From the beginning, Pickle has been our little miracle baby — the baby who never “should” have been. After a life history of obesity — my highest weight over 270 pounds — and irregular periods and, most likely, PCOS, my body wasn’t exactly prime real estate for baby making.
But, I wanted a family a family one day. Pretty badly. So I got healthy, losing 100 pounds, taking up running (from 5ks to a marathon) and getting my diet in check. I turned my body from foe to friend.
And then I met my Mr. B — the single most amazing thing that had happened in my life to that point. We never should have happened, either — crossing paths on an online dating site. He, about to delete his account; me, a brand-new member just peeking around. But, all was decided for us on that first date in late 2011 when — sorry, I can’t help this cliché — it was love at first sight.
A short time dating, followed by a short engagement, and we were married almost a year to the day after we first met.
In the first months of our marriage, we spent a lot of time apart — Mr. B on second shift and me on first. Plus, I traveled a lot for work those first few months. In January alone, I was gone more weekends than I was home — and lots of weekdays as well. We may as well have been living in separate towns.
Yet, somehow, on that single night when we actually had time together in early January, our darling Pickle came to be. (Yes, kids, it really does only take once.)
Elated. Shocked — in the very best way possible. We were going to be parents — something we’d dreamed of and talked about and wanted (hopefully, sooner than later).
And, every single time I feel our Pickle kick or punch or roll, I am reminded that he (or she) is a fighter. A fighter who doesn’t know about “shoulds” or “won’ts” or “can’ts.” And that brings me comfort. Because our baby is facing one hell of a fight.
“What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson