Monday, April 25, 2022

The Perfect Word

The Perfect Word

By: Wendi Kitsteiner

(It's been 14 years, and the beauty of this word is not lost on me ... ever.)

The test says "No."





I can't even imagine it as I look back. (And it was me who was hearing and seeing it in those moments.) Over and over again. How did I continue standing? Continue moving onward? 

How could I hear "No" sixty times? Or more. Yes, more than sixty times. Year after year after year after year. And not completely give up? I look back and think:

I was stronger than I knew

Or did I give up? Perhaps I did. Perhaps I gave up and didn't even realize I  did so that the "No" didn't hurt so bad after awhile.

Maybe I became numb to the word "No."

Again and again and again.

All the while my friends and family heard "Yes" and I smile and I hug them and I even buy a present and sit and pretend that I don't feel jealous when I can't even possibly imagine how it would feel to be them. And I dream so hard that I was them. And it doesn't feel fair to not be them. 

And that other lady hears "Yes" a second time. And a third. While I sit there and listen to the "No" over and over and over again. 

And their "Yes" is so reliable that they plan for their "Yes." They say, I'll shoot for a "Yes" in May. (And this is beyond anything I can even comprehend, and I want to laugh, but I don't.) I just want to hear a "Yes" in any way. On any day. 

I don't plan for a month of the year or the right timing between a "Yes." I just want to hear it. Just once. 

But I hear "No."




I ask for help. And the doctors say "No."

I cry.

I beg.

I plead.

I move on.

(Or I try.)

Do I ever really move on?

And then someone asks me if I will be the Mommy to their miracle. My barren womb opens its arms and a little beautiful baby climbs inside and emerges from the deep recesses of my heart. 

I hold the power to say "Yes."

look at that child and I choose "Yes." I choose to be a Mama. And the babe falls asleep on my chest and is breathing small puffs of baby's breath into the wrinkles of my neck as I spin the word around in my mouth and whisper it and yell it and can't believe I get to hear it. 

"Will you by my Mommy?"


I give a precious soul a place in my home and the judge says: "This child is now your blood. This child is equal in all ways to any child that comes from your womb. Will you say yes?"

The word floats around again in a place where it never seems like it will land and hold truth of its own. But it does. And I yell: "Yes!" 

The baby is buckled in, and instead of suckling to my chest, it's tiny self cradles into my arms. My body doesn't make milk, but I am okay with "No" because this "No" means this perfect child is the child of my barren womb. 

I just sit in awe and count the tiny fingers and toes and cry and thank God, and I no longer look for a "Yes" because I've received the "Yes" of my dreams.

And the "Yes" is more perfect than I could imagine.

And I thank God for the dozens of times I heard "No."

To receive the privilege of this exact, "Yes."

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