And so when I got pregnant, I felt like finally……this was going to be my redemption story.

After years of turmoil managing a chronic disease.

After years of hospital stays and doctors appointments.

Millions of shots and blood glucose checks.

Years of being told a baby wasn’t in the cards for me and going full term would be near impossible.

I did it.

And yet, it wasn’t the redemption story I’d imagined in my mind.

All of that struggle I’d endured hadn’t given me the perfect birth story, the healthy baby, the cherry on top of the sundae, or the fairy tale as a reward. That struggle I’d endured didn’t mean a damn thing. There was no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow for me.

I felt cheated. I felt like I’d had my hopes, dreams, and years of silent prayers riped out from under me. As I sat in the NICU for 10 weeks, watching other families leaving with their now healthy babies, I felt like God was handing out MY dreams to other people. Why did they get to go have the fairy tale? Why did they get the healthy baby? Why did we have to suffer with uncertainty, fear, anger, disability, chronic conditions, and grief? How come their baby would be able to walk and ours wouldn’t?

The thing that I didn’t know at the time was…..

I hadn’t been cheated.

I’d been chosen.

Chosen to be her mama.

Chosen to be her advocate.

Chosen to be my husband’s soft place to land.

Chosen to navigate this new world.

Chosen to be her champion.

Chosen because I was strong.

Chosen because I knew what it was like to be different.

Chosen because I can do hard things.

Chosen because I’m stubborn as hell.

Chosen because I know grief and loss.

Chosen because I understand how to find joy in the every day.

Chosen because I don’t quit.

Chosen because there was no one else more perfectly suited to be her mother…..

Than me.