Miracles.

December 19th, I posted the following on Facebook: "Just saw a miracle - the tiny little heartbeat of our baby. Go baby go!" After 4 fertility treatments, 8 (known) embryos and nearly 4 years of trying, our miracle came to life.

The next week, my parents were visiting and I posted this: "So incredible to see the changes in the baby in a week - and to share them with [my mom] (who cried for about an hour after). This morning saw the heartbeat again (146 bpm), the big ole head, the little tail that will be the hinie, a tiny Swider chin (like Daddy) and some long, long legs!! Can't believe how much is developed at 7 weeks 3 days! Keep praying folks, we're watching a miracle unfold! So, so thankful!!" That day my Mother saw years of praying come to fruition with tiny, tiny kicks showing us this kid was a fighter.

This week I face D-day. It's been 9 months of watching for everything that could go wrong in a pregnancy. We've had test after test, monitoring appointment after monitoring appointment, doctor's visit after doctor's visit, and the answer stays the same, "Pregnancy seems to agree with you." Given they're estimating a 9+ pound child, pregnancy apparently agrees with my son as well. And with every visit, with every kick, I'm reminded of this little miracle. He's a tiny ray of hope for more than one person in this world.


You see, it's not just the people I see on the street who give me big smiles when they see my big belly. It's not just the joyful ladies in the restroom who want to know details on whether it's a boy or girl and relate stories of their pregnancy. It's not even the frowning people I see in Lowe's whose faces light up in apparent memories of the times they were expecting their children that have made me realize just how much hope there is in expecting a child. It's the hope I see in the journey my father has taken in the last 9 months.

Daddy was diagnosed with stage 4 t-cell lymphoma in March of last year. He went through several rounds of chemo and we thought he was cancer free as of last August. In fact, when I went through that last fertility treatment, found myself pregnant and celebrated with them the news of impending birth, we thought cancer had been beaten. In fact, the week my parents visited and Mama got to see the baby with me, we knew something was not quite right with Daddy. And as much as we hoped it wasn't so, a doctor's visit a week later showed the cancer was back with a vengeance.

Daddy is now going through chemo in anticipation of a stem-cell transplant that will happen roughly a month after his first grandchild is born - a child for whom HE prayed.  The miracle of my son is just the first of the miracles we're expecting in my family this year. We're also believing in the miracle of remission.