Breath

It's been a little hard to blog lately. Really, it's been a little difficult to breathe. I suppose that's what happens when you stand on the precipice of life as you know it and then, all at once with a jarring motion so sudden you didn't even know kinetics worked that way, you're reeled back from the edge. It's like a beacon through the salty night air, a perfect dream that doesn't have to wake, falling into the arms of true love. My breath is caught somewhere between my lungs and my lips and I find myself waiting to exhale.

I keep expecting to get hit with the full force of this miracle. Instead, I find myself catching glimpses--little rays of sunshine--throughout the day. It suddenly dawns on me that I've been staring out a window for five minutes with a smile plastered to my face. I am only now realizing that I'd frozen pieces of my heart out of preservation. Memories were placed on ice in the hopes that they'd last longer. I am slowly defrosting remembrance and awakening my whole heart. The sky is a deeper blue. The melody is purer and sugar is sweeter. Their laughs--always one of my very favorite things--are somehow more delicious.

When all was said and done, hands were shaken, and prayers were answered, I walked up to Matthew's father and I threw my arms around him. It wasn't the first time I'd hugged him but it was the first time I really felt like he was hugging me back. Then I sobbed like a complete and total lunatic in front of anyone and everyone who wanted to watch. With the exception of a hormonal stint in high school I've never been much of a public crier. It's not that I think other people shouldn't cry, I just hate being that vulnerable in front of people I don't trust with my heart. My face gets red and my eyes get puffy and I look frightening. But I just stood there, holding him, crying. And I thanked him. A lot. And I promised he'd be honored. And I promised I'd do everything to be the best mother I could possibly be to his son. And through it all he hugged me back.

So I haven't felt the miracle--the one that maybe should have hit me like a two by four right between the eyes--in a crashing crescendo all at once. But I have caught sight of it in moments. I've seen it in hugs, sunsets, diapers, smiles, tears, bath time, kisses, and daydreams. It's been difficult to figure out what to say--what you all might be waiting to hear--about how this thunderous blessing has changed me. Unexpectedly, the realization has been subtle.

There are only two things I know for sure. We are immeasurably, undeniably, blessed by a mighty and great God with whom everything is possible and without whom nothing is. And I can't think of a single, solitary thing I want for Mother's Day. The privilege of loving both of my children is the greatest gift I ever could have been given.

So thank you, God, for this joy and your ever presence in my life. Thank you, Troy and Matthew's parents, for my children. And thank you, Garrett and Matthew, for allowing me to be your mommy. My heart is so very happy and I feel like I am learning how to breathe again. And, I think I am finally, finally, ready to exhale.