Those of you who have read one of my earliest stories know how close I came to an abortion when I was pregnant with my fourth child. I considered it as a single 40-year-old mom of three. Now having just passed my son’s third birthday, I reflect on what could have been had I chosen death instead of life. Here’s what I would have missed.

I would have missed my baby calling me “Mama” for the first time. More than that, I would’ve missed hearing him sleepily say “Mama, I want you,” first thing in the morning as he’s waking in his crib.

I would’ve missed his cuddling and the kisses where we play who-can-smack-louder and say “MUA!”

I would’ve missed his first dance as I played TobyMac’s Feel It. (Incidentally, the chorus says, “You take our brokenness and make us beautiful.”)

I would have missed that precious day when a little voice in the back seat of the car said, “Mommy, you’re my best friend.” I almost cried.

I would have missed him saying “No, I want Daddy to change my poopy diaper,” because only Daddy knows how. (That is just fine with me).

I would’ve missed the dumbfounded look on his face when he was watching Johnny Depp play Willy Wonka and hearing him say, “Something on the T.V.’s strange.”

I would’ve missed hearing him say, “Mommy, I want to sleep in your big girl bed.” (Um, no.)

I would’ve missed hearing him talk about a bad day at daycare and concluding the story with “Every single one of those kids get on my last nerve!” (I laughed hysterically.)

I would’ve missed hearing him quote one of my favorite Madea movies, hollering at me: “Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth??!”

I would’ve missed all of the firsts. First kiss, first hug, first steps, first words, first tooth, first real meal.

I wouldn’t have known that he loved green beans. Or boudain (gross). Or hot salsa from Mexican restaurants. Or black olives that he puts on his fingers before popping them in his mouth.

I wouldn’t have known he was so independent. That his mantra would be, “I want to do it all by myself!” while brushing his teeth, or crawling into his car seat, or sitting on the big boy potty.

I wouldn’t have known his awesome personality. I wouldn’t have known him.

Yes, I would’ve missed all of the temper fits, the corner time, the spitting, the screaming, the poopy diapers. But I would’ve missed the greatest blessing in my life, too. I would’ve missed an unconditional love that is almost unequaled. Only Jesus did that better.

If I chose death over life, I would’ve still been trying to convince myself that it was only tissue. That I wasn’t ready. That I didn’t make a mistake. That a baby would’ve complicated things. And they do. But in the best way possible.