"All the friends and family.
All the memories going round, round, round, round.
I have wished for so long. How I wish for you today.
And the wind keeps roaring. And the sky keeps turning grey.
And the sun is set. The sun will rise another day." - Pearl Jam
My daughter will be 7 months old next week and finally the fog has been lifted.
The fog that has been drowning me for over a year… since the moment I found out I was pregnant.
The fog that forced me to go from being future oriented to only dealing in the here and now, since I was on survival mode.
The fog that made me a walking medical book, with aches, pains, ailments, and maladies.
A fog that kept me inside my house for an entire winter.
A fog that enabled me to be anti-social, rejecting any help offered except for an occasional meal.
A fog that made it ok to passively watch TV non-stop.
A fog that paralyzed my organizational tendencies, making it virtually impossible to do any housework besides washing clothes and dishes.
A fog that turned me into that mom that only talks about her child and has forgotten how to have anything resembling an adult conversation.
A fog that allowed me to make excuses for indulging in junk food, to the point of nausea.
A fog that gave me permission to speak to my husband with an attitude and terseness that did nothing to show my love and appreciation for the amazing person he is.
A fog that allowed me to indulge in shameful compulsive behaviors.
A fog that shut my spiritual fortitude down.
The other day in the car I realized the fog has been lifted.
I have a skip to my step again, walking quickly at work, getting things done.
I can hear the music, the rawness in Eddie Vedder’s voice again; it’s not just background noise.
I can laugh again, guttural joy at my daughter’s goofiness as she discovers things for the first time.
I can dream again, looking forward to future goals that will show my daughter that a love of learning and being challenged is something to be proud of… mom’s can have dreams and goals too.
I can read again, diving into the thoughts of others, being inspired by their wisdom.
I can write again, sharing my story of how I finally understand what all those parents meant when after my baby girl was born and they said “it only gets better from here.”
Every day is better than the last.
Every day I learn a little bit more about Eliana Hope: what makes her happy, what makes her sad, what makes her tired, what makes her bounce, what makes her laugh, what makes her stick her tongue out in disgust (peas).
Every day I look into my daughter’s eyes and see a beautiful child, excited to play, yearning to hug, ready to meet new people… an extrovert, we hope… maybe she can bring her mother and father out of their shell.
Every day I thank God that I finally have my daughter in my life, the child I waited for… at times patiently and at other times not so patiently.
Now I thank God that I was able to get through the initial fog and now I can truly enjoy every moment with her.
The moments down on the floor as we pass the ball to one another - she sort of passes it back to me, but really just flails it out of her hand haphazardly - aim not so good yet, all in due time!
The moments at the park as we stroll about and look at trees, dogs walking by, and turtles in the creek… not a cry or a peep from her, just enjoying the movement.
The moments at the store where she looks around in amazement at all the stuff and all the people, so much to take in.
The moments late at night, in the moon lit darkness of her nursery, as we snuggle to fall asleep again together.
The moments we sing songs to her in an attempt to distract her from the fact she’s having her diaper changed, and then finally seeing her pout turn to a huge grin.
From the moment I decided I wanted to be a mother, I knew it would be difficult but rewarding… and it is.
But I never realized that it’s a process, getting to know your child.
And now that the fog has lifted, my goal is to see the world from her eyes... Provide her with all she needs to explore the world, learn and grow, and become the person God put her on the earth to be. What an honor!
Thankfully, now my eyes are clear again, so I can hold her hand and help her walk down the path to discovering her own life story… my little squish will not always be so little. My goal now is to make every single moment count.
I told my husband the other night that every decision we make should be prefaced by the question: “will this crush our daughter’s spirit?” We cannot crush her spirit!
“Let all that you do be done in love.” 1 Corinthians 16:14
I'm writing this at 5:27 a.m., and I can see her wriggling around on the video monitor, eyes not open yet, but small whines are heard… I wait to determine if she’s really waking up or if it’s a passing moment. I think maybe I can catch a shower. If not, then I will quietly walk into her room, sing a soft rendition of our song: “good morning, good MORNING, good morning Eliana, it’s the morning…” and then my heart will melt as I see her whine turn into a huge grin, excited to be picked up, and loved by her mother another day…