Hope

Lori wrote the most beautiful post the other day (everything she writes is beautiful). I wish that the years would speed up (like the movie C.lick, but only without the dire consequences) for me, so that I too could move through my house at the end of the day and feel the same kind of thankfulness that she feels daily. I would even write about it.

But I am not ungrateful. I have my husband, my ardent supporters in some friends and family (do you have those too?), my parents and brother, and I have hope. While I navigate this funky cycle + grieving + my in-between days "real" job & home biz job + figuring out where I belong in the parent world + being a new doggie mom (this one is the least of my worries but a change nonetheless), I have hope that someday Wannabe Dad and I will be chasing some chubby-legged being around, our eyes heavy with sleep, our clothes stiff with stains, our ears full of cries and shrieks and silly laughter.

Trouble is, I also have bitter -- still distancing myself from pg friends and newborns. How would I even act around them? Truth is I haven't tried, even the thought makes me well up. I nearly ran into new parents at work today, and if I hadn't seen the "It's a Girl" sign in the office window out of the corner of my eye and the pink stuff hanging out of a dark bag which clearly he wouldn't have in his office, I would have stopped to look. A passerby who hadn't seen me since last November almost asked if I had "seen T's baby", but she stopped herself at "Have you..." and trailed off after realizing that I wasn't the same person she could have asked such a benign question to not a year ago. Thanks for small miracles?

It started to be a sullen drive home, then I remembered the hope. It's still in there, flickering, quiet, encouraging.