9 Months In, 9 Months Out: Reflections of a New (but not a First time) Mom

Yesterday, my daughter turned 9 months old. It is one of those quirky un-birthday milestones which grips a mother’s imagination, charming in the way the Mad Hatter and the March Hare’s endless tea party is charming. A little silly, but deeply memorable all the same.

For many mothers, this is a quiet moment of reflection. I carried you in my womb for nine months. I have carried you in my arms for nine months. Somehow, that symmetry holds meaning. Perhaps it feels especially significant because my daughter is no longer just a ‘babe in arms.’ Now, she’s crawling around our apartment with gleeful determination, leaving a trail of delight and destruction wherever her curious little hands go.

But I love that this milestone points to the truth so often missed, an acknowledgement of the place where she truly grew up in the most incredible way. Olivia’s life didn’t begin at birth. She grew, kicked, and snuggled with me for months before the world ever saw her face. Nine months in was where it all began.

I am a new mom, but I am not a first-time mom. This isn’t the first time I’ve marked “nine months out.” The last time I reached this point, it had been nine months since my son Archie entered Heaven. In my forthcoming book, Dear Baby Archie, I wrote:

 “Nine months out looks a bit different for me. The leaves have fallen from the trees like tears and now I can feel this season of grief is changing and transforming, as it must…You, my love, are in an eternal, heavenly summer.”

So it is with profound gratitude that I sit down to write about this milestone again. This time my daughter is playing at my feet. She is, in every way, a gift from God. A living, wriggling reminder of His mercy and restoration. It has been 274 miraculous days since she was placed in my arms. Somehow that number feels both impossibly small and unimaginably full.

But even in the hardest moments, I have been carried by the perspective only loss can teach. This is worth it. All of it. This perspective has carried me cheerfully through the sometimes challenging season of broken sleep, occasional inconsolable tears and the identity shifts which motherhood brings. How lucky am I to be a mother to a beautiful, healthy baby!

‘9 months in’ was deeply challenging for me. My pregnancy with Olivia was not easy. It was marked by fear, surgery, and long stretches of bedrest. After three pregnancies that did not end with a living baby in my arms, I existed in the shadow of anxiety. It is hard to describe that kind of fear. It is the kind of fear that hollows you out. Looking back now, it almost feels like a dream or maybe a fog that God, in His mercy, has slowly lifted.

Still, I was Olivia’s mother from the moment she was conceived. I fought for her every day. And now, I am in awe of the graces God gave me as he walked with me through the valley which pregnancy after recurrent losses was for me. His graces carried me through sacrifice and love to the moment she entered the world.

And what a joy that moment was.

The ‘nine months out’ since then have been blissful. I wanted this baby for so long and every moment of every day with her is perfect. Even the messy, loud, overtired moments. But it has mostly been quiet moments of love and family bonding.

It has not been without sacrifice and hardship, but it has been filled with quiet, steady joy. The kind of joy that settles in your bones and surprises you when you least expect it.

I have noticed something. It is not always popular to speak joyfully about new motherhood. When I have shared that I’m happy, even deeply happy, I have sometimes been met with disbelief, skepticism, or even resentment. How could anyone be so happy in the midst of the challenges of having a small baby who depends on you for everything? It has made me hesitate. I have even caught myself censoring my joy.

But I want to clarify something for the record: I am not saying it has been easy. I am saying it has been worthwhile, and that is a crucial difference.

Of course, I would never wish the road I have walked—the loss of babies, the pain of empty arms—on anyone. But that road has given me a rare and reverent joy. It is not performative. It is not naive. It is hard-won.

And as I pause to reflect today, on the occasion of Olivia’s 9 Month un-birthday, two thoughts remain.

The first is how deeply grateful I am to have loved and mothered this little girl for the last eighteen months. From the quiet embrace of the womb to the endless cuddles between a mother and her child.

The second is a hope. I hope to be here again, maybe eighteen months from now, with another little life to cherish.

But if that is not what lies ahead, I will still say this with my whole heart. Every life is a gift. Every life is sacred.

Pro-life, always.

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