Every Little Girl

I saw a little girl today that made me ache for Gray. There is always that constant ache - the same shared ache that so many of us feel for the children we're waiting for. But every piece of me wanted to reach out and pick her up. I wanted to hold her without looking at her face - without having to be reminded that she wasn't mine. Her little fingers were wrapped around her umbrella so tightly and my guess it that she couldn't wait to put on her rain boots today. I felt my heart break a little when she got in her wagon to ride away. Will it always be this hard?

Our new house has a beautiful little girl's room. We have set it aside to be a nursery but all of us, accidentally, keep referring to it as Gray's room. She had a room at the old house. It was almost always without her but it was still there. And she was born there. She filled the whole house for years. Her room had her clothes and toys and little girl energy. This house isn't full of her and I'm really beginning to miss just having a place for her.

Those of you who read this blog, that are also waiting for your children, know what I'm talking about. We've had long conversations about empty bedrooms, pictures that are years old still hanging in the hallway and even college funds set aside for a child who may not even remember. Without these conversations with those of you who breathe the same dense, quiet air as I do, I would certainly feel lost. Although I would rather none of us share this pain, I'm grateful we have each other.

Thank you for the email today, Leah. I'm right there with you.