Kiss Your Miracle

Sky, like many babies, is exasperating a great deal of the time. At eleven months old, she has a strong will and a mind of her own. She doesn’t like to be fed; she wants to do it herself. And she usually lets me know she’s done eating by wiping her high chair tray clean with one dramatic sweep of her arm. During bath time, it doesn’t matter how many times I sit her down in the tub, she continually gets back on her feet. She’s also stuck in the taking-apart stage. Our books spend more time on the floor than the shelves. Will she ever get to the putting-back stage?

But then Sky will do something like discover an old hat under our bed. And when I put it on her and take her over to the mirror, she’s so taken with her reflection that she stares transfixed and then gives herself a round of applause. So that inspires us to try other head-wear. Like the bloomers from her new sundress. And then I have to get the camera. Soon a half hour floats by, but I’m unconcerned with all the messes I haven’t yet cleaned up.

I’m writing this on Father’s Day. One year ago I was hugely pregnant. But two years ago I wasn’t sure if motherhood was in my future at all. If my former self could see me now she’d probably say, “Are you kidding? You finally have a kid and you spend half your time irritated because she’s messy when she eats and throws books on the floor?” And for a minute my current self would want to argue and say, “You have no idea how hard it is to be a mom, how exhausting it can be, how sometimes even getting this child to do the simplest things, like eat or sleep, feels almost impossible.” But even as I formulate those words in my brain, I catch myself and stop, wrapped up in the memory of my life before Skylar. “Who cares how clean the house is?” my former self would continue. “Why do you spend so much time sweeping the floor anyway? Spend more time sitting in front of the mirror with your little girl – your little girl – trying on stupid hats and laughing with her.”

Obviously, I never would have chosen infertility for myself. But I’m grateful now that it’ll always be a part of me, fixing my perspective, speaking up when I forget that I’m living an answered prayer.

This morning I let Sky take everything out of the cabinets in the bathroom. By the time she was done the floor was covered in travel sized bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and lotion,  extra rolls of toilet paper, bobby pins, an old jewelry case, and a curling iron. Then Sky proudly crawled into the cabinet herself and turned to me as if to say, “Look Mama!” And I cheered for her and grabbed my camera, because in the meantime I’d managed to put on some makeup and do my hair for the day. Sometimes the mess is worth it.`

This Friday I’m flying from where I live in Florida to see my family in Chicago and watch my youngest sister graduate from high school. Sky is coming with me, but Adam has to stay home for work, so the travel part of our trip is not something I’m looking forward to.

Traveling used to be relaxing to me. I loved everything about it – the packing and anticipation, that feeling I’d always get in the car when I left town, the way I couldn’t predict exactly how the trip would go. It was all fun to me. But now “unpredictable” means not knowing what my baby will do in unfamiliar situations. There is a slight chance that Sky will go absolutely berserk and scream her brains out during the flight. I’m already dreading that moment when I get on the plane. I picture myself walking down the skinny center aisle with all eyes on me as I struggle to hold my child and all of our gear without wacking anyone in the head, each passenger praying that I don’t sit down in the empty seat next to them.

And once we get there, things still might be tough. Sky will probably have a hard time sleeping in a new bed and she usually clings to me when she feels insecure. We went to Chicago at Thanksgiving and instead of waking up twice a night as usual, she was suddenly up every hour. This time I’m just planning ahead to be tired.

But even with the work involved, I’m excited to go. Graduation Day will be important for my sister. I want her to remember I was there for her, even if I do spend the actual ceremony wandering around outside with Sky. My family hasn’t seen her since she was four months old. She was just a yummy, squishy baby back then and now she’s practically walking. I can’t wait to see my little girl in my mom’s arms again. And I can’t wait to sit in the kitchen and drink coffee with everyone. I guess it’s the ordinary things I miss the most. I know a small part of me will be relieved when the trip is over and I’m back at home where things with Sky are easier. But for now, the anticipation builds. Sky may be ten months old, but she’s not too young to learn that seeing family is worth the effort.

Sky looks a lot like her daddy. She has my nose, but the rest of her face is a girl version of Adam. One of my favorite things to do these days is watch them interact. Adam crawls around with her on the floor, chasing her and tickling her till she’s laughing and shrieking at the same time, basking in the center of his attention. At ten months old she’s starting to say “ma-ma-ma-ma-ma” here and there, which I take as an attempt to call me mom. But when Adam comes home from work her entire face lights up and she says in a clear voice, “Da-da!” I make a big deal over how unfair that is when I’m the one who’s with her twenty-four hours a day, but secretly I love the way they connect. It’s one of the best parts about motherhood – getting to see my husband enjoy his baby girl, who is somehow partly him and partly me, and still entirely unique.

When I think back over the infertility, I remember how much I wanted to see Adam become a father. I always knew he’d be a great dad. There were many times when I wanted a baby more for his sake than for mine, and he often said the same thing about me. Some people might question why anyone would enter the world of fertility treatments, eagerly spending thousands of dollars to endure a string of personal, painful procedures for just the possibility of ending up pregnant. Why do we even have such a powerful drive for children in the first place? It’s difficult to explain. All I know is that when I look at Skylar Grace with her daddy, I see the answer.

Sky’s favorite food right now is Cheerios. This is probably because she hasn’t yet tasted pizza, brownies, or warm, salty French fries with ketchup. For now, Cheerios make her happy. Eating them is a big production for her. She’ll pick them up in her little fists and then spread them out again on her tray, roll her arms over them, and throw half of them on the floor. Sometimes she crams as many as she can in her mouth. Sometimes she’ll delicately eat just one. She almost always sings a little tune while she eats them. Every now and then she’ll come across a stray Cheerio while crawling on the floor and immediately pop it in her mouth. (Though I guess that doesn’t mean a whole lot since she eats carpet yarn and lint occasionally, too.) I like Cheerios because a handful on her tray usually means twenty minutes of free time for me. Thank you Lord, for the little blessings in a typical day.