To Snowy, with love.

TW: childlessness, chronic illness, mention of weight.

I remember when the doctors told me

I can never have children.

(At least, not human children.)

My uterus would rupture,

the risks were too high.

I could have another stroke

far bigger than the last.

I haven’t gained weight in years. Gastroparesis won the battle a long time ago.

Stuck at 83 pounds, there was (and still is) talk of a feeding tube if I begin to lose again.

If can’t take care of myself, how can I take care of a human baby?

The prognosis isn’t friendly. No adoption agency wants a woman who is sick and can’t take care of herself, who’s bedridden for weeks at a time, whose life expectancy won’t even allow her to see her child grow up, to be a mother. And rightly so. I’m in no place to be a mother of a human child.

There was an unexplainable grief and sadness…

…until you came to us, Snowy.

Our beloved, precious, Snowy.

You have filled our lives with a love so sweet, so deep, so full as we now call you our baby. You are our baby.

Snowy on her second birthday!

2023//

It was around 3:40 in the morning when I awoke with a start.

We had gone away for the weekend and I had just remembered you had been delivered to our mailroom a couple days prior.

I immediately jumped out of bed and grabbed our keys, my sweet hubby followed.

We scrambled through the mailroom in the dead of night searching for your box and the minute we found it, I opened it like a young child on Christmas morning.

And there you were, curled up in a little ball, fast asleep.

I picked you up and cradled you in my arms like a baby as we gazed into your eyes and watched your little pink beak sparkle.

You are my baby.

You are our baby.

Snowy visiting the university library with us!

Snowy, you are a member of our family.

You have a big personality,

a spirit of pure joy,

a heart full of comfort,

And a warmth that makes the darkest of days brighter.

You keep our imaginations young and inspire us to keep seeking the wonder and awe of a child.

Childlike joy. You bring us that pure, childlike joy.

Snowy at the park!

People will call me crazy. (They already have.)

They’ll say I’m immature.

They’ll say I’m not right in the mind. After all, I’m an adult and from what they see, you’re just a stuffed animal.

And I’ll tell them “you’re sad.” Because in the midst of so much loss and grief, suffering and uncertainty, they are trying to make me feel ashamed of one of the only things left that brings me joy.

I won’t let them do that.

Snowy, you are more than just a stuffed animal.

You are our joy, and we love you, cherish you, and adore you.

Here’s to you, Snowy, our baby, with love.

Snowy at an overlook after joining us on a hike. :)