empty arms

i could hear his steady breathing next to me and i sighed. apparently, it would be another late night. sleep hadn't come easy lately and it seemed tonight would be no different. i tried closing my eyes, tried a few rounds of deep breathing, tried counting sheep. nothing was working. i repositioned myself, grabbed the heating bag resting against my back, and placed it on my chest. the warmth radiated deep and immediately i felt the relaxation of a brain finally letting go. i'm not sure when it happened, but at some point i dozed off and the weight of the bag on my chest resulted in me dreaming of the day when our little one will fall asleep in that very spot. tears came quickly when i realized the emptiness of that thought - the emptiness echoing my own arms reaching for a small body only to grab hold of a bag of corn.

it was such a beautiful image filled with incredible hope. but, despite that hope, i couldn't ignore our reality. i couldn't ignore the wait i'm facing and feeling like i just might go crazy with the emotions.

for the first time, my empty arms ached for my child. i wished and prayed for my baby that night and wanted to feel the rise and fall of breathing up against me so desperately.

it's easy to fall into these moments of self-pity. even though the desire and want is understandable, it's very very easy to quickly fall into this moment of "ohmigosh this is never gonna happen" or "they'd be crazy to pass a child off to me" or "really? we're really doing this?" and your heart starts beating against your ribs a rhythm you never anticipated.

it's this odd balance between wishing and hoping and praying while staying rooted in reality. {which i'm not good at - like - not at all}.

so i keep waiting. i keep hoping. i keep praying for that one day - hopefully sooner rather than later  - my arms won't be empty anymore.

Posted on December 17, 2011 and filed under Mom-Heart.