That baby is teething again and so he is nursing like mad, wanting to be held all day and all night, he is the sweetest, saddest bundle from 2am to 4am when the house is quiet and dark, the husband is sleeping in the next room, and Jesus Loves Me is croaking out of a tired body, a sleepy throat.  And then he is back in my arms again as husband is rushing out the door to work, back in my arms all morning in between apple sauce and the new noise toy from grandma and the constant, constant sweeping because everything goes into his mouth and 100 year old floors are excellent at welcoming dirt into their cracks and grooves.  It hit me hardest when I was sweeping.  Nearly bowled me over.

That baby is asleep now and there is a colander in my bed (his favorite) and my coffee cup must be in the microwave, but even if my bed were neat and clean and the coffee was in my hand, I would still be sitting here with this staggering awareness.  How did I let myself get so lonely?

Maybe not lonely, maybe just missing something.  It feels more like mourning.  It feels familiar.  Because with every shift and transition I have ever made, it seems there is a season of wilderness at its entrance.  Oh, I'm back.  I remember you, I remember this valley with its low places and its quiet, hollowness.  I have a choice to make.  A choice I will probably have to keep making for a while.  I can sit here and I can go down a road that leads to bitterness and self pity or I can head straight to The Father.  

And that's where I am.  My prayer so far hasn't gotten past Dear Father because the tears are heavy here.  Dear Father

I'm lonely

I'm faded

I miss me

and feeling pretty

and I miss time

my sister had a baby

I'd like to hold her

I miss mom

and 

You are a good God

You know

That baby is stirring.  My shoulders are broadening.  There is a Holy Spirit inside me, pushing me past myself again, a Spirit who walks through the valley of the shadow of death with His people and so I am resolving to do small things: talk to my husband, smile at my baby, call my family, and lean into only true things today.  I may be standing at the beginning of a season that seems peppered with loss, but I am not standing alone.  And I am standing.