Sometimes in the middle of the night, I like to sneak into my children's bedroom, hold a soft light over their beds, and gaze at their little sleeping faces, just to remind myself that they are really mine. I worship their little slumbering bodies, limbs contorted into strange sleeping patterns, and gently tuck the covers around them. I smooth their sweaty hair back from their faces and kiss their soft baby cheeks.
The gratitude I feel is so overpowering that it makes me dizzy. Sometimes I think about mothers who conceived on the first or second try, or even in the first year, sailed through a healthy pregnancy, and gave birth to a healthy baby with no complications... I think about these moms and wonder if they wake up every morning and feel blessed the way that I do.
People told me the struggle would be worth it in the end, and if this heightened awareness of my own good fortune is indeed the outcome of that dark and lonely journey through infertility... well, then, maybe they were right.
And with that said, I'm off to to go admire my sleeping angels.
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so sweet. I am stuck admiring my little bug on the monitor. The second I creep into his room he is wide awake, either delighted to see me or screaming bloody murder. I once became convinced that my entrance to his room occurred at the exact moment a scorpion pierced his baby flesh... but no, it seemed he was just really really pissed off that I woke him. So... thank goodness for video monitors until he gets bigger and is a more sound sleeper. You do have little angels... I love them so!
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