Just Write: Borrowed

I hear whimpers tumble through the baby monitor from small lips.

As I climb stairs that aren't my own, I hear her voice a little clearer.

There's hesitation as I slip through the door both in my careful movements toward her small body perched sleepily atop of the crib mattress.

And in her eyes as I enter the room, a familiar enough face but one she doesn't expect.

Humbly, gently I lift her into my arms as tears pool in her eyes, confused as to why I'm here instead of her mommy or daddy.

But I've got this, I reassure myself.

I've got you, I reassure her.

A few tears spill down her cheeks as we head downstairs and try to find shoes so we can join the big kids in the backyard.

But her hands, they cling to my shirt, fabric balled tightly in between fingers, and she rests her head momentarily, hesitantly on my chest before I exhale deeply, sink into a chair and just hug her as she wrestles with her emotions.

Then, she sinks into the space beneath my chin and fully surrenders to the warmth.

I watch through the screen door her older sister and the boys I once cradled as babies, my very own babies, run wildly around the backyard, no time for anything other than the hard work of play, as she lends me the sweetest of snuggles.

This little one, she normally won't hang out with me for more than just the moments it takes for me to try and bribe her with chocolate or bananas, but it's like she knows that I need a baby to borrow for just a little bit today, so she lingers in my lap.

And these few precious moments, they confirm that I again want to count down days until new life comes forth, passing time sorting and folding those soft, impossibly small newborn clothes {like these baby clothes from Polarn O. Pyret},

that I want again to snuggle another small body born from my own body

that perhaps we're ready to venture into the unknown territory of trying again

instead of simply living in the familiar land off of borrowed baby snuggles.

This post was graciously inspired and sponsored by Polarn O. Pyret. I was compensated for my time. 

Bigger Picture Moments: I Wonder

I wonder to myself -- especially mornings when we sleep in long and restful tucked together in the same king sized bed long after daddy leaves for work -- if this is it.

If we're full.

If we're happy to accept that these two little bodies who sneak in beneath our covers during the early morning and snuggle themselves next to our own are the only fruit that will come of our vine.

In the moment, I say yes.

I can say yes -- there in the bed -- because I'm absolutely bursting with gratitude that these little toes and little legs, little minds and little souls are fabulous gifts that just keep growing and we just get to keep unwrapping.

In that moment there's fullness in my heart and in my bed and in my arms.

Fullness.

I love being mom to two.

I love the the way our family operates. The way I sleep solid now without children waking me most nights. The way John and I are able to send the boys on overnight with their grandparents while we spend time together. The way I have one hand for each as we walk through parks and parking lots, one parent for each on family dates.

I love two. On days like this, I rest in the fullness, the functionality of two and call it complete.

***

We rehome a kitchen island from another family after years of talking about how our kitchen needs more storage, more counter top, more seating in order to make cooking and communing and conversing at the same time enjoyable.

We set it up perfectly, and we marvel about how it makes the kitchen not just functional and full but also complete.

Our boys are perched on the stools, leaning elbows on the countertop as I slice and dice zucchini and John unloads plates from the dishwasher for dinner.

In the midst of the chatter and food preparations, I smile and catch a glimpse of two little sets of feet dangling next to the legs of the stools.



My heart instantly, unexpectedly groans for a third pair to swing from the third stool.

With two little boys, my heart says we are functional and full. So very functional. So very, very deeply full.

But that third stool -- it somehow screams the definition of complete to a heart that hears.


Each Thursday we come together to share the harvest of intentional living through sharing a piece of life gleaned: a picture, words, creation or list; just come to the table with the beauty in the simple moments of the week. Link up your gleaned moment this week at Melissa's!

Link your moment at Melissa's this week!

Bigger Picture Moment: On Being Ready

I fully expected the test to display one line.

Negative.

No Baby.

Just a late period.

Fully expected.

But I had to confirm, what with not having taken a vow of abstinence while simultaneously taking herbal supplements that could be dangerous during pregnancy, when the days easily slipped past 30, 31, 32.

I'm not ready, I've shared with my husband at least a dozen times per month since we last sent a baby from the the womb and into heaven.

I'm not ready, I've declared and ensured we'd taken precautions so as to not find ourselves as surprised and with-child.

I'm not ready, I cried out to God as I looked at the end results of a positive pregnancy test.

I stared at the double lines before calling John into the bathroom to examine the test for himself.

He confirmed the reading, and we stared at each other incredulously.

No hugging.

No tears of joy.

No wide grins.

We just sat there staring at each other like two high school kids, air thick with shock and disbelief.

Quick to read my face, John gathered his mind and quickly shuffled the boys outside, left me and my positive pregnancy test in the bathroom alone to wrestle with each other ...

alone to wrestle with God.

I fully expected for my chest to tighten and my heart to thump wildly beneath my breastbone in a state of panic, my breathing to morph from deep breathes to short whisps of air sucked in through a straw, my mind to race in panic.

But I stood there

test in hand

Word in heart:

"Those who know your name will trust in you, for you, Lord, have never forsaken those who seek you."
Psalm 9:10

Nothing takes the Designer by surprise, and with plans to retest with first morning urine, I fell soundly into hard, deep, fast sleep later that evening knowing that if He wanted this baby to be here, even if I weren't ready, I would be ready when he or she arrived.

****

Again, in the morning two blue lines displayed across the test, this time smudged and faded and running from a line into a u-shape, alerting my mind to the possibility of faulty tests.

I cursed the invention of the early-detection pregnancy test as I fed the boys breakfast, preparing to make our way through the Target aisles for another box of tests. 

Irritated, I thought to God

What are you trying to do to me?


Haven't we had enough of the ping-pong emotions?


Could something just be or not be?


You know I've ached to stretch and swell again ...


my arms have longing to be heavy with drunken-nursing child dozing against my skin. 


You know, I whispered in my mind.

And then ... the question turned

on my own heart,

but did I know?


Am I really ready?

Had I really realized the depth of that ache, the lingering longing as I prayed and wondered what He'd have for our family


if we should grow in number or remain four.


Am I?


Ready?

****

The early summer fields spread out before us, I watched two birds flutter and twist in the sky side by side while driving home from the store.

Gracefully, in confidence, they swooped and fluttered and dove and lifted higher and higher, like mirrors of each other.

My heart beat in time with their early-morning dance, knowing too well the fell swoops of low and the ecstasy of high-bright sky horizons.

****

Three more tests, all negative.

Relief and calm whitewash my mind,

only to be tinged with the color of disappointment.

My mind races to the birds and their early morning dance.

No turns have taken you by surprise, Oh Lord.

Not one.

You've been following along with each turn of my heart's wing.

You've been listening to my cries for guidance.

Am I ready?

I find answered prayers in the aftermath of two faulty pregnancy tests coupled with three negative ones.

And I know He's answered.

Share a picture, words, creation or list; just come to the table with the beauty in the simple moments of the week.. 

Live.
Reflect on the blessings that were apparent to you this week.

Capture.
Harvest them!

Share.
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Encourage.
Visit at least the person linked before you and encourage her in this journey we call life.

The Bigger Picture: A New Sweet Song

We keep whispered vigil in the early morning whisps of Sunday sunrise.



Quiet, the hum of the fan fades into the elongated mmmms of labor escaping from pressed-together lips.



We are dawn-light drenched mother robins perched in the branches of trees, awaiting the first chirps of a small baby bird to add song to the praise chorus of encouragement.

A steady rhythm finally breaks the staccato song of building contractions as morning twilight gives way to full sun.

Fullness in time, a mother's body knows

lets go

and

tiny lungs clear, belt out a tune of beautiful cries --

a crescendo to the swan song of labor

that fades into the beginning verses of a new sweet song we welcome gladly to our ears.

 

Welcome to the world baby girl, EV. Yours is the song we've been awaiting. May He make your life a song of praise.

Everyday Life: Redefining Beauty by Bathroom Mirror

Size four.

I slip my hips into size four black pants, chic, designer hand-me-downs.

I don't expect them to fit, honestly, but they zip and button and latch.

Haphazardly, I decide to wear the pants, straight-legged and fitted, to my sister’s baby shower, thankful for clothes that fit without cost, grateful for a healing, healthier body and slightly awed at this drastically new shape I have yet to fully embrace.

I’d spent years wrestling with body envy in the name of fashion before I shifted the focus from two-piece swimsuits and skinny jeans to healthy heart, healthy body mass and healthy thoughts. Slowly, my mind has shifted as my body has transformed that what makes the body beautiful has less to do with clothes and more to do with how it’s been created.

That I have strong legs, a healthy heart to carry me after little boys who play escape down the neighborhood sidewalk.

That my hips can carry an extra 30 pounds of crying child, my lips can kiss away hurts.

That my arms can hold tight my husband in full embrace.

That my body has twice grown new life and nourished children and a marriage.

During the middle of the party, I sneak off to the bathroom for a quick break and am confronted by a full-length mirror next to the sink, my long-time worst enemy and truthful friend.

Normally, I look away, but today I take it all in, this new shape.

My sister steps out of the bathroom stall, all belly and beautiful and glowing and her frame, too, is now next to mine in the full-frame reflection of the mirror, and I can't help but stare at two bodies that are perfectly imperfect and capable of so much more than I ever used to appreciate.

I’m absolutely overcome with the lovely she’s radiating, how she’s simply overflowing with life, her shirt and skirt perfectly accentuating soft curves, how her size-four body has lovingly and achingly stretched to make room for another small body, has given and grown to bring forth a tiny gift to our family, our world.

From inside those long-envied size four pants, I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t willingly trade them in for the flowing skirt she’s wearing at that very moment. 

Because beauty to me now is much less about the size four pants and much more about what fills them {baby bump and beyond}.

Thinking, that's all: Two and maybe three

"You know, dad, I think it's time for mommy to start growing another baby in her belly," G. announced loudly Saturday morning while building colorful Duplo towers in the living room.

Surprised, John asked G. why he thought that, to which G. responded because he wanted {five! yes, five!} brothers and sisters, more kids with whom he could play.

We giggled along with our smiling oldest as he mused about what life with five siblings would be like -- more sharing, more play, more chatter.

****
I thought my stomach would be stretched and swollen by now, newly pregnant with a third baby due just in time for the thickness of summer to give way to the cool of early fall.

But here we are, later that same Saturday evening, still talking about it.

Whereas the conversation a few months ago centered around when, it now features the word if.

I'm shocked at my change in words, really; the very day after E was born and I'd already fallen completely, wholly in love with him, I heard an undeniable whisper in my heart about how we've yet to meet another small soul, how we've yet to cradle another tiny head in the crooks of our arms.

And I still feel that pull, hear that whisper.

But it's being drown out with the noise of reality {which Melissa so eloquently describes here} and doubt: We barely have the energy to care for two on their most demanding days.

And sometimes we merely utter I love you to each other before sinking steadily into our mattress, eyelids heavy with exhaustion from a full day's work.

How do you choose which voice wins the battle between the heart and mind? Both are so very loud, so very hard to tuck under the covers and silence at night.

****
That night, I dream vivid dreams of childbirth followed closely by sweet newborn snuggles, respite from the heavy labor and delivery that proceeded the calm.

In my dream, John's strong hands gentle swaddle a small body for the first time, tears of awe welling in his eyes as he brings a new baby into the safety of his daddy arms.

My boys, a little older, a little taller sit at the edge of our bed, quietly watching, absorbing the weight of love.

There are no words. Everyone is silent. I don't know the baby's name or gender. I only know the absolute heaviness of joy soaking, saturating the room, our souls.

****

The heat of temper tantrums flame hot Sunday afternoon; we've been stuck inside the house after church as the sky thunders, streaks with zigzags of lightening.

During those moments of intensity, with both children raging like the storms outside, my heart fills with doubt.

Could we survive adding a third set of wailing lungs? Live through another few years of restless nights? Handle more questions and more demands on our attention?

I remember the weight of love from my dream last night, still heavy in my mind, sticking to me like the thickness of humid August air.

And I wonder if I've been asking the wrong questions.

Maybe instead of asking if we could live through three I should be asking if we could not.

{This post is linked with My Three Little Birds' News from Your Nest.}