Watch. Wait. Pray.

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Some friends of ours just had their baby.

A little boy named Ezekiel (“Zeke” for short).

I had the privilege of taking his newborn photos yesterday (they’ll be on my Facebook Page in a few days!).

His tiny little hands…his little bitty feet.

That sweet baby smell…the softness of his baby skin.

I was absolutely intoxicated by this little boy. Mesmerized by his sweetness and newness; entranced by the obvious adoration and affection that his new mommy and daddy had for him (and for each other). And I was way beyond excited to get to experience and be a part of this exciting and once-in-a-lifetime moment with this family.

And inside…

I was aching.

It’s a bit easier to be excited and elated for close friends when they have a baby. I mean, you’re supposed to be excited and elated, right?

Supposed to be eager and willing to jump into the wonderful throes of new-dom (yes, that’s a word…it has to be, my spellcheck didn’t’ auto correct it) with them.

But…

Despite how much I love this family and how happy I am for them, I was still a bit heart-broken.

My husband new it.

We left their house the day that they came home from the hospital and it took all that I had in me to keep the silent tears from falling.

Because eight months into this journey of adding to our family, we seem to be no closer than the day that we started.

Days continue to tick by and turn into weeks. Weeks turn into months, and months are creeping toward years.

It’s hard to believe that we’ve been trying for eight months already. Inside, I keep trying to stifle the acknowledgments that if we’d gotten pregnant right at the beginning (like we did with Little Man), then we’d be getting ready to meet our new baby next month. We’d be nearing the end of the pregnancy, would know if we were having a boy or a girl, and would be picking out baby names.

At the same time, I rationalize that if we’d gotten pregnant right at the beginning this time, there would be some things that I wouldn’t have been able to do. Like take little Zeke’s pictures for his mom and dad. Or work the kind of hours I’ve been working (which has earned us some extra bills/savings/Christmas Fund money). Or roll around on the floor and wrestle with my little guy.

With every bit of good comes bad. Just as with every bit of bad, comes good.

But, it’s still hard.

Watching another baby be born; seeing another pregnancy announcement; my three year old grow up and embrace life as it comes at him…

Waiting for our turn again; for the chance to add to our family and give our son a little brother or sister…

Praying that God continues to soften my heart to his will and his timing; begging for strength to continue to push through this season of ours lives…

Because other than that, what else can I do?

Sharing this post with Shell @ Things I Can’t Say for Pour Your Heart Out and with The Extraordinary Ordinary for (a very late) Just Write.