The joy that comes after waiting
“Perspective changes everything. It reminds you that this is it.”
My son’s hugs. My daughter’s giggles.
That feeling an hour before they go to bed when you’re exhausted and can’t wait for them to fall asleep, only to find yourself bubbling with excitement for the moment they wake up. This is my happy place right now: the unexpected, mundane moments that make up a beautiful life.
But if you had told me five years ago that my days would be filled with baby snuggles, daily trips to the playground, and an endless stream of “why” questions, I wouldn’t have believed you.
Before my son was born, my husband and I navigated two and a half years of painful infertility. I’m aware we’re some of the lucky ones. Our story ended happily and wasn’t nearly as long as it could have been. But at the time, it felt like a never-ending battle for a singular goal—with no certainty that it would ever be achieved.
First came our son, Ryan, who is now almost three. Hilarious, spunky, and too smart for his own good. Our miracle baby. Then, just when we thought we were out of the woods, secure in knowing we had healthy embryos waiting for us, we got pregnant—only to lose our daughter abruptly at eighteen weeks. No answers, just one day she was there, and the next she wasn’t. A tiny, fleeting life gone before the world could know her.
We’ll never understand what happened. But after unbearable heartache, we came out the other side. And, seven months ago, our daughter Evelyn was born. Our sweet, beautiful, giggly rainbow baby.
It’s not lost on me that if her sister had lived, she wouldn’t have. And so I find myself wondering whether all of it—the infertility, the loss, the waiting—was somehow meant to be. It gave me not just my babies, but something else unexpected: the gift of perspective.
Perspective changes everything. It reminds you that this is it—the life you were dreaming of, the one you worked so hard for. These experiences brought immense pain, but they also gave me a window into my world without children, and it wasn’t the world I wanted.
If I could whisper in the ear of the woman I was five years ago, I’d tell her it’s all going to be okay. I’d tell her that more joy is waiting for her than she could possibly imagine.
I wish I could infuse some of that joy into her life sooner. A cheerful pregnancy announcement. A baby shower filled with excitement rather than anxiety. The confidence that things would work out.
But maybe that’s not how the story was meant to unfold.
I don’t know whether my appreciation for motherhood is deeper because the road to get here was so challenging. I don’t know what kind of mother I would have been if the journey had been easier for us. Would I have taken more of these moments for granted? Would I have been quicker to rush through them?
Last night, after what felt like the twenty-seventh book and fifteenth lullaby, I lay beside my son waiting for him to fall asleep.
I noticed the paint chipping where the ceiling meets the wall and added “paint the ceiling” to my mental to-do list—which really meant, “find someone who can paint the ceiling.” Then I began cycling through everything else I still needed to do before bed.
And then I looked over at him.
He was finally asleep, his favorite pacifier lying dormant at the corner of his mouth, one arm draped lazily across his eyes. Suddenly, I felt a pang of grief knowing there will come a day in the not-too-distant future when he won’t ask me to lie beside him while he falls asleep.
And just like that, I was pulled back into the present moment.
The dishes weren’t getting washed. The to-do list wasn’t getting finished. My dog was once again waiting patiently for his nighttime walk. But none of it felt particularly important. Instead, I found myself trying to freeze time. To take a mental picture of him in this moment—small, sweet, and innocent—hair tousled and body growing slightly too big for his milk and cookies pajamas. Safely tucked under his covers under my roof.
I stayed there long after I could have slipped out, overcome by the peculiar feeling of nostalgia for the life I’m still living—determined to soak up every ounce of joy while I’m here.
Loved this 🫶🏻🫶🏻 going through something hard gives a perspective that changes your whole world. You wouldn’t want to choose it but I think you end up becoming a more grateful mom for going through it all.