Seven years ago, I was pregnant with Noelle. Well, I was pregnant with a child who would be named Noelle — but at the time, we did not know if she was a boy or a girl. We opted to be surprised at birth with the sex of our first baby.
First baby. To this day, I struggle to say that. She wasn’t our first. She was our second. I lost our first to miscarriage, and it changed every part of who I was — and made me who I am.
Broken and tired. Anxious and weary. But then, I was made new.
Pregnant with the child who would become Noelle, we truly did not care whether we had a boy or a girl, so long as we were able to actually hold this baby in our arms. But I always had a feeling that we were having a girl.
Maybe it was a feeling — or maybe it was a preference. If I am being honest, I wanted a girl so badly. I wanted the dresses. I wanted the bows. I wanted the twirling and dancing and dolls and pink. I didn’t understand how to be a boy mom. I didn’t think I would be a good one.
When she was born, and I saw her face, I knew. I knew she was a girl before they even told me. In my hospital bag, I had tucked away a Target sack, and inside was a pink bow and pink shoes with pink elephants on them. Somehow I knew…or I was willing it to be.
We would go on to have two more baby girls over the next few years. No more surprises — we learned at our ultrasounds who was growing inside. The babies were called by their names, their rooms were prepared in pink, and their pink accessories were not-so-secretly stuffed inside my hospital bag.
Three girls. I got my dresses. I got my bows. I got my twirling and dancing and dolls and pink.
Thank you, God.
And then we decided we were ready for another baby. And by way of another miscarriage, we learned our plan was not to be.
However, not too long after — another pregnancy. Another chance to give life.
And this time, a boy.
Leo.
Mid-20’s Ashley, first-time mom Ashley, she was afraid of having a boy because the outfits weren’t as cute.
But early 30’s Ashley, fourth-time mom Ashley, with two miscarriages and many miles between them, she was elated…ecstatic…relieved to be having a boy.
Thank you, God.
Since his birth, I have noticed an undeniable connection between him and I. Luke will say, “I have never seen a boy love his mama as much as Leo loves you.” Of course, I am his provider. I feed him. I give him what he needs to survive. But there’s something else there.
I love my daughters so much. They bring me such joy, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them. I look forward to growing into friendship with them as they get older, and more than anything, I am thrilled that they have each other as sisters.
But there seems to be this thing between mamas and their boys. This bond. This connection. It’s there without having to do anything else.
And I think it has something to do with Mary.
The most beautiful mother and son relationship since the very beginning. I can’t help but feel connected to her in this deep, natural way. In fact, regardless of how joyful or exciting the Christmas season is, I have felt a longing… an impatience… these past couple of weeks. Probably much like Mary long ago.
Can you even imagine? Very pregnant with this incredibly special baby boy, traveling this long journey to Bethlehem by way of foot (or donkey if you’re lucky), only to be told there’s no room for you to stay in a clean, warm room with a bed — but you can sleep with the animals. I mean, I nearly cried when I thought I was going to have to share a recovery room in the hospital with another patient.
And there, among the animals, you give birth to your son. To the Son.
It wasn’t her plan to have this baby. She didn’t understand how she was chosen or why. But she did it.
Broken and tired. Anxious and weary. But then, she was made new.
It has been over six months since Leo was born.
He has fulfilled me in ways that I never knew were possible.
He has a contagious smile, now with two little teeth.
When he looks at you, he looks into your soul — seeing all the good and the bad… and loving you anyway.
He is such a light, as all children are.
He commands your attention and lets you know when he wants more.
He keeps us up at night sometimes (a lot of times). Adding a fourth child has made our van tight on space and doesn’t allow for many childless outings or events, but he is not a burden.
It is not work. It is love.
Broken and tired. Anxious and weary. But then, I was made new.
