I Can Smile at Babies Now

I sat down in the church pew, set my purse and Bible beside me, and glanced around.  The sanctuary was slowly filling up and soon the service would begin.  As the music began, a young couple slipped into the pew in front of me.  The woman carried a new-looking infant carrier in her hand and a diaper bag was slung over her shoulder.  Cradled carefully in the man's arms was a precious little baby.  The couple sat down and the man gently lifted his tiny daughter to his shoulder.  Her eyes met mine, and I felt a smile tugging at my lips.  This tiny little baby brought a smile to my face.

And then suddenly, I realized that I was smiling.  A lump rose in my throat as it occurred to me that I was smiling....at a baby.  That may sound like an odd statement, but to me this was an amazing thing.

You see, for many years, babies broke my heart.

I'm not sure exactly when it began, but somewhere along the way as we began our journey with infertility, tiny little babies became a deep source of pain for me.  Seeing them in church brought a feeling of dread.  Oh, no, not now....hold it together....don't start crying...can they tell?  Can everyone see how deeply this hurts?  I tried to escape every situation where a baby made an appearance.  I felt as though it must be so obvious to everyone.  Spending time with other women was often difficult.  It was almost unbearable to hear birth stories or joking about pregnancy symptoms.  It was a club I could not seem to join.

There was a time when a friend accidentally left a little baby sock at my house.  It has imprinted itself on my mind.  A tiny, meaningless thing but oh how I cried at the sight of that tiny sock.  I wondered if my house would ever have tiny socks, or any tiny baby feet to put them on.  It felt unattainable, a dream that would never be realized.

And then something amazing happened.  The dream was realized.  Not in the way I expected, not in the way I had first prayed, but in a truly amazing and life-changing way.  Through adoption, I became a mom.  Suddenly my house was filled with tiny little socks.  And to this day, almost every time I come across a single sock - in the laundry, in the bathroom, in the kids room...I remember.  I remember and I breathe out a soft thank you.

The wounds of infertility were slow to heal.  Having a baby in my arms did not magically erase the pain of not being able to get pregnant.  But day by day, God was showing me the beauty of the story He was writing for me.  It was far beyond anything I could have imagined.  Being a mom was what I wanted, more than anything else.  The joy of motherhood, having a little one to love and teach and cherish - and then two little ones, and then three - brought healing in ways I could not explain.  I found myself settling into this beautiful, crazy, unexpected life and most surprisingly I found myself desperately thanking God for saying no to all those prayers in the years before.

I cannot say it is completely gone, and it creeps up on me at the most unexpected times.  At baby showers, when everyone offers their best pregnancy advice, I feel that old familiar feeling coming over me.  I don't belong.  It is as though I have a sign on my forehead, or perhaps just a giant "I".  Infertile, unable to have a baby.  It is difficult to even write that, because it is such a strong feeling, and one that I have held so close to my heart.  That feeling that everybody knows that my heart is twisting, my stomach is lurching, and I am fighting to maintain control of the tears that threaten to spill over.  To this day, I struggle to be around tiny little babies and newborns.  There is a part of me that still hurts to know that I did not get to hold my babies when they were that age.  When friends have babies, I do not volunteer to hold them, because sometimes its still hard.  The emotions are sometimes complicated, and hard to put into words, and deep.

But it is getting so much easier.  The pain is gone, with only twinges reminding me of our journey through infertility.  I guess technically we are still in this journey of infertility, and yet, in my heart...this chapter is closed.  I have been blessed with a life that is so good that were I given the choice, I would choose it all over again.  I would walk through the pain, the uncertainty, the heartache, and I would choose this path to get to my children.

Because of that - because these children are my joy and because I have had a front-row seat to this miracle called adoption - I have been changed.  "You have turned my sorrow into joyful dancing." (Psalm 30:11)  He has been so good to us.  He has been so good to me.

I have seen the proof of His healing in my life, the miracle of wounds being bound up and repaired.

I can smile at babies now.