These are the days that I will one day look back on and, with a weighted exhale declare once again, “We made it.”
Years ago when we were going through the throes of infertility my mantra was “Every day is one day closer.” No matter what happened — good day or bad — each setting of the sun brought us one day closer to the struggle of achieving parenthood finally being over. I dug my fingernails into that thought and held onto it tightly. Some days, those future-focused were the only words that held my in-the-moment fragile pieces together.
I find myself returning to those words again. These days are long and heavy, and the summer heat is oppressive. Every day is one day closer. This is the cool air that I crane my neck to inhale when my own feelings threaten to suffocate more than the humidity.
This is my status quo. The work of reminding myself to breathe is exhausting.
But I’m lucky, because I have these kids, and they are funny and smart and understanding.
I’m grateful that I have good friends, ones who hear “I’m not happy” and know without explanation that I am neither ungrateful nor never find happiness anywhere.
And I have Frank. He reminds me to breathe when I go too long without inhaling, and he breathes for me when I’m tired and need to regain the energy to keep being strong. He’s my rock.
We’re holding onto our patience, our faith, and to each other.
Everyday, we are one day closer.