Maybe it’s the baby blues lingering or the stress of being a new mom of two, but I cried today. They were not tears of sadness or anger. The were tears of joy. As I crawled around the living room floor cleaning up Sylas’ disaster of toys he left me before bed, Ivan began to squirm, gearing up for a full blown tantrum if he didn’t eat right now. So I sat on the floor amidst they toys nursing him and I had come to the sudden realization that this time last year, we were returning from a wedding and family vacation. I was anxiously awaiting our homecoming so that I could get into my stash of pregnancy tests to see if this was the month for us. Unfortunately, it wasn’t, but it was the month that I decided to seek help from another doctor. It was also the month that I gave up our journey to God. It was a turning point in our struggle with infertility that will forever be imbedded in my heart. And as I gazed at the sweet, precious face of my newborn babe (who is growing all too quickly) I started to cry. I still can’t believe that he is here. I mean, I know I hold him and feed him and kiss his chubby cheeks, but I still can’t get past all of that torturous waiting that it took to get here. I can’t believe that it’s real, that it was finally my turn. In that moment on the living room floor, I praised God for fulfilling one of the deepest desires of my heart and felt it overflow with love.