My limbo lessons

I have had a lot of people ask lately if I'm pregnant. Which I think is ironic. Because sometimes it physically hurts when I think about the potential that is so vague, I have to cut through the the thick air that tries to suffocate my lungs, to simply breath.

I find myself in a no-mans land; stuck in the middle of being hit with the woes of infertility, and having two beautiful babies of my own. No side wants to truly claim me as their own.

I got my two boys. And believe me, I couldn't be more thrilled. Ah, I love my children. I breath in the happiness that is them, and it warms my soul. They intoxicate me.

And that is the gift my broken body has given me: the gift to see the miracle in today. Every day.

Every morning I get my Hugh out of bed, and I look at his still oh-so-baby face, my heart swells. I hold my pride and joy in my lap, and pray that Heavenly Father will bless me with another. And I do so, as my baby (my BABY!!) grows and grows; time doesn't care to slow down for infancy.

So, as I realize that now will be then quicker than I can tolerate, I hold my babies.
And I do, I soak them in.
Every day.

I suppose that is worth it.

And as I hold J, and realize that his dimpled hands are turning into hands of a little boy, infant no more, I'm grateful that I am his mother. I'm grateful he came to me. I'm grateful that he somehow arrived safely into my arms.

Instead of longing for what I don't have, and a very uncertain future, I drown myself in the gratitude for what is mine.

And my boys?

They are all mine.