Today is my birthday. I've talked about this before, but I need to revisit. My mother and I share a birthday. It's always been one of my favorite parts of our relationship. She calls me the gift that keeps on taking :).
From the time I began thinking about having children, I knew I wanted to have a baby girl on my 30th birthday. My mom was 30 when she had me. Obviously, I knew this wasn't realistic. Even if I could somehow time a baby to be due in this vicinity, babies come when they want to come. Even so, it was always something in my head and in my heart.
When I reached the point that I knew this wouldn't be possible, I reached a turning point in the infertility journey. It was real. And my heart was changed. But to stay positive, I said it's ok. I'll have a baby girl on my 31st birthday. That's today.
I last left the story of my sister-in-law last weekend when she went into labor while Max and I were home visiting family. As it turns out, my niece did not arrive that day. They sent my sister-in-law home and she has been at three centimeters since. We made it past Max's 30th birthday with no baby. We made it past our weekend at home with no baby.
And this morning, I got a text from my mom at 3:41 am saying they were on their way to the hospital. When I called my mom to say Happy Birthday, she had just gotten a text that said "pushing".
And I am heartbroken. This is my baby. The one I dreamed of. This is my mother's first (maybe only) granddaughter arriving on her birthday. Yet, it's not my baby.
I fell like God said, you think it will be painful for her to be born on Max's birthday? You think it will be hard to be there when she's born? Just wait. I'll show you what I can do. Happy effing birthday.