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.

On nesting.

Every weekday I drive past a house that has three stands of decorative grass separating their house from the busy road. These variegated, decorative grasses grow all year long and are about 7 feet tall. These are not small blades of grass.

One morning this week as I was driving by, I saw a little bird swoop down to pick up a piece of grass. This piece of grass was easily three times the length of Mama bird, but she was determined to grab it and fly. She swooped in, picked it up and flapped her wings like crazy to get it off the ground. She had a little moment of hesitation once she was airborne, just a little swoop, but she flapped her wings harder and off she went with that huge piece of grass clutched in her mouth. Can you imagine the nest she's building? Talk about the super deluxe model!

I had a "moment" watching this determined Mama. I felt like I know a little bit about how she feels. I'm sure if birds had doctors, they'd tell her to be careful lifting things and would probably be horrified that she thought she was able to lift this exceedingly large piece of grass. If she had my doctors, she'd be hearing about how "high risk" this kind of behavior is. She'd be hearing about all the things that could very well go wrong with her pregnancy, and all the precautions she should take. I'm sure she's (in relative terms) younger than I am, so she's probably never heard she's a little OLD to be having babies. But whatever her circumstance, whatever her path, she was determined. She pressed on. She knows she has to build a nest. It's instinctual. And she's building the best darn nest she can.

You see, I'm building a nest too. I'm building a nest for our miracle baby. I'm building a nest for a baby who has beaten every odd that's been put against him. A baby who's growing faster than the average baby is supposed to grow - even though he's supposed to be lagging in growth because of the unusual nature of his existence. So despite all the warnings, despite all the circumstances, despite all the battles, I'm building my nest. Because I believe our miracle baby is going to continue to beat the odds set against him, showing all those doctors, with all their warnings that the God who made him can defy all their odds.

So you see, I too know I have to build a nest. It's instinctual. And you can bet I'm building the best darn nest I can.

Vintage Wednesday: When I was a little girl...

My grandparents built a large, ranch-style home when I was about six years old. The living room was the heart of the house with real wood paneling, cathedral ceilings and a stone fireplace that dominated the living room. From the living room were two "wings": the dining room and kitchen and then the four (huge to a six year old) bedrooms. One of those bedrooms was the magic room.

The magic room was named the "magic room" because of a painting - a reverse glass painting to be exact. It was called "On the Danube" and it had a mysterious castle with mother of pearl windows and a path that led to the Danube... complete with a ship to take you to magical places. It had belonged to my father's grandparents and had been given to my grandparents. Both had hung it in their homes. I'd fall asleep in the bed that belonged to my great grandparents - the one my uncle was born in - and dream magic dreams in that room.

When we lost my grandparents, Daddy got the magic painting from the magic room. Unfortunately, by then it had been subjected to so many changes in temperature, most of the paint had flaked off the glass. The magic painting was lost.

Thanksgiving weekend, when he and my mother were visiting, I turned a corner in an antique shop and happened upon another copy of the magic painting.I pulled it off the wall and rushed to pay for it with tears in my eyes. I think Daddy had a tear too when he saw it. You see we believe in miracles, and we found a miracle that day.