The Beauty in Waiting

There's a hunger in my belly.

There’s a beauty to this waiting.
Not a beauty I asked for, and certainly not one I wanted,
but still, it’s here, wrapped tenderly around the ache.

At 34, I find myself surrounded by joyous announcements:
friends, acquaintances, and strangers in cafe lines
proudly displaying their blossoming bellies, their fresh-faced newborns,
their luminous joy.

With each one, my heart splits wide open
both swelling with happiness for their blessing,
and shattering with longing and a bitter-tasting envy.

There’s a beauty to this waiting.

The grief is there in seeing another ultrasound photo,
in the forced smile at yet another baby shower,
in the sighs breathed into purchasing another baby gift
when it really feels like someone should be buying me some slippers and a blanket at this stage of life.

Yet, even amid the hunger in my belly,
there’s a peace I can sometimes reach.
(not always, but sometimes).

I believe fiercely in divine timing.
I believe that motherhood, when it comes, will arrive precisely when it should
not a moment too soon or too late.
This belief doesn’t ease the longing,
but gives it meaning.
My future children are being lovingly crafted by hands greater than mine.

I often dream at night of a little girl,
sleeping in tall grass under a full moon.
Splashing in a river and bringing me smooth rocks.
I daydream of of the moment she flutters to life,
tiny kicks nudging me awake from my dream of her
to the reality of her.

I imagine the day I’ll tell my partner,
overcome with disbelief and joy,
both of our hearts filled with wonder and fear,
our entire future shifting forever in a single moment.

I dream for all of it.

In some ways, I feel grateful for this season of waiting.
It’s teaching me the patience I know my future daughter will need from me.
It’s teaching me to enjoy the simplicity and selfishness of my life as just me.

When my moment comes,
I know it will taste sweeter, deeper, and richer for the waiting.
I’ll hold that tiny life in my arms with a reverence born of these years of longing.
A deeper gratitude that blooms fiercely from the roots of this preparing.

But today, right now, in the day to day of breathing,
it’s hard.
It’s hard to wait quietly while the world moves forward around me,
seemingly oblivious to the preciousness of what they hold.
To them, it’s normal, perhaps easy, even mundane.
To me, it’s everything.

So I let myself feel it all:
joy for others, sorrow for myself, and beneath it all,
when I can successfu;ly reach it,
a profound trust.

Someday soon, when God says yes,
this waiting will turn from ache into celebration,
and I will hold the life I’ve dreamed of,
knowing deeply, finally, that the wait was worth it.