They're right, and what was once a blog about a long awaited pregnancy will now slowly transform into a the chronicles of a family of three as we learn to raise our littlest love to glorify her creator the best way we know how.
But coming home with a ridiculously beautiful newborn-no matter how much she acts and resembles a tiny cherub-requires adjustments that even an obsessive compulsive type A personality like me couldn't possibly have prepared for.
And I since I'm all about being dramatically graphic, not in the least bit modest and completely honest, I'm not just talking about the usual life adjustments of finding a breast feeding friendly wardrobe, learning to venture out into the world with a newborn, and dealing with the lack of sleep.
It's more than finding a balance between life before and life after baby, much more than the difficulties of transforming a blog with previously numbered titles by weeks of pregnancy and side line pictures of a growing belly.
I'm thinking much bigger changes, like the baby blues; infertility style.
I had no intentions of falling victim of this popular disorder, and there was no reason too because I'm an infertile. I waited a lifetime for this moment, and there was no way I was going to waste a second of it wallowing in sadness of any kind-hormonally induced or not-after the birth of my miracle.
So I was completely blindsided when a wave of sadness hit me as soon as I got out of the delivery bed to take that first postpartum shower. As I gathered my clothes and toiletries, I looked down and realized my hard earned, once occupied, perfectly rounded stomach was suddenly missing; in its place was a slightly squishy-but surprisingly flat-rendition of what my stomach looked like ten months ago.
As I stood there in wonder, my hand rested lightly on what used to be the home of my tiny human, but instead of the subtle movements and vibrant pulsations of life inside, I just felt emptiness.
And as I undressed and stepped under the soothing spray of hot water, the tears started to fall.
I realize this may earn me some negative criticism as most girls would be thrilled to find that so soon after giving birth their ginormous midsection had given way to a smooth surface free of stretch marks, and loose, deflated skin. But the infertile in me worked for years to gain that swollen belly and it was my proof, my obvious statement worn loud and proud that I was no longer infertile, because my once broken body was finally capable of producing life.
And in the absence of it, I became infertile once again.
To me, I fought hard for far more than the gorgeous baby sleeping soundly in my room as I type this. I desperately wanted it all, and God so graciously answered my prayers. He gave me my hearts desire when in the most dramatic fashion possible, He granted me the privilege of not only having a child, but the experience of carrying her inside of me and birthing her into this world as well.
So why-during those first few days-wasn't it enough? How dare I waste one second in sadness, mourning the conclusion of my pregnancy when my amazing delivery experience resulted in a healthy, vibrant, stunningly beautiful little girl who is perfect in every way?
Because infertility-and the lasting result of the damage it causes-is a nasty beast.
As I looked down at my deflated stomach that day, I thought to myself, what now? I spent years reaching this point in my life, praying for this, preparing my body for this, writing blogs about this, building up anticipation for this, and suddenly, it was over.
As an infertile, I don't have the luxury of knowing that I'll be pregnant again some day. I may never experience that gift again, and I think that very well may have been the basis of my sadness, the craziness behind my short lived baby blues.
I loved every single second of the entire process, and to me, there will never be another time in my life that I've ever felt as useful, as important, and as beautiful as when I was carrying my daughter. I'll be grateful every day for the rest of my life for that privilege, and for the comfortable pregnancy God blessed me with; but that day, it just wasn't enough to stop the baby blues.
Now, four weeks later, those baby blues are all but vanished. The infertile in me still misses being pregnant, and I suppose I always will. But now I'm in a better mindset to look back and rejoice in the blessing of my pregnancy, and hope for a future pregnancy has already crept it's way in too.
After all, God did bless us with two frozen embryos.
Now I can spend more time adjusting to this new life and coming up with new blog titles, posting more pictures of my baby doll, revealing her nursery and learning to sit still and maybe watch a little TV while I love on my mini-me.
Tonight, in a rare moment of forced down time, I watched the latest episode of the Little Couple on TLC. I stared intently at the screen while they followed through with their third cycle of IVF, and cried ugly tears as their cycle was once again canceled and there dreams were crushed.
Because I remembered being there.
My own past struggles felt so fresh and raw as I continued to watch that screen, a flood of emotions bringing back feelings of my own defeat after countless cycles came to an end with nothing to show for it but the same negative pregnancy tests over and over again. I was taken back to the feeling of pure agony as the heartbreaking realization that I may never be a mother drew so close I could taste it.
Then, as I looked down at the most beautiful baby girl I'd ever seen resting contently in my arms while I watched T.V, I cried again.
She's perfect and beautiful and amazing in every way, and I don't deserve her. There are so many others out there who never got the chance to have a baby of their own, so many amazing women who would never find themselves crying in the hospital shower because they were sad they weren't pregnant anymore and there belly was gone.
So many girls who are still fighting for their dreams of becoming mothers, who wouldn't fight back tears the day after coming home from the hospital as they passed the spot on a trail where they used to have to stop to urinate at every lap, no longer feeling the urgency to pee because their pregnancy is over.
Ladies who could care less that they spent there pregnancy wearing ninety percent of their pre-pregnancy wardrobe, but suddenly can't find a thing to wear because being a milk cow hinders their attire selection; they are too thankful to be successfully breastfeeding a tiny miracle to cry about it.
But even as these mindless, hormonally induced thoughts and feelings cross my mind, I spend just as much time fighting back the tears welling in my eyes because I have an answered prayer falling asleep on my chest, and the dream that is my new life has me shedding a different kind of tears.
Big, ugly, happy tears.
Because God chose to give me a daughter, and it still takes my breath away.
We wanted to give her a Bible name, something that would be a sort of testimony to God's faithfulness, but we couldn't find one that we both liked. So instead, we found one that isn't a true Bible name, but it's still biblical.
Scarlet is the color often used to describe the the blood that Jesus shed, and grace is used in reference to the result of that shed blood for the remission of our sins; God's free gift of unmerited favor. And though we didn't immediately realize the correlation until after my husband announced the first name and I suggested the middle name simply for the sound and flow, it quickly became something special, more than just a pretty, old fashioned name.
Just like her name, she's our unmerited favor.
And at only four weeks old, she really has changed everything.
“From this day forward, You shall not walk alone. My heart will be your shelter, And my arms will be your home.”