Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Holding the Miracle

I could see her “watermelon” baby bump, leading her into the room. She looked so pretty, with her auburn-red hair in curls and her cheeks blushed with color. She wore simple blue jeans and a gray sweater, but her happiness made her the perfect picture of an expecting mommy.

I want to get up and hug her, to let her know that I love her. But I stay on the couch, curled up in a ball with my pain. Maybe I had pushed a little too much today with the lunges and jogging attempt.

She came over to me, then sat beside me with a loving smile. 

All of a sudden, her baby bump starts to move. Little Cody Russell is dancing in her tummy! 

Kick. Kick. Kick. 

We both are laughing. I am mesmerized by the miracle of life.

I keep smiling, although something deep within me wants to weep. Something in my being is telling me to look away before it is too late. Before my emotions could catch up and betray me. Before I hear the doctor’s words, announcing my infertility. 

But I can’t stop watching her baby bump. I can’t stop being amazed by this little baby boy pressing against his mommy. 

I feel myself crossing the safety line. The imaginary boundary that I have scribbled in my heart to keep me from getting too close. It is point that I know holds more sorrow than I dare to express in front of my friend.  

But I am in a daze, so wrapped up in the miracle of life. 

I reach out with both hands and feel her baby bump. 

Kick, Kick, Kick. 

Stacey laughs with joy. I smile, as the tears begin to fall.

Cody Russell moves his tiny body. She reaches out for my hand in excitement and guides me to his next position.

The mixture of emotions within me rise up to the surface. I giggle with amazement of this precious life within her, as my body shakes in pain. 

With both hands holding her baby, I am far beyond my safety line now.

The disease that is inflicting my body is no longer in my thoughts.

Love for my friend and her unborn child is spilling over in my heart. 

The only pain that remains is the aching of my broken womb. 


  1. This is a beautiful expression of something that I am sure we have all felt at some time. It will happen for you. It will happen for all of us. We will all be mommies one day. I'm sure of it.

  2. You are such an extraordinary and wonderful person to be so brave. And what a great friend you are to rise above your own feelings. Moments like these are so very hard but the beauty of the moment takes over so that you too can enjoy a baby moment for they are so precious. You are in my thoughts and prayers.