It’s no secret among my friends and family that I wanted this third child to be a girl.  In fact, for much of the pregnancy, not only did I want a girl, I did not want a boy.

I don’t have a good explanation for this, other than it was just my heart’s desire.  I love my son, and I love my daughter equally – immensely. But I just did not picture the child I was carrying – the first and only genetic one – to be a boy.  I pictured a girl.

And I named her.  Her name was Hannah.

I’ve posted before that this name has tremendous significance for us.   It was to be Brae’s name if he had been a girl, and simply coincidentally, it was Brae’s birthmom’s last name.

It is the name of the woman in the Bible who struggled with infertility.  And, it is in honor of me and my sister – each of our middle names is Ann.

But, I didn’t have a girl.  Instead, I have this miracle.  This boy.

When I gave birth, and saw him, I think I was in shock. I was so not expecting a boy.  I was convinced I was having a girl.

Thankfully, by God’s grace, the last emotion I felt was disappointed.  I was completely elated.  He was here.  This complete shot in the dark miracle.  I didn’t even remember that I had so desired a girl.

But, then what about Hannah? This elusive child.

I’ve come to terms with the fact that our family is complete.  And I will not have another girl. There will be no Hannah.

And yet, Hannah, and all that that name signifies, is in each of my children.  Hannah represents our infertility journey.  Our struggle to grow our family.

Hannah is here.

Hannah exists.

I see her every time I kiss my children’s faces.

And am thankful that she is exactly where — or who — she should be.



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