Embracing the Dichotomy

The sleepless nights have started. I feel our daughter growing bigger by the day (for which I am so grateful!), sometimes sticking her head or a knee or an elbow into my ribs. Sometimes she bounces suddenly up and down on my bladder. At night, it's not necessarily her movements that keep me awake; it's the heaviness and the hip or back pain that makes it impossible to get comfortable. Unfortunately all my tossing and turning is waking John up at night, too.

I may need to start getting up and doing things around the house when I can't sleep in the middle of the night. During the day I feel like I get only a fraction of my to-do list accomplished because I'm exhausted. If I can get a few things done during the wakeful times at night, I could take time during the day to snooze in the recliner for little bits of time. I am aware this is only the beginning of waking periods during the night, exhaustion, and accomplishing very little from a to-do list during the day.

What would it be like if I was also running after a 13-month-old? Our first baby is never far from my heart. I'm reminded that God gives us grace to handle situations as we're in them. Maybe we have that grace always, but we don't need it or try to access it unless we're in the midst of the difficult circumstance.

Yesterday a stranger asked me (again) if this will be my first child. I never know a good way to answer that question, and every time it serves to suddenly remind me of the loss of our first baby. As I answer, "Yes," I know I'm lying, yet I don't want to get into an explanation about infertility and miscarriage. I remember a woman at the swimming pool who asked the question in a way I could answer: "Is this your first pregnancy?" That seems an easier question to answer. No. This is my second pregnancy; the first ended in miscarriage. It's so miraculous to now be this far along with a healthy baby on the way.

The woman that asked that question understood; she suffered through multiple miscarriages herself.

I am reminded of a recent conversation with a friend about the reality of life being a dichotomy of joy and suffering. The experiences go hand-in-hand, and both are necessary for growth. So, to look toward this new year expecting the unexpected, bracing for the pain that is certain to come along with the great joy of giving birth for the first time, of adding a daughter to our family, is not pessimistic. It is real, and it is the way toward growth and eventually getting to a place of more contentment and joy than I would have imagined for myself.

I just have to be careful to live in this balance by faith, not fear. I love Ann Voscamp's January 3rd blog post. In part, she says:

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Sometimes you don’t know you’re taking the first step through a door — until you’re already inside.

And no matter what room you step into — every space holds the possibility of this profound joy and deep pain and the two always mingle together. There is no other place to arrive at.

There’s only one address anyone lives at and it’s always a duplex: Joy and pain always co-habit every season of life.

Accept them both and keep company with the joy while the pain does its necessary renovations.
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I pray that we, and you, will learn to "keep company with the joy" this year.