On the ride home from my riding lesson tonight I was rocking out to whatever was on the radio and realized I got a little choked up and teary over a Brian Adams song. Since my Husband and I aren't fighting it can only mean one thing- my least favorite aunt is coming for a visit. My little reminder (as if I needed one) that not only am I not pregnant, but certain parts of my anatomy attempt a mutiny on quite a regular basis.
As I sang along to 'Please Forgive Me', I realized I've been doing really, really good lately in trying to enjoy where we're at right now. Enjoying my Scrunch and trying NOT to think about our next baby. I think it has a lot to do with rocking out. Rocking out to 'Girls Just Wanna Have Fun' in the back bedroom with my little girl makes my so happy I think my heart might explode. In that moment, I am totally and completely happy. And fulfilled- which is the harder part.
Every so often a twinge of sad and frustration creep in. Like when I realize that many of my friends and family are on their second, third, and even fourth children. I start to feel that panicked feeling like when you're late. Or when I look at the costs of the various private agencies. That brings on the kind of anxiety that makes your hair fall out. Another post for another day is the frustration of family planning and finance in adoption.
But especially when my Baby prays for a baby. That more than anything makes my gut wrench. And for a few minutes I am sad. For me. For her. For my Husband. I mean, how young is too young to have to learn the lesson about God's timing when it comes to answering prayers? I still don't get that one yet.
A few months ago we gave our best effort in trying to conceive. I even shaped up and started doing things that I should have been doing anyway, but suck at making a habit of. Stuff like weekly temple attendance, prayer, and scripture study. OK, still a little sucky at scripture study. But I was trying. I remember talking to a friend who asked how I was doing.
"You know....I'm gonna be a little ticked off at Him when I work this hard and it all goes to crap anyway," was my response.
I must have known. And in the silent prayers in my head and heart throughout those days that we counted the days, I made a deal with God to please help me be okay with it all. The last time she came to visit I didn't cry. I accepted that my babies will be coming in a different way. Somehow I've conjured up the picture of my son asking me how long I'd be willing to wait for him. I think about that all the time. Maybe I'm nuts. But I come by it honestly.
I have a crazy grandma. Seriously bordering on certifiable. The woman is off-the-wall completely bonkers. But I still listen to what she has to say, and I believe her when she tells me,
"Don't worry kiddo. You just put your intentions out there into the world and He'll take care of the rest. These blessings were secured long before we got here. Only special babies come to your house."
For being completely nuts she makes so much sense.
All these thoughts and more came from some stupid Brian Adams song. Next time I'll just turn off the radio.
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