Truth be told, I allowed myself to be robbed.
Of the fleeting first year with a baby.
Looking back now I wonder if I was suffering from any kind of postpartum depression. But I know that we were living VERY much below the poverty level, oftentimes wondering if rent would actually get paid. We were struggling to get all of Rob’s immigration paperwork sorted out. I was 220 pounds and couldn’t stand to even look at myself. I would be up multiple times a night nursing Josiah, only to have my alarm go off at 3:30 am to go open at Starbucks. No doubt this was the most stressful season of our lives.
And I feel like I missed out on so much of Josiah’s first year of life. I wish often that I could go back in time and enjoy that first year a little more. When we first started trying for baby number 2, God spoke to me the word “redeem”. I fully interpreted it as He would redeem all of the time I missed out on the first time, all of the hardship we had to endure. I had so much hope.
But over time I stopped having hope. Not out of bitterness, but protection maybe? I got to the point where I was truly, truly happy, and 100% accepting of the fact that I may never have the chance to carry and raise another baby. I saw the things I was doing with Josiah in a different light. I saw the opportunities in front of us and the kind of things that we could do with just one child. Then I went and posted that blog about unexplained infertility. And suddenly the whole world wanted to reach out to me, pray for me, believe for me, have hope for me. And I felt it again too. Hope. Really, really big hope.
Then hope was severed again. I texted my best friend and said Well – at least I don’t have to worry about the wedding I booked in 2017. Protecting my heart from any more hope, again.
I don’t know where I’m going with this. Maybe just to say that sometimes it still hurts. But then sometimes I’m perfectly okay. Most of the time I’m okay. I hate unexplained infertility. I just wish there were answers. I read this quote the other day, the same morning hope was severed. It’s from John Piper and said,
“Occassionally, weep deeply over the life you hoped would be. Grieve the losses, then wash your face. Trust God. And embrace the life you have.”
So tonight I’ll weep. And tomorrow I’ll wash my face. I’ll drink the extra glass of wine. I’ll eat some raw sushi. I’ll drink some pre workout and run some extra miles. I’ll play baseball with Josiah, I’ll read him extra bedtime stories. I’ll hold him tight and kiss his face. I’ll thank God for the air I breathe, the life I live, the grace I don’t deserve.
I was robbed of the time before. But I won’t let that happen again. I’ll embrace the story I have. All of it.