Oops! I missed day 3. So I’m combining day 3 and 4 on here – which is oddly appropriate since they both share the same name.
Day 3 – I am thankful for my beautiful miracle baby. D – aka WeeMan – is truly a miracle. He was longed for and prayed for for over two years. We ached and prayed through two failed clomid attempts and 4 IUI’s and then after we were completely broken. After I had surrendered everything to God on the floor in a heap of tears in the nursery – confessed that I had no control over any of this situation, only after that… our first try of invitro worked. It was truly a miracle that it did. He was a three day transfer – a mediocre tiny little 8 or 10 cell embryo… we weren’t too hopeful but we prayed, hubby, the doctor, and I. We prayed that at least one of those little embys would stick. And he did.
He stuck through slow rising beta numbers. He stuck through first trimester cramping and spotting. He stuck through high blood pressure, low blood pressure, chest pains, crazy liver levels, ovarian hyper stimulation syndrome and a small spill on the deck stairs. He stuck. He stayed with us through a long difficult labor that turned into an unplanned for c-section b/c his little heart kept slowing down and scaring everyone. He stuck in spite of the fact that it was discovered his umbilical cord was shorter than it should be and he stuck even though he had two vessels where there should have been three.
He is my miracle every single day. He fills our house with laughter and dancing. My heart leaps when he comes to me and says, “mommy teach me” while holding out a book. At that moment I remember why I wanted to teach. He is my miracle when he’s sleeping peacefully, when he’s dancing and running, when he’s pouting or curled up on the couch with me. He’s even my miracle when he’s stomping around the house kicking things. I am thankful that I struggled to bring him here… b/c it allowed me to know how much of a miracle he truly is
On Day 4 I am giving thanks for my father – D’s namesake. My dad was one of those rare men who honestly was what he seemed to be. He was the kind of Christian who served in the church on Sunday and in the community everyday of the week. He would help anyone who needed help in anyway he could. He was wise and faithful. He raised us up to be strong, to question and to stand up for what we believe is right. He used to stage “arguments” with us at the dinner table – just to get us riled up… and to teach us to speak up.
He was also softspoken. He could deliver a prayer that quieted a room. He was never afraid to pray outloud, was usually the person delivering the before the meal prayer at big family gatherings and he just seemed to know the words to say. He was a man of faith.
He instilled in us a love of the outdoors. He loved hunting and camping. He would always prefer to be outside. We went with him to cut wood, hunt mushrooms and arrowheads, to check out where he was going to set up his deer stand, and anywhere else out in the wild he could think to take us. He always said when he retired he would move down to the hills of Kentucky and live in a little cabin with no electricity or running water and survive off the land. I know he was partly teasing to rile my mom up… but I also think he would have been perfectly happy to be a modern day mountain man.
He loved us all. He was planning to take those grandbabies camping and everywhere else from day 1. He was a good father and a wonderful grandfather. I pray that my D – will grow up to be the kind of man his papaw was.