Though It Tarries

Tomorrow, this little baby will be 37 weeks old.  That's "full term," whatever that means... given that he could also decide he's perfectly happy to hang out in my belly for another month. In looking back on the last 37 weeks, I'm kind of surprised at some of the things I haven't done.  I thought I would write more; that I'd be one of those journaling pregnant ladies, recording all of my excitement, apprehension, and hope for my little one to read fondly some day when he's old enough to care.  I guess the agonizing process of actually writing well overcame my actual desire to do it.  Not sure if I'll feel sad or guilty about this some day, when I'm digging around for some long-neglected memory in the dusty crevices of my temporal lobe. I thought I would worry more.  Thankfully, I've been spared this aspect of my natural tendencies by what I can only account to the grace of God.  Knowing that He has held this little life in his hands fro...

The waiting was hard.  The uncertainty was maddening. Three years trickled by, peppered abundantly by nearly countless joyful pregnancy announcements from family, friends, and acquaintances.  I patiently watched their bellies swell with tiny lives, and watched as those tiny lives grew into rambunctious toddlers with minds and personalities all their own.  I constantly struggled against my own pervasive feelings of stagnancy, monotony, and envy; for this is the ugly reality of the human response to infertility. I knew in my head that I was genuinely happy for the super-fertiles surrounding me, and I was capable of expressing that happiness most of the time.  But so often my heart just wanted to sink into the undercurrent of depression and hang out there for a while.  Some days were fine; I could babysit, attend baby showers, and knit baby hats for dear friends... all with genuine joy in my heart.  But other days, triggers sat on the surface of my sk...