I have learned a new dance… one whose steps are clunky, awkward, and contain a dissonance that often leave you wanting more…. expecting more…. begging even?
It is both joy and ache.
It is a dance you learn in a season of an infertility diagnosis.
During a season where you are trying to balance a deep seeded desire with the strange feeling that - perhaps - you are just whining about not getting what you want. Someone you know shares their exciting news and you celebrate, AND you cry. But those not-so-happy tears feel selfish. How do you allow yourself space for both/and? It is here that you realize celebration and mourning co-exist. And there is no resolution for it… you just allow it to be… and you learn the dance.
Then, by some holy magic, you are no longer forced to dance… you are given a swing.
The first few weeks are goofy grins, faces that hurt from smiling, teeth that are sensitive from the constant exposure to air, and respite for your aching dancing feet. Then, you start to get sick from the constant swinging and, 18 weeks later, that sickness lingers. Again, you are grasping for that both/and space. You are oh so thankful for the little life and oh so dislike the act of growing said life. It’s a fickle feeling to live in a space of wanting something so deeply and then realizing how hard it actually is. How, again, do you flow in both emotions?
the back and forth.
Today, we celebrate 18 weeks of this little life by finding the perfect spot for this macrame swing made by Brent’s grandma…. and we also feel with each one of you who may be in the dancing season. Not every story ends with a swing, but every life deserves celebrating, and every pain deserves grieving. (ps) I’ve learned the steps if you need a dance partner.