As I'm picking up toys, torn coloring pages and fossilized Chicken McNuggets from the couch, I think to myself, "Would I have it any other way?" The answer: Absolutely not.
I have to constantly remind myself of this every day because I got the chance to be a mom again. My first child, a beautiful baby boy with dark hair, a button nose, long fingers and little grape toes, died after three days on January 11, 2004. In those dark, dark days after he died, I would scream and cry, asking God why I couldn't be a mom on earth. Why did he bless other people who never wanted children or didn't even deserve them?
I wanted to be a mom so badly. I longed to wake up in the middle of the night to hear my baby cry and soothe him. I wanted to push Ryan in a stroller like all the other moms. I wanted to hear him call me "mommy" one day. I wanted to console him when he cried. I wanted to hold Ryan and do a wobbly baby dance to "Hey Yeah" by Outkast. I wanted to watch him play in the park. I wanted to dress him in little blue overalls with a long-sleeved shirt printed with animals. I wanted to see him hop like tiny birds. I wanted to hold his hand while we walked to school. I wanted to get sloppy kisses and hugs from him. I wanted to smell the sweetness of his breath while he slept.
Our home was empty, quiet. No baby crying. No fits of laughter. No giggles. No pitter patter of little feet. No temper tantrums. No musical baby toys. Nothing but silence.
I prayed every day for God to give me one more child - just one. I promised to raise that child to be a good person. I promised to be a good mother.
I got another chance. In October of 2004, I discovered I was pregnant. On June 20, 2005, my Joy was born, screaming and healthy.
So on those days when: the living room still looks messy even after I've cleaned it; Joy throws her plate of food on the floor; my patience runs thin after hearing Alvin & the Chipmunks Christmas in January; the house looks like Fisher Price exploded all over the place; Joy clings to me like a Koala when I just want some "me" time; a deliciously and thoughtfully prepared meal goes uneaten or is spit out; pee lands on the floor and not in the potty; I am asked for more candy after I've just said "no"; my gym time is cut short for a diaper change; an entire box of crayons is playfully dumped all over the floor with no intention of picking them up; I am demanded to instantly hand over dropped toys or sippy cups while driving on the freeway; Joy cries and screams like a wild animal during a temper tantrum;
I remind myself that I would have it no other way.
