It's Valentine's Day and I'm currently working on a little in-house dinner date for the hub (thus, the skillet cookie as big as my head). It's a dreary day outside, which means if you live on the mountain that I live on, you can't see further than roughly twenty feet ahead of you because of the pea soup fog and you essentially take your life into your hands if you decide to venture outside of the house. It's that foggy, people. Like, tie a rope to the door when you go check on the cows, otherwise you might not make it back.
I mentioned it's V Day, which means it's February 14th, which means it's about three weeks away from March 13th. And, as random as that date may sound to you, it's a date that I'm kind of wishing I could dart past so that I wouldn't have to think about what I would have been preparing for on that day if things had gone differently.
Why am I talking about this? Well, I was just hanging out at The Nato's blog (which I mentioned earlier) and I stumbled onto an old post about a baby they lost a couple years ago. Before I could steel myself against feelings/emotions/etc. (I'm kind of good at that, unfortunately), it was too late and my mascara was starting to run. I know it hasn't been that long since we had a miscarriage and I'm obviously justified in being sad, but still, it was last summer. And yet, I'm surprised when someone else's story of a lost baby makes my eyes smart and my heart hurt.
March 13th was supposed to find us adding another crazy little insomniac to our train-filled, toddler friendly, Curious George-loving house.
But, you know, as much as I wish, wish, wish that we were preparing ourselves for another baby takeover, I can't help believing that God knew exactly what we needed then and what we need now. This doesn't mean that I don't sense an empty spot in our family where that baby should have been, but knowing He's working things out for our good (and His glory) gives me hope.
I've also been thinking lately about how I really wanted to have a little girl before we found out that Sam was going to be the opposite of tutus and fairyland. In fact, he's turned out to be about as "all boy" as you could imagine and as the days and the months and the birthdays pass, I find that the thought of having anyone other than the train-obsessed little man we've got is completely impossible to compute. I wouldn't trade Sam for a hundred million little girls. He's that great.
Even as I ponder who that lost little one might have been and feel sad that I won't know them this side of eternity, I can't help but be filled to the brim with joy by the baby/boy/tornado that God has already given us. (I say this even as an hour and a half has passed since I put him down for a nap and as yet, no nap, just incessant jumping).
And now, because I'm awkward about sharing my feelings and not very good at knowing how to finish a post about those, here's a picture of me and Sam for your viewing pleasure:
Here's another:
Aaaaand, maybe one more:
