Two Lines, Two Years Later

It was two years ago, that morning I took the pregnancy test.  Logically, I knew the chances of me being pregnant were slim, but I was still worried.  I wanted to take a pregnancy test to put my mind at ease.  It was August in Chicago and the first week of my senior year of college.  Warm sun, long syllabi, three months of wedded bliss--that was my world.  Until....

No, I'm not pregnant right now.  Sorry if this picture misled you!

I watched in shock as those two little lines showed up, their pink clarity filling me with dismay.  This can’t be happening.  I can’t be pregnant.  This will change my life.  “No, no, no, no, no” I chanted to an empty apartment, as panic overwhelmed me and I started to sob.  The second time, third time, twentieth time that I checked the pregnancy test, it read the same.  Two stark lines out to derail my future.

Jason, already at work, was silent for several seconds on the phone before offering, falteringly, “That’s great!”

“No, no it’s NOT,” I choked into the phone. 

“Good,” he said. “Then I don’t have to pretend.”

I still made it to my 8 AM class that morning, eyes dried up and dazed.  But the tears, they welled up again later.  I spent the weekend crying, overloading on carbs, and watching Juno.  Strangely enough, at that moment, it felt like Ellen Page’s fictional teenage character was the only person who could truly relate to me.  This is one doodle that can't be undone, home-skillet.  Yeah.  I know.  

Days turned into weeks which turned into months, and slowly, I began to remember how much I had always wanted this baby.  He was coming a few years sooner than expected, but he was my dream come true.  As my belly grew, my vision of the future shifted from one of intense years of school to one of baby giggles and toddler steps.  My emotions throughout pregnancy were mixed, but the fact that I was excited to meet my baby prevailed over my other feelings.  I was frequently sad about being sick, tired, and limited in my physical abilities, but no longer unhappy about the prospect of being a young mother.  My anger at God for shaking my well-balanced world in such a big way quickly paled in comparison to my gratefulness to Him for choosing me to mother a healthy baby--this baby.  From where I am now, I have sympathy and compassion for the me that, two years ago, burst into tears and spent weeks in emotional chaos.  I went through a mourning period that was very real, and through it I grieved the loss of my future as I thought it would be, and slowly learned to embrace a new vision for my future. 

All the excitement that I saved up, the craving to meet my baby that I felt during my last months of pregnancy, none of that compared to the joy of finally holding my son in my arms.  Judah, for whom Leah in Genesis proclaims "Praise the LORD, for he has given me a son!", middle name Jason, meaning Healer; an ode to the God who heals future plans and sutures the emotional wounds left by the unexpected.  

It is good to see the blessings which my family has been showered with over the last two years.  We live in abundance.  All of our needs and so many of our wants are met.  We are thankful for many things, but most pale in comparison to the thrill that is Judah.  Open-mouthed kisses, chubby hands carefully building block towers, little feet following us eagerly wherever we go, a mind and soul to cherish and gently guide.  

This is perfection. 

Photo courtesy of Julianna