Nine

http://platform.twitter.com/widgets/hub.1326407570.htmlWhen my step-daughter Jessie was up at Christmas, she shared with us a secret.  A secret that set this step-mom’s heart into over time worry.  I wouldn’t let myself get excited.  And I couldn’t stop worrying about a woman who I have come to love just as much as if I had birthed her myself.
Jessie told us she was pregnant.
If you have been following me, then you know that Jessie has had problems staying pregnant.  Before Brae, before Bob and I were even married, Jessie lost a baby that never progressed passed six weeks.  They got preggers with Braelyn on the very first try afterwards, and had a lovely, smooth, and eventless pregnancy, and I was blessed with my tiniest and spunkiest grandbaby of all eight of them.  And Jess and TJ wanted so bad to make more little munchkins just like her.
And they tried.  And tried.  And tried.  Five subsequent pregnancies, followed by five miscarriages – all at the same point.  The baby  never progresses past six or eight weeks.  They ran every test imaginable on Jess and TJ both and came up with nothing.  And with every subsequent pregnancy and miscarriage, my heart ached for Jess and TJ.  And I secretly in my head begged them to stop.  This grammie’s heart couldn’t take another loss, and I would have been devistated if through all of this, something had happened to Jess as well.
So, when Christmas came, and Jess told us her news, I felt bad.  Bob and I should have gotten up and danced around for her.  But we couldn’t.  We couldn’t speak.  We couldn’t show her we were excited (we weren’t).  She told us she was just barely pregnant – six weeks along.  So I hugged her (probably a little too hard) and told her that no matter what, we were throwing prayers in the air and hoping for sticky dust for this little one.
And as each week has gone by, and with each doctor appointment (Jess sees her OB every week), and with each report of a strong heartbeat, Bob and I let ourselves relax a little more, and hope a little more.
On Wednesday, I got a text from Jessica to send prayers – she was going in for her first sonogram.  They’d get to see what was going on (it was always at this appointment that the bad news hit).  This was at 7:30 in the morning.   And at 12:30, I got this on my phone:

This, my friends, is grandbaby number 9.  Heathly, perfectly progressing, and twelve weeks and 3 days along.  We are past the danger zone.  My sweet Jessie is finally going to have her two babies.  Braelyn is going to be a big sister.
And I am already in love.
At 5:30 Wednesday night, Jessie posted this picture to Facebook:

Advertisements