It was a grueling, yet successful, weekend of Ferberizing/sleep training at our house, which I’ll write more about later.
It was also one of those weekends full of emotions. Do you know what I mean? Do you have times when you are raw, fragile, and things feel more real than they should?
It was a year ago that I got my first ever positive pregnancy test. I remember it so well. The quiet, dark bedroom early in the morning. I woke up my husband to look at the test.
We were supposed to clean out the garage that day, but my husband cut his hand open on some glass. We abandoned the garage project and raced to Walgreen’s for first aid supplies.
I was so excited to buy some brand-name tests so I could see if I was imagining it.
One year ago. I tend to overreact to these sorts of anniversaries. I become very reflective. Couple this tendency with a weekend where I move my son to his crib and pack away his bassinet, and it was all just a little much.
The beast of infertility robs me of the confidence that I’ll ever pull that bassinet out again. I wish I could fold it up and think “until the next baby”, but instead I have a heavy heart. A broken piece of me whispers “what if there’s never another?”
One year later, and the baby I worked so hard for is here. Am I a bad mom for already wanting another? When part of me screams “not enough!”, am I ungrateful?
One year later, and that faint second line is a person.
One year later, and we still need to clean out the garage.