Yesterday I was at a Rosh Chodesh breakfast with a group of ladies from our synagogue.  After her d'var Torah, our illustrous hostess pulled out a pan and some candles. She had a project for us. We were to light a candle and talk about a woman who was miraculous in our eyes. It could be someone we knew or heard about or read about.

You could see the look of panic in all of our eyes as we scrambled to think what to say. 

Other ladies talked about mothers and grandmothers who kept Judaism alive for their family despite hardships, sisters remaining strong through challenges, our Imaot.At first I was going to talk about Miriam whose name I chose to take so many years ago. But it didn't feel right and as I wracked my brain it occured to me that the answer was three miracles. My girls.

For so many years I struggled to have children. There were many times I was convinced I never would. That I would have to be content being an awesome aunt. I was pretty much at the end of my endurance when we started seeing our reproductive endocrinologist. I wasn't sure how many more months of mood swings, hope and heartbreak I could endure. Not to mention the feelings of complete failure as a woman that seeped into every joyful and not-so-joyful moment of my life.

When we got our protocol for that last cycle, I was determined not to fail. Not to endure. Not to survive. I was going to thrive and succeed! I found deep within me a resivoir of faith I thought had been lost. I injected myself with stimulants and asked a nodding acquaintance to give me a shot in the butt. I had blood draw after blood draw and got to know a pair of stirrups more than I wanted. There was even another person in the room when I conceived. 

Through it all I knew it would happen. I thought of how I would tell people. What midwife I would use. What supplies I'd need. 

And then we got the call.

I was pregnant!

A few weeks later we saw three heartbeats and quite a few weeks later I was snuggled at home with the three most miraculous females I've ever had the privilege of knowing.