Kick…. kick…. jab.

Tiny fists and feet flutter about as though they’re moving along to a Tae Bo class.

It’s a weird sensation. Some women say it feels like butterflies. I think it feels like my stomach is a popcorn bag and each movement is like a kernel popping.

However you want to describe it, I’m just blessed to experience the miracle of pregnancy.

I say this having been sick the whole time. At its worst, morning sickness, or “all day sickness” in this case, would force six or seven trips to the bathroom, garbage can, parking lot — whatever was closest — a day.

Thankfully the nausea isn’t as bad now and I’m starting to feel more like myself.

The thing is, this isn’t my first pregnancy. Last summer I learned that I was was expecting, but weeks later experienced a miscarriage. I didn’t know the gender. I didn’t need to buy any maternity clothes. It ended before I knew it.

I was devastated. It really took me by surprise. So many of my friends and family were starting or growing their families without any issues, and here I was … “Defective” as I saw it.

The doctor assured me that there wasn’t anything wrong with me, nor anything I could have done to prevent it.

“Sometimes these things just happen due to a chromosomal flaw,” he said.

Still, it was challenging, and a little embarrassing honestly when I told people what had happened. For some reason, I felt like I was disappointing all the people my husband and I had told we were expecting that it wasn’t the case anymore.

I realize how silly that sounds, but that’s how I felt in the moment.

During the days that followed, all I wanted to do was hibernate. I didn’t even want to get on social media because while I was grieving, others were announcing their pregnancies and posting cute pictures of their newborns.

I think I went to more baby showers in the subsequent months than I had ever before. I also helped plan a baby shower.

It wasn’t easy, but I remained hopeful that some day soon I’d have a successful pregnancy. 

And then it happened. About five months after the miscarriage. 

I remember the day I took the test. I was excited, but anxious more than anything.

I couldn’t help but think, “What if I have another miscarriage?”

I couldn’t shake that thought for months. Even when I had my first ultrasound and got to see our little peanut move I wondered if I’d get to meet him face-to-face.

All I could do was hope.

Side note: If we were having a girl, we probably would have named her Hope.

Reality is starting sink in and I’m getting more and more excited for Sept. 12 to arrive when Elijah James is due.

A co-worker wished me a happy Mother’s Day. It’s kind of weird for me to think that I’m going to be a mom soon. Mom is such an official title.

I’m not sure I’m ready — I don’t know that anyone is ever fully prepared to raise a child for the first time — but I’m excited.

This Mother’s Day I think not just of the women who have children or are expecting a child, but also those who are praying and hoping that one day they have children.

I’m praying with you. I’m hoping with you.

Having hope is neither foolish nor shameful. It’s admirable. Refusing to let things outside of your control dictate your outlook on life takes guts. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? Hope says that regardless the outcome, you’re going to be okay.

Stay hopeful, friends.