Here I am, nearly two years later, reflecting on all that is.
When Mike and I received the news that were were having a baby, we were elated. After six months of "trying" and two months of "really trying", our dreams were becoming a reality. Three months later we received the news that our unborn angel appeared to have his heart on the wrong side of his chest.
I will say, living with this secret nearly killed me. I didn't want people to know. I didn't want people to feel sorry for me. I didn't want people to take pity on me. I hate pity. So, I lived with this pain.
I prayed every single day, a million times a day, that God would heal my angel. That whatever it was, that he would just make it better. Every single day.
We had showers honoring our baby boy. People gathered to give gifts and see a pregnant me. With a false smile, I forged ahead. Celebrating with a secret is hard. I smiled for pictures with a broken heart.
We went diligently to our monthly appointments with our specialist. We saw how he was growing and got to see his sweet face. Still, the pain of not knowing was terrible.
The not knowing. Not knowing what? Not knowing if he was going to live. Not knowing if his heart was going to beat once he was born. Not knowing if he was going to breathe on his own. Not knowing what was wrong with our baby. It's the not knowing that will kill.
Fast forward. Through nearly two years of hospitalizations and doctors and nurses. Through rides in ambulances and pleas to God to "make it better." Through episodes of literally saving my son's life. Through amazingly supportive friends and family. Through words spoken on deaf ears.
I sit here today, the mother of the most amazing little boy on the Earth. Wyatt is head strong, funny, intelligent and a ball of energy. He is always on the go and relentless. He is loving and concerned for others. He is my angel on Earth.
You see, during these past two years, I have lived with every emotion imaginable. I was angry that God would do this to my son. I was fearful that I would lose him. I was so happy to be a mother. I was jealous of mothers of healthy babies, who I didn't feel deserved that honor. Most of the time, these emotions got the best of me. Most of the time, I couldn't see the other side.
Two years in, I get it. I get the big picture. My prayers never feel on deaf ears. My prayers were not in vain. Wyatt is perfect; the truest vision of perfection. Every day I see the healing. I see him getting stronger. I experience the miracle that I have been given. I live in perfection.
While I didn't want to hear others tell me that God knew what he was doing, those words were planted, like a root in my soul. I didn't want to hear that in fact God had given me a gift, not a punishment. Looking back, I know that pain was at the root of all my anger. I did feel like I was being punished. Often I would look back at the mistakes I have made in my life, and analyze each and every one, valuing them to see which one caused this heartbreak. Now I realize, I was looking in the wrong place. I analyzed the mistakes as if this was a punishment. Not the successes with Wyatt as my reward.
I have been given the most amazing gift. I struggle daily with being a good mother. Not giving Wyatt limits. Allowing him to fall and get back up. I realize that I will struggle for the rest of my life with these things, but I am so thankful I am able to do just that. Able to have this perfect life in which I have been given.