Hello again!

It’s good to be back to the world of blogging!

Back in April of 2009 I started a blog about my experience with motherhood after infertility. When a major crisis becomes the defining factor of your life, it’s almost eerie to have it suddenly vanish. I’d spent three years trying to cope with the pain of infertility, trying to wrap my mind around the idea that I might never have a baby. Then suddenly—miraculously!—I was pregnant. For nine months I anxiously watched the calendar, each morning amazed to see that yes, my growing belly was still there. When I had Skylar Grace on July 22, 2008, I almost felt like the birth was happening to someone else. Of course, I felt the pain of labor (oh my word, did I ever feel the pain), but when I held Sky for the first time it didn’t seem possible that she could be my daughter.

As the months passed, my shock faded and I settled into the reality of motherhood. Writing the posts for Kiss Your Miracle was like therapy, with my reader-counselors encouraging me every step. I liked the whole process. But after a year, I had this sense that I’d said what I wanted about motherhood through the lens of infertility and I was ready to dwell on other things. Infertility will always be part of my identity. But instead of a living, breathing organism, it’s a closed box in the back of my mind and the bottom of my heart. I’ll keep it for the rest of my life and I’m grateful for everything God taught me through it, but I don’t need to examine the past anymore.

I ended the blog for other reasons too. I’ve always loved writing, but after a year it started to feel like a chore. My dad died of cancer in November 2009 and my close friend Jill died two months later in January 2010. Our second child, Micah Nathan, was born several weeks after that in February. For a while I ran on adrenaline. The high of bringing home a new baby carried me through the first month or two. But by April my grief was compounded by sleep deprivation, and it was all I could do to survive each day.

I’m sure I’m not the only mom who spends half of each morning planning what to do during the kids’ naptimes. I used to write my blog then, but suddenly I found myself needing those hours to do nothing at all. On the magical afternoons when both babies slept at the same time, I’d lie down on my bed, stare out the window at the sky, and let my mind go where it wanted. Sometimes I’d talk to God. Sometimes I’d cry. Sometimes I’d replay old memories on the movie screen in my head and let myself ache to relive them.

My mom says grief is like an ocean; waves crash over you and then recede. With time, the intensity fades and the water grows calm. I guess that’s where I am today. I’ve been writing in my head a lot lately and noticing the beauty around me. I’ve been taking more pictures, reading better books, and I’ve been in the mood to discuss things again.