(Image by Natalia Drepina)
This morning, all I could think was how desperately I wished that I could hold my four little embryos. As silly as that may sound and as impossible as it is, that was what my heart hoped for. To be able to hold them in my hands and to tell them how much I love them and how very much they mean to me. To tell them all that I, and their daddy, have been through just to create them, just to get to this stage. The stage where life can begin. As painful as it has been — physically, sometimes, and emotionally all the time — I would do it all over again. Cut me open, test my blood, poke needles in my belly. Tell me the challenges that lie ahead… and then tell me some new ones. I would endure it a thousand times. I don’t want to, but I will. Because I love them, more than I thought a person could ever love a microscopic cluster of cells growing in a lab. Nothing is certain, nothing is guaranteed. Four today, gone tomorrow? I don’t know. But right now I love them, and they are everything to me. I can’t hold them, as much as I wish I could, but they are in God’s hands, and the good, comforting news is this: He cares for them, too.
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