On Tuesday morning, I shuffled around my kitchen as the light came streaming through. It was a winter-y sort of morning, one that required warm coffee to cut through the crisp air… and the sleep deprivation caused by a toddler who decided that 12:00 – 3:00 AM was a perfectly normal time to be awake.
And as I started to gather ingredients for the day’s breakfast, I tossed a couple of sweet potatoes down for Judah to play with while I set off to conquer the world through a hearty breakfast bake. And Judah, he set off to conquer the world by seeing just how many sweet potatoes he could fit into the pot he had pulled out of the cupboard. Very important work.
And as I watched him shove potatoes in and out of the pot, vying for the point of utmost distraction so that I could open the oven without scorching the cutest set of chubby fingers, I thought to myself, “this is it.” Because for many, that stressful chore of fixing breakfast for a toddler is ordinary. . . mundane, even. But for me, for me that chore was nothing short of a miracle. The frantic rush to chop apples while attempting to quell the boredom of the needy 14-month-old, it was magic.
There are so many gifts infertility has given to us. Those years of tears and longing, they taught us something about gratitude. They taught us how to look for Heaven in the midst of Hell. And I see it so clearly, those Heavenly moments — the gentle rock to quiet a screaming baby at 2 AM; the diaper blowouts at the most inconvenient times; the food you worked so hard to prepare that is perpetually tossed down to an eagerly awaiting puppy.
It’s a gift. Every single stinky, exhausting, and frustrating part of it. It’s all a gift.
This is it, you guys. This is it.
And it’s nothing short of magic.