If I Could Give You a Little Sister, I Would

You are my sunshine…do you know that?

For years, I tried for you. I remember finding out Titi Lizzy was pregnant with Mariah and being so angry towards God. I wondered why I wasn’t capable of being a mother when I wanted to be one so badly, only to find out three days later, that after years, I was carrying you.

I stayed up late with you. Some nights we were up all night and then I worked all day. Some nights you slept beside me, in the crook of my arm, breathing softly, nursing gently. Some days I didn’t shower because I was so sleep-deprived and couldn’t stop staring at you. Other days I got a nice bath with you in a bouncer beside the tub.

I worked so hard for you. I did all that I could for you. I struggled and tried my hardest to give you a better life because you deserved better than I’d had growing up and better than what I was giving you. The day your daddy and I split was the hardest of my life and it broke me. I was giving you the crap-end of the stick. I was breaking up your family. It was my fault that you wouldn’t have a daddy in the house and that you would have questions just like I did growing up.

But I pushed through, sweet angel. I grew. I was able to work hard. By His grace, I was handpicked for the most perfect job with the most perfect people. I was able to give you everything you needed: a home, food, toys, love, time, bedtime stories, bath bombs and all the love you needed. Except the one thing you ask me for every night at bedtime:

“Mommy, can I have a little brother or sister, please? I promise to share my toys and be nice! I’m good with my baby dolls! Please mommy?”

Oh Belle, it absolutely shatters my heart that I cannot give you this one thing. You have your older brother and sisters from your daddy, but they live hours away. You are essentially an only child or at least it feels that way. I get why you ask, I get why you want a sibling, but sweetheart, that is the one thing I cannot give you.

If I could give you a little sister I would. If I could give you the chance to share your love and clothes and bows and shoes with another little girl, I would. If I could give you the same experiences I had to be a protective big sister, to be loving, to have little spats and arguments — if I could give you these things, I would.

If I could give you a little brother I would! If I could give you the chance to share your love for cars and trains and baseball and throwing toys and creating mayhem in our home, I most definitely would. If I could give you the experiences I had, helping raise a little brother to be kind and thoughtful towards women and caring for his momma, to show him it’s okay to have emotions and show them, I would.

But my sweet child, this is not an option for your momma.

I had a hard enough time conceiving you. Afterwards, during one of the most rewarding journeys of my life, I faced obstacles only to learn later that my body was not supposed to be able to carry you. My organs don’t do their job baby girl. It’s not mommy being lazy, or uncaring, or insensitive, or depriving you. Sweetheart, my body just cannot.

I want to so badly, sweet girl. I want to promote you so much. I know you’d make the best big sister ever. I know you’d be loving. I know you would be thoughtful. I know you’d share your toys and that you’re good with your dollies, honey! That’s why, months ago, when hope crept into mommy’s heart, I was so excited. I thought this was it. I was finally being granted the ability to give you what you yearned for so badly: a little brother or sister. The day that hope was taken from me my heart broke. Not for me, but for you. For your chance. For your hard-earned promotion to big sister. I stood there in the shower, sobbing, as hope left my body and my heart just shattered into a million pieces for you. I’m so sorry. I swear I want this for you. But mommy can’t.

So you see, if I could give you a little sister, I would. And if I could give you a little brother, I would. But for now, I hope it’s enough that I love you. Who knows what the future holds?

Love, Mommie

To the mommas also struggling, I know infertility is hard. Having one child, but not being able to have another is hard. Miscarriage is hard. Hope is hard. As always, I am here for you. My shoulder is yours and I almost always bring coffee and biscuits.