The thing about chronicling my life the way I have over the last several years, is that it gives me the opportunity to look back and recognize how things have changed.
Or haven’t changed.
And how far we’ve come.
Last year at this time I was working on putting together a Christmas card and was struck by overwhelming feelings of being grateful and sad at the same time as I searched for a photo of my husband and I to send to relatives and friends, feeling a little sorry for us and a little pathetic.
Read the full post here: The Holidays, how they hold us and haunt us.
I couldn’t help but realize that most couples our age were setting up photo shoots with their little ones, decorating Christmas trees and Christmas cookies together in a house filled with toys and bouncy seats and stuffed animals and putting elves on shelves or dressing the kids up for photos with Santa.
The holidays have always been a little rough for the two of us, as they are for anyone who has lost someone they love or has yet to start the family they’ve been dreaming about. With each passing year you wonder if it’s ever going to get easier…
I couldn’t have known last year at that time, when I picked out a photo of the two of us sitting on a cooler under the hot Montana summer sun, a little tipsy from a few beers, laughing and holding on to one another, that just a few months later I would call my husband into the bathroom to confirm that I wasn’t seeing things.
That there were indeed, two pink lines.
And you couldn’t have told us then, seeing those lines for the seventh time, that it would all work out this time. That on December 9th I would be picking out little bows and hats for our daughter’s first Christmas photo.
I wouldn’t have believed you if you told me then, in the middle of my musings about being thankful but wanting, that if we just wait patiently, in one year we would be bundling up our almost two-week old, strapping her in her car seat in the back of the pickup for a drive around the ranch to pick out her first Christmas tree.
Everything has changed, yet it feels so familiar to have this baby laying next to me in her bassinette as I write this. It feels just fine me holding my breath hoping she’ll give me just a few more minutes to finish up before she wakes up and is ready to eat.
It feels like we were never without her…although we waited so long.
How could we have known?
We could not.
To live with uncertainty is to live knowing that it could be tragic, but then, it could all turn out after all.
Sometimes it all works out after all.