A definitive moment

I could blame this on hormones-- and I think I will just a little bit-- but I had a major turning point in how I viewed myself and The Peanut this week.

I have been so self-consumed throughout this pregnancy. Part of that, I know, comes from the simple surprise of it all. I had made so many plans for myself that did not include a baby for at least five more years. I was a newlywed and completely in love with my husband and content to spend the next few years living with him alone. And then that pink line.

You see, I struggle anyway with the idea that I will never amount to anything. Sometimes I believe that lie, usually at night or when I'm by myself, and I spend at least a few hours in absolute misery because I've always preached that there is a plan for all of us and that it's important. And I believe that for everyone on the planet, except myself sometimes.

When I found out I was pregnant and we started telling people, one of the first things that someone said to me was, "Just wait. You won't be Kasey anymore. You'll be so and so's mom." I know that this person thought it was a compliment (honestly, I don't even remember who said it anymore), but it horrified me. Absolutely horrified me. I didn't want my entire existence to revolve around anyone else, even my child. It still horrifies me to a certain extent. Because I have to believe that God still has plans for me outside of motherhood.

It might be that kind of thinking that causes moms to not know what to do with themselves anymore after the kids go to college.

So I fought the idea. Eventually, I realized that I was in my 7th month of pregnancy and when someone called me "mom" it immediately sent chills down my spine (and not in a good way). My immediate thought was always "I'm not a mom yet!" And usually this interaction was followed by a quick trip to a restroom to regain my composure and pinch myself to be sure that I was still Kasey, and not just somebody's incubator.

So when I realized that the birth of my child was only a month or so away, I changed the name of my blog. And it took everything within me to do so. I didn't want to think about motherhood at 24. I didn't want motherhood until at least 28. But I knew I needed to face my fear head on. And this was the way to do it.

Then this week happened. The week before The Peanut arrives. Nothing like the Lord to wait until the last minute, right?

I viewed a blog of a friend of mine who lost her precious daughter just moments after birth. They whisked her out of the room so quickly that my friend didn't see her and ended up never seeing her daughter alive. I looked at the pictures. And I cried and cried. And for the first time since I've been pregnant, I actively and genuinely prayed for Noah. For his health and for his safety. It's awful to say that I didn't pray for him this entire nine months, but it's the blatant and honest truth. It took me looking at an awful situation and realizing how unworthy I am of this blessing of life. How selfish I've been-- resenting being pregnant when there are many women around me that are wishing that they could have what I have. And so I begged God to make him healthy, so I could have another chance to love this little being.

I know that hormones bring you up and down, but that experience has left me with such an appreciation for this child that I didn't know before in all of my pregnancy. It's also given me a new found will to make my own dreams come true so that he will have a mom that he can be truly proud of and can look up to as an example of overcoming the odds.