It’s taken me a while to write you a note but better late than never, I guess. For the past month or so, I have been and am still in awe. In awe that you’re here with us. Finally. After what seemed like forever and how parenthood may never ever happen to us, you happened.
I love it when you lie on my chest, belly to belly. I call you the koala and I, the tree. And you make the cutest koala. I love smelling your hair, taking in your baby smells. Everyone tells me to remember it now because you will grow up too fast and it’d be gone too soon. I love your soft rhythmic breaths that remind me again that you’re here, and ours to keep. I love the shape of your mouth. A little pout that emphasises your double chin. I love your lashes, your cheeks, your diaper-clad butt, your everything.
Just yesterday, you let out a smile as I chatted with you. It may have just been you attempting a poop but it was as if it dawned on you that I’m your mummy. The one that carried you for 9 months. The one that never quite believed that we will one day have a child as beautiful as you. At that very moment, I teared. Tears of joy, I suppose. It was a priceless moment and a most beautiful sight. I just wished that daddy was around to witness it too.
How far we have come, my dear son. Just not too long ago, you were an embryo. A frozen embryo, to be precise. You were in sub-zero temperatures for a couple of months before we decided to try again after the nth failure at trying to conceive. The good doctor told us grimly that the batch of embryos – the one that you were a part of – weren’t of good quality. He suggested that we try again in a couple of months. The sub-text means: Please prepare for this round to fail. In his professional opinion, the embryos weren’t very viable. I remember that my heart sank to the pits of my stomach. Here we go again, I thought. Another failure to add to our record books.
But what the heck. We’d just go ahead and thaw them all. We transferred 3 embryos, then got on with life. We failed when we had good quality embryos. We would need a miracle for this batch of “not good quality” ones to work.
And work it did.
I got the news that we were pregnant as I was driving home from work that fateful day in July. My phone buzzed. The message from the doctor read:
Congrats. Pregnant. HCG 465. Good progesterone. Well done!!
I will never forget that moment. The underdog embryo has triumphed. You, against all odds, made it.
For the next few months, visits to the obgyn was always filled with trepidation. Is there a heartbeat? Are you developing well? Do you have all your limbs? The questions and worrying never stopped. Whenever I saw you on the screen as a tiny blob, my heart would settle for a bit. It then all starts again as the next scan approaches.
And now you’re here.
I don’t deny that the initial stages of parenthood is tough. Very very tough. I wasn’t sure what I got myself into. You turned our world topsy turvy and we no longer have a good night’s rest. We gobble down our meals. We are bone tired. But we don’t complain. We always remember how you are a miracle. We look at your little face and all is well again. We chuckle at your antics, like how you go red in the face, let out a huge fart and then fall asleep immediately. My heart goes all warm and fuzzy when you lean your little head against my shoulder and your eyes look up at me. Everything that you do is wondrous to your new parents.
This isn’t the clearest photo, nor is it the prettiest. However, this photo warms my heart so. Your daddy was being the tree this one time and you, the koala. He fell asleep just as you did and I couldn’t help but stand and watch the two of you. It was a beautiful moment. And such moments will forever be etched in my heart and memory.
Always remember that we love you so very much, our little miracle. Never forget that.
Lots of love,