I’ve noticed I haven’t been writing as much lately. At the beginning, I was busting at the seams with feelings and emotions that I thought the world needed to know. I’m at a time where the good days out weigh the bad days and I can feel the sun shine on my face. I catch myself singing and not feeling bad about it. I actually cook now and my poor husband isn’t eating cereal for supper anymore.
The sight of other people’s babies still get at me once in awhile. I mostly think about myself as a mother and how I would be doing at this point in time had Jonah lived inside my house and not my heart. But I tolerate the uncomfortableness of being around babies and push forward. I am just thankful that they never ask me to hold them.
Mostly, the times that haunt me the most – are the times that my husband and I are sitting in our family room with our dogs and watching tv. I look around the room and everything is put in place. The shelves are dusted, the books are aligned just right, the plants are watered, laundry is folded and already put away, the dishes in the other room are done – and it seems as though everything is content and the way it should be. Yet, as we sit in our ‘family’ room, my heart feels out of place.
As Drew watches some ridiculous show about moonshine or deep sea crab fishing, I close my eyes and I imagine a baby in our house. Sometimes I imagine that it is Jonah and other times it’s just a baby – but none the less, ours. I imagine the list of things I would need my husband to do when he got home from work. These ridiculous tv shows would probably be on, but we would be catching up on a mountain of laundry, fighting about whose turn it was to take the dogs out, picking up toys and half eating supper and half watching over our little one.
Those are my day dreams. I know Jonah will forever live in my heart, but I can only hope that someday a baby will live inside my home.