The Wonderful Ones

The Wonderful Ones: Is this a thing? I’m making it one! That lovely baby age of just about one-and-a-half. You’ve survived the first year, you’re finding your groove, your skinny jeans fit (miracle of God), nursing’s behind you (unless you’re into extended breastfeeding, which I totally applaud), and you’ve still got a solid six months till you hit the nefarious Terrible Twos.

Even better, for now, I only have ONE kid to manage!!! Em and I can still (barely) meet girlfriends for coffee. She takes leisurely three-hour naps during which I can work out, or read, or call a friend, or catch up on Bachelor in Paradise. As my mama friend Blaire says, life with one now is “pretty cush.” I have enough mom friends of multiples to know certain luxuries will simply disintegrate once we expand our brood. They tell me the facts, and I’m grateful. I’m all about savoring blessings!

Then there’s the outrageously adorable everything about this vivacious age. Watching your baby daughter morph into a little girl is nothing short of pure magic. Emerson carries around her small purse with a swagger that couldn’t be taught. She steals my make-up brushes and play-blushes her nose and her forehead. She grabs my cheeks and peers into my eyes and tries with all her strength to speak in actual syllables. She grabs books and reads independently, perched on her very own chair. I’m smitten by her about 85% of the time right now, which in my personal experience through Mom Land thus far is a pretty outstanding percentage.

Back in April, I miscarried when I was six weeks along. It totally broke my heart. And, to my surprise and regret, that heartbreak hasn’t faded as much as I’d like. The first few months following the loss—instructed for healing, resting, hitting pause on trying for #2—were actually pretty peaceful, in spite of my pain. They felt like a special, though heartbreaking, gift; it was relatively easy to put the efforts on hold, enjoy Emerson, and trust deeply that God had a plan, even amidst my tears.

Then came the green light: Time to start trying again! Obviously, God wants me to get pregnant IMMEDIATELY, I thought. He wants to provide me with tidy, swift, beautiful proof of His knack for both giving and taking away (on my terms, of course, I mean, duh). Blessed be the name of the Lord!

Today, three months into trying again, I’m still not pregnant. I know that this is technically no time at all. I know, medically and rationally, that this is totally normal. For many very healthy women, it takes months and months. But, my heart does not connect with those facts. Every 28 days feels like a legitimate century (not that I’m counting or anything). I’m scared, and I’m sad, and every new negative test reopens the heartbreak and loss, still there like a tender bruise that you forget about until you accidentally bump it on something all over again or someone hugs you a little too tight. My fears are rampant, my patience is challenged, and we are, like, already six whole months off my perfect life plan, which is totally NOT OKAY!!!!

But God’s saying: Trust me. Look to me. Lean on me. It’s going to be okay. I’m learning wholly, truly, palpably, what it means to trust His plans and His timing, to stop trying to plot my whole life and the lives of the children I’ll carry. I’m telling myself, every day, to trust in the Lord with all my heart and lean not on my own understanding. It’s so very easy to say; it’s so much harder to live. He makes paths straight; He comforts the brokenhearted; He knits human beings together in each mother’s womb. I often return to old classic Bible verses when I don’t know where else to turn. And even though I’ve read them approximately 10,000 times over the years, I have to relook them up and re-recite them over and over, because I seem to have major amnesia when it comes to remembering that I am not the one in charge of it all.

I read the simplest quote the other day that I keep on thinking about: “Don’t let what you don’t have, blind you to what you do have.”

Some days, when it comes to having another baby, I’m verging on blackout blindness and I need a white cane to see the blessings I do have. Other days I just need extra-strength contacts. But, on most days, thankfully, and the best days, I see really clearly. And I see that these are the days for one: for Emerson and only Emerson. These are the days for my little buddy who will hold up one tiny finger proudly when you ask her: “Emmy, how old are you?!” This is our time to grab donut holes and Starbucks together and then go frolic in meadows on the mornings we have nowhere else to be. This our time to share graham crackers and dance to One Direction in the middle of the afternoon, simply because we can.

Someday, if my greatest wishes align with God’s, we’ll have a houseful of noisy children—and Emerson’s laughs, and cries, and days, will be one of a chorus. We’ll fill the bedrooms in our home with light and love and even more mayhem. I’ll likely have to set aside intentional one-on-one time for engaging with my firstborn, strong-willed, blue-eyed and beautiful warrior, little Emerson Violet.

But today, she’s it. She’s the one. And I want to focus on that, because it breaks my heart to think of being a blind mom with perfectly good eyes, ignoring the beauty right in front of me, consumed by a dream in the mist.

I never want to forget these sweet days turning into sweet months.

Everything about them is ONE-derful.