I did not touch my computer all day yesterday.
It was my gift to myself.
(I say this not to brag—goodness knows I waste enough time on it every other day of the year.)
This morning, sipping my coffee and taking a quick scroll, I know it was the right decision.
‘Tis the season.
The sonogram pictures.
The perfectly rounded bellies.
The tiny ones dressed in their “My First Christmas” finery.
I love you all dearly.
And also I want to gouge out my eyeballs with a spoon.
It is a weird place to be.
Two weeks ago, I felt fine.
And then one phone call. One hour of false hope.
One more knife to my mama-heart.
And I’m back on my knees, gasping for breath.
My body knows how to do all the things.
Wrap the gifts.
Bake the cookies.
Light the candle and sing about a silent night.
Snuggle the squirmy big girl who nestles under my chin and whispers,
I’m glad I get to stay.
I’m tempted to lie about it.
Because I have the happy pictures too (I’m just not in any of them).
I’m tempted to keep silent.
Enough Bah Humbug already.
But, friends, today truth wins.
Because I know I am not alone.
Today, I choose to say it out loud.
I know this is not how the story ends.
I know joy comes.
In a very real way, I know Emmanuel.
I know the nagging ache of uncertainty.
I know the sharp sting of a little one crying for his mama.
I never knew the empty places could hurt so much.
But they do.
Real, actual heart pain.
This is true, all of it.