So I’m trying to write this post with one hand while holding my sleeping baby (a beautiful thing, but also challenging in the circumstances.)
And the beautiful thing I really want to write about is this…
The last two mornings, I have been able to climb down the stairs without too much difficulty. Given that mornings are the worst time for me and climbing down the stairs the hardest challenge, this is significant change. And it just happens to coincide with my learning to cry… The mornings after the nights before.
So suddenly I think – I hope – I can see light at the end of the tunnel.
I share my exciting news over the phone this morning with my husband Michael, who’s away in New York for the week. He’s still sleepy and jet lagged. And he doesn’t seem that excited.
So I push him. I tell him that he really doesn’t seem that excited.
He responds by telling me that he’s not surprised, because he’s always known that I’d heal. He’s genuinely unsurprised.
And it’s this surety – this faith – in me and my ability to heal – that floors me somewhat.
All the times I’ve turned to him for reassurance and faith when I’ve had none… But I still thought he’d be surprised. And I realise that I have lacked belief not just in me, but in him and his faith too.
And I realise now that this faith (most especially in a man who normally demands statistical proof for almost everything) is extraordinary – extraordinarily beautiful.
New mum, old soul... Finding beauty, wisdom, spirituality, and opportunities for learning in the everyday (hopefully)...