Those of who you regularly read my blog know that my pregnancy experience was less than perfect. I’ve never imagined pregnancy to be “the best time in my life,” as some of my friends and acquaintances describe it, but I hoped it would not be the worst.
In some ways, it was the worst.
In other ways, it wasn’t so bad. I watched my husband grow into even more of a man, a leader, and a compassionate lover than he was before–and he was already practically perfect in every way (step aside, Mary Poppins). I learned to adjust my personal timetable and tastes and to yield to the ticking time bomb growing inside me, concerning myself primarily with her best interests. I discovered goldmines of gratitude in little daily kindnesses from my husband, friends, church members, and family.
Overall, however, I am not the kind of woman to claim that “you forget all the bad stuff” once the baby arrives. On the contrary, I recall all of it quite vividly. I won’t share my entire pregnancy, labor/delivery, and recovery story with you, but suffice it to say that it was no walk in the park. Things did not go according to plans on many fronts. Complications multiplied as dollar signs danced before our eyes, partnered with pain, fear, and inconvenience.
When my baby was finally delivered, and our wonderful doctor handed her to me as my eyes readjusted after a spell of blurry vision, I beheld the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I held it in my very hands. And all I could say, choking down tears and looking into my husband’s eyes, was “Oh my God.”
In that moment, He trumped the weight of the misery tenfold.
He outdid Himself. She is more than and better than every hope, dream, goal, and joy I’ve ever known. She is the superlative of our lives.