loved and cared for before you decide if you’re going to hang around and meet us when it gets cold again. I’m rooting for and believing you’ll choose that – both of you – and that we’ll have a lot to celebrate before next year.
That’s one thing mom wants you to know: that positive thoughts become positive words and actions. Heck, maybe even moral compasses. It seems so silly to not share this with you until you’re in my arms, because I’ve been waiting for you to be this close to me for so long, babies. Developmentally you might not understand, but I know you feel this energy and our love and I will give you every ounce you can handle, every second of every day you’re here with me.
Mom read an article yesterday about the health benefits of parents singing to babies in utero, so on my way to acupuncture today, I caught myself singing instead of listening to my audio book. It was a subconscious choice I didn’t realize was provoked by the article until I was already doing it, and I didn’t stop after I thought about how you can’t really hear me yet. I just kept singing; I believe you got something out of it.
I know there are people who will think what I’m doing is nuts. They will think I’m getting too involved before we know that you’ve implanted. Or maybe they’ll fear that my need to talk to you will make it harder if, for some reason, I get a negative result when I go in for beta testing next week.
But mom doesn’t care and neither should you.
I want to talk to you and give you everything I can, so I’m choosing to honor your through this entire process, no matter how long it is.
Am I scared?
Only a little. I’m so proud and overjoyed it’s hard to imagine disappointment from here, but that’s another life lesson for you to learn early:
If you anticipate disappointment and prepare for it, it doesn’t stop heartbreak. However, choosing joy means you get to breathe and celebrate and love every second you’re given. For you, my kids, I’m choosing joy.
Next week we will face down our next hurdle. Until then, I’m taking pages from my own book (literally) and practicing self-care. I’m feeding you warm food and doing the things people who’ve transferred do with wives’ tales.
Tomorrow I’ll have another letter for you, but I’ll keep it between us. It’ll be our first secret.
Stay awhile, okay? Mom’s ready to drive dad nuts with cravings. I think he’s ready for me to drive him (even more) nuts, too.
We love you. We are so glad you’re home.
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