When Josh and I first started trying, I started a baby box. Excited at the potential of getting pregnant quickly, I starting collecting baby items that I saw on sale or that were given to me. In this box there are several pregnancy books, a few neutral colored onesies, pacifiers, and a hat. In this box are my hopes and dreams. This box of hopes and dreams used to sit on my bookshelf to make me smile during the “two week wait” or when I got home from a doctor’s appointment. Sometime last Fall, in an angry rage, I threw the box in my closet. I wanted to throw it in the trash, but didn’t have the heart. I let myself cry alone in my room, angry that this stupid box was still full.
Several weeks ago, I was cleaning out my closet and saw the box. I carefully pulled out each item and laid them on the floor in front of me. I stared at the tiny clothes and shoes. This time instead of feeling sad I felt something that caught me by surprise. I felt hope. I pictured myself putting my sweet chunky baby in these clothes and my heart felt happy. It’s going to happen. One day I will be a momma. I feel it in my heart.
I put the box back on my book shelf in my bedroom. Whenever I’m feeling down, sick, or just tired of it all I pull each item out of the box. I fold, and organize the things inside and remember that one day, as sweet babe will wear those clothes, snuggle the blankets, and cry into the lovey. On the days that it’s hard I hold onto hope.