One morning last week, the girls had just woken up and I was running around the house. Getting dressed. Cleaning up. Washing a few dishes. Checking my email. Picking up toys. Starting a load of laundry. You know, a typical morning for a mom. And all of the sudden it struck me. The girls were not screaming. They were not crying. I had yet to send them to different corners of the house to play without annoying each other. In fact, I didn't even know where they were.
I panicked for a second.
I ran into their room.
And there they were. Playing with each other. Quietly. Sweetly. Under their table. They looked up at me. Let me snap a few pictures. And then they kind of looked annoyed with me. Like "what is she doing here?" I didn't think that started until the age of 11 or 12 or 13.
I walked into my bedroom. Sat on my bed. And started crying. Not sad tears, but tears of joy. I felt in that moment that all of the hard work I had put in for the past year was finally paying off. The moment that I had been hoping for was finally here.
Things were finally easier.
And I took a breath. And I felt like I could finally breath again. And then I immediately began singing at the top of my lungs, "You find a point when-you will exhale-yea-yea..." Just a side note. I pretend to be Whitney Houston in my free time. And another side note. 'Waiting to Exhale' was my favorite movie in High School. I was, and still am, just that cool.
Anyhow, we're upon the precipice of Stella's first birthday. Last year, at this exact time, I fell on the ice. And I went to the hospital to have my baby. And now we're a year later. I'm in disbelief that we're here. That we made it. I honestly never thought we would survive.
But with a lot of faith. A growth of patience. Several million cups of coffee. Ear plugs. And the help of our precious family and friends. We've made it.
And things are great.
Shoop. Shoop. Shoop. Shoop. Be. Doop.