How did we get here?

Nearly two years ago now, my husband Scott and I conceived a very wanted and welcomed child. Sadly, our dear son Trace Oak was born still after a catastrophic uterine rupture took his life at term. I also lost my womb on that same day... leaving us with the question of how and when our next child would come.

We had contemplated adoption- both domestic and international- but we had a few kind women offer to do a gestational surrogacy for us and over the year since Trace's death and we had agreed to stay open to what presented itself, to not push the river so-to-speak, and to watch for the doors to open. We were led to believe that was a surrogacy....

One night just a few weeks ago, though, I was in our bed reading a story to our soon-to-be-six year old daughter Ariah. Even at this age, she still depends on us to put her to sleep (a current frustration of mine, but perhaps a different blog) and it was quite late on a Sunday. But you know how somehow it is possible to have your lips move and eject sound that forms the words to a story all while your mind goes over the details of more adult topics? Well, my mouth was moving, my mind drifting, and out of nowhere came this voice, "Go call Hope."

Now I had never spoken to Hope; a midwife friend had passed me her number in the wake of Trace's death some 10 months prior. As soon as I registered this strange command, I resisted it. "This is a Sunday night. I am reading a story to my daughter. I cannot call some woman I do not know in the middle of a story on Sunday night! I will call later."

"Call her NOW." The voice responded.

"That is ludicrous," I argued. "Nothing is going to change between now and tomorrow."

On and on this futile process went (still while moving my lips to form the book's words) until finally I paused the story and moved into the dark of the bathroom to make the call.