Schmidt Happens

One year ago today, I found out that I was carrying this precious little nugget. I'd love to tell you about the happy tears I cried, the jumping-up-and-down-joy I felt, the overwhelming gratitude; but that would be a lie. I was crushed. Devastated. Terrified. You see, just two short months before, I'd been in surgery to remove the remains of the last little life we had created but that my body had not sustained. After two years of trying and two miscarriages, I was traumatized and wrung out and I had no other context for pregnancy than pain. I wanted so badly to be pregnant, but when I saw that second line on the test, all I could think was, "I'm going to have another miscarriage and I won't survive it this time." The first word out of my mouth was a curse word, I called my husband crying, and I spent the weekend (and a few more weeks after that) in a depressive funk. It took me months to feel comfortable and confident and to stop being terrified of what

Be good, little one. I don't have many dreams for you. I'm careful not to theorize too much about your future because I want you to have the space to dream for yourself and to feel safe telling me what gives you life and hope and passion. I dream of you being happy and my wish is that you will never suffer. I'm constantly reminding myself that this is a pipe dream and preparing myself to cry with you when life starts to hurt.  There is just one other, big dream I have for you; one thing that I desperately want for your life. I want you to be good. Not morally perfect (that's impossible anyways), but good in your core, possessing a kind heart and caring more about others than yourself. This doesn't mean you won't fuck up. It doesn't mean you won't hurt other people. In fact, you're human so your goodness won't even be consistent. You'll make the wrong choice at least as often as you make the right one and I will love you fierc