Where My Confidence Begins

I remember the day I found out I was pregnant. I was horrified.

I took two pregnancy tests. I was sure I had screwed one up somehow.

I had shown my husband. He looked at it and asked what it meant.

“This kid is screwed, that’s what it means”, I told him.

We weren’t planning on kids. Neither one of us even liked kids.

The very next day I drove to my mom’s to break the news. Oddly enough, I wasn’t alone. My brother had shown up shortly after I did. And while sobbing profusely in between words, my dad showed up too!

My step father just pointed to the bedroom as they each entered the house. “They’re all in there.”

The days leading up to my first doctor’s appointment were long ones. I remember living in disbelief. This can’t be happening to me. And, it’s not, until I hear a heart beat.

In that instant, everything EVERYTHING became real.

I was a mess. What was God thinking? I am too screwed up to be responsible for something so important.

The day I sobbed again, was the day we found we were having a boy.


While his dad was bouncing around on cloud nine, I was falling farther into depression.

I knew I was going to let God down. I knew I was going to let this little baby boy down. I knew I was over my head. I knew I looked like I had it all together. But I also KNEW I was going to fail. This was not going to end well.

The day he was born was surreal.

My water broke around 10:30 that morning. I called my husband from work and waited only 45 minutes, which normally was over an hour drive.

Another 30 minutes to the hospital. Had to sit 15, maybe 20 minutes, soaked, in a waiting room, since there were no rooms.

I felt no pain.

Finally I was taken to a delivery room. And the pain hit.

Did I want anything for the pain? WELL, YEAH!

I had nothing to prove. I knew I wasn’t one of those super women who welcomed their child into this world with the experience of her body being torn in two.

Ummm, no. I’m not even going to try to pretend.

Nausea struck as I was sitting on the edge of the bed so they could start the epidural. They put something in my IV and the last thing I remembered was hearing someone say, “Can someone catch her?”

Six thirty that night I was told I needed to wake up. I had to push.

Push? Push what? I felt absolutely nothing.

For an hour they had me try. I don’t really understand why. I couldn’t feel a contraction, I couldn’t feel my legs. I couldn’t feel myself push. But I pushed with all I had. I was exhausted. After an hour they finally pulled out their vacuum looking thing and went in and brought that baby boy out.

Ha! I remembered they laid white towels out over my belly, to place him on. They told my husband he could cut his cord, and told me I could help clean him off. I remember patting the towels maybe twice and saying, “Ok, I’m done.”

They whisked him off and started their evaluations. I laid there stunned. What had just happened? What is going on now? I felt numb. I felt tired. I felt hungry. Bring me some food!

Before my plate arrived, they brought me back my baby boy and placed him in my arms.

I looked down at him and studied his face for the first time. This was the little guy who made me so sick. He made me so tired. He kicked me so hard. He changed my whole life the minute I heard his heart beat for the first time.

I looked at him and the very first words my child heard me say were, “I had no idea I was carrying around something so cute.”

He was gorgeous! Crystal blue eyes. Strawberry blonde hair. But the dimples! The dimples were the size of golf balls.

How on earth did I carry something so perfect as this???

I was in love with the gift God had given me, the instant I saw his face. I knew right then and there that he was created by God for God and was only placed in my care. I could not have created something as wonderful as this.

He did an awesome job raising me as a mom. I took to it, not right away, but after six months of postpartum I slowly started to come around. He gave me books, gave me mommy friends, gave me opportunities to let me grow.

But I never, ever felt like I was doing this right. I never knew what the next mommy thing was going to be. Being a mommy has kept me humble. I cannot boast. I cannot be proud. I cannot claim any success.

It has only been through God’s grace that either of us are still alive. God is the only one who has gotten me through.

So THIS! This, that we are going through now…this you got to get me through this too.

I was never qualified to do this in the first place, but you didn’t care.

You walked me through each scary event by holding my hand, holding me up, carrying me at times, and sometimes dragging me while I’m kicking and screaming.

So this time, Lord, I’m trying really hard to acknowledge you here, within me. I don’t need to be held, or carried, or dragged. I don’t want you outside of me this time directing me. I want you inside, moving me.

I surrender my son to you. I’m giving him back. Hold his hand, hold him up, carry him, drag him kicking and screaming, but ultimately live within him.

Raise him, like you raised me. Never. Never have I had confidence in my ability. You have been my hope and my strength from the beginning. My confidence begins and ends in you.

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