I'm sorry to admit to you that this is not going to happen.
I've often told people that I blog when I'm sad. It's true. You get the most meaningful posts out of me when I'm missing someone, or just lost a pregnancy, or feeling lonely in a room full of people or anxious about a new church.
Today my 26 month old toddler is nursing as I type. She's wearing a diaper and some hand me down shoes and she smells like macaroni and cheese. A glimpse:
One gift that my hysterectomy gave me is the knowledge (and relief) that I will never, ever bear a child from this body again. Once I was done with the grief part (or it was done with me), the "I never got my vaginal birth and I will never again feel a baby kick" has turned into, "THANK YOU, GOD, FOR WORRY FREE SEX AND THANK YOU, ALSO, FOR THE GIFT OF FRIENDS AND FAMILY WHO ARE HAVING BABIES I GET TO LOVE ON.
Scott and my closest friends and family always knew it, but preganancy was a one way trip to hell for me. Right now is the first time my body has felt GOOD since before Lucy was born. I think all of the hormones going up and down and up and down after miscarriages just really sent my body for a loop.
I'm not sure when it happened, but I am excited for the next stage of life. Those baby car seats have always killed my back and I'm excited to be done.
I love the conversations I have with my kids now. Asher, in the car: "Mama. I know now why there are bad guys in the world. It's so there's always a chance they can join the good guy team, OUR team!"
I really didn't think my six year old had the capacity to basically sum up the reason God allows evil in the world in the back of my dirty mini van while we're driving to Dunkin' Donuts, but there you go.
So, anyway. I guess I haven't been writing that much because the part of my brain that is trying to sort life out every. Waking. Minute. Of the day. has relaxed. Or, if you know me well, you know that it's completely counterintuitive but when we have a foster placement, there's so much to think about that I don't have time for anxiety to jack around with me.
Also. My kids are little. This time is precious. I'm no longer guilting myself for being online every so often, nor am I guilting myself for not blogging "enough".
This morning I sat in my messy living room, holding Phoebe and watching the steam rise from my coffee cup, making out with the morning sun and doing it quite nicely.I think that coffee steam/ sun babies would brighten everyone's day.
So, yeah. My house is never going to look like Martha Stewart lives here and I have some fat around my middle. I constantly feel that I'm not "enough" of something, whatever that is. I'm getting better at being good with not being "enough", and just being me.
I think the infertile thirties are suiting me well. I couldn't in a million years have told you that two years ago.