This post has been something that I've been pondering the approach of for quite some time now. It is in no way my intention to come across as judgmental or bitter. Each person has a path laid before them that is intrinsically different from those around them. Our journey is unique because the world needs unique journeys. This is a tribute to the adventure of young love and young families and those who could have waited... but didn't.
I met my husband when I was 20 years old. We dated for 14 months before he proposed. In all honesty, I knew he was the one I would choose to spend forever with a mere three months into our courtship. I was BEGGING for the engagement to happen. I could not WAIT to change my name. Even our 8 month engagement felt like an eternity. We were ready. But through this time of impatience, one common theme resounded from 90% of the world: don't rush to get married. And then upon marriage: don't rush to start a family.
I was told not to rush into marriage... to take time to travel. Take time to see the world. Take time to live out my dreams. I was told not to worry when we couldn't conceive. To enjoy the infertile time. To use it as a time to travel. Take time to see the world. Live out our dreams. But this advice, as well intentioned as it was given, felt like a clouded judgement on what marriage and family is to me.
I once saw a post that a friend wrote about how they feel bad for people who just want to "settle" in life. That they were getting out of here and headed to the west coast to live their dreams. That they were in their early 20s and had so much life to live.
So to those who told me that marriage and a family would extinguish the fire within, I say:
Our lives are not much different.
We are both awake at two in the morning taking care of our friends who cannot take care of themselves. We both dry tears and fall into bed exhausted from the late night that turned into this 2am hunger-fest.
We both find beauty in the world. Yours is found in wanderlust. In seeing the sunset sweep across the sky at the Taj Mahal or in exploring the depths of the ocean. Mine is found in watching the sunset sweep across ten tiny toes or in exploring the depths of the water at bath time.
We are both chasing our dreams. Yours to be a CEO and save your money to buy the home of your dreams. Mine to chase around a little crawler and cook dinner for my family in our well-priced starter.
We both had to work for what we wanted. You hustle on the daily for your dreams and independence. I hustle on the daily to get places on time now that I'm never alone with a baby on one hip.
We are both searching for inner peace. I cannot pack up to do this on a yoga retreat or leave for a week long trip to California. No, I do this at nap time when I have 20 minutes to eat and say a quick prayer.
We are both on an adventure. Yours is more breathtaking, I am sure. But damn, you haven't lived until you have seen a baby breathe their first breath or smile for the first time or find their voice.
You see, friends, we aren't that much different.
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I promise to never tell these travelers and wanderers and adventurers that MY adventure is better, because it's not, it's just DIFFERENT. I am living the life that I dreamed.. And the wait was HARD, though short. You see, friends, when we tell people to travel before they get married and to chase their dreams before children we are taking away the opportunity for marriage and family to BE the adventure. We can travel with a spouse and we can dream of children. Those are beautiful things to desire.
And if, in the end, all I have is my humble home and hand-me-down clothes and trips to the park, I will have lived more life in that simplicity than I could have ever dreamed of living. And if, in the end, you have seen the world and found inner peace and traveled your own road to Heaven, you will have lived your best life, too.
Support the journey others are traveling. We are not that different in the end.
My Dearest Baby,
The first night we brought you home from the hospital, we went to lay you down to sleep and you made gasping noises. Three of them. Loud, gasping-for-air, can't-breathe noises. And then you fell into a peaceful sleep. Just like every cough and sneeze and nose run, I talked to your doctor about what I had witnessed. He told me that if you weren't turning blue, you were fine. Just like every cough and sneeze and nose run... it was normal.
But you see, sweet love, these things weren't normal to me. Every cough was a terrible cold and every gasp-for-air bedtime breath was a sure sign that you were dying. I was terrified.
The first time you didn't poop for a span of 5 days, you cried. And I cried too. I've never wanted anything more in my life than for you to finally pass a bowel and even as I type this right now I'm laughing because of how excited dad and I were when you had the biggest blowout to date. As we wiped poop off of your back and the changing table and the ceiling (jokes), you returned to our happy, adorable baby. And a huge weight lifted off of my chest.
As the months went on, I became less terrified and more concerned when little things were off with you. Like when you suddenly started screaming during baths. I never wanted to bathe you again because God-forbid anything I should do would break your soul. It felt like, in giving you a bath, I was hurting you in some way. I was concerned that the water was too hot or that you might think that I wasn't listening and didn't care when you cried. Every time it was bath night, my chest tightened in anticipation. As I set you in the tub, I winced, sure of what was to come. It turns out you just wanted to sit up in the tub instead of lay in it. *Destroying your soul for life: avoided*
There was one night at Grandma and Grandpa's farm when you didn't feel well and couldn't sleep. We woke up at 2am and daddy was feeding you a bottle while I pumped. This time there was definitely something wrong. You had a 99.7 fever.... but nothing can happen unless it's 101.4. You cried. I cried. Daddy sat there trying to console his two girls. But seriously, my heart felt like it was bring ripped out of my chest not being able to help you.
Yesterday I tried to let you "cry it out" at naptime. I set a timer on my phone and I sat on the floor outside of your room and watched every painful second pass by. You cried... HARD. And I sat there staring at that phone with tears in my eyes and milk all over my shirt because even my body knows when you need me. I thought about helping you find your independence and how in the long run you'll sleep better. Thank God the timer hit "0" because by the time I convinced myself you didn't need to be independent and that sleep was overrated, it was time to take you into my arms and snuggle you until you realized I hadn't left you alone for long.
Every first sound, the time you discovered your hands, the first day you sat up... all of these milestones lift my heart straight to Heaven, really they do. There was nothing more magical than the first time you intentionally smiled at me. Your first giggle... I can't describe it. We tried to capture it on video, and I'm so glad we did, because every time you don't nap or I feel like a bad mommy for letting you cry it out, I look back on those things and my heart explodes for you. I see a glimpse of who you will be. My heart swells with pride because the miracle of your life... my body was a vessel for that.
Sometimes I look at you and my womb physically aches in the spot where you made your home. I can feel where you once were. It doesn't happen often, it's just in those tender moments when you open your eyes just enough to see me and smile before you fall asleep in my arms. Sometimes I feel as though our souls are connected as intimately as our bodies once were.
In your mere five months of life I feel like I've lived the best and hardest of mine. Sacrifice has taken on a new meaning, because it's not intentional anymore, it's engrained in my heart. I just do it. My body aches to help you, to care for you. I have to be intentional about pulling myself FROM you, from the sacrifice, to fill my bucket. But it goes against every instinct I have now to give MORE to you.
I write this now because I know in a few years (God-willing) there will be some brothers and sisters surrounding you, and I don't know if I'll ever feel quite like this again. I don't know what of the magic will be lost. But I do know this... No time in my life will ever feel as special as carrying YOUR life inside me. And nothing will ever be as magical as YOUR entrance into the world. You've changed me.
I am eternally grateful for your little life. And I love you.
Love,
Mommy
