Today, my son is the exact age his older sister was when he was born. 20 months and 8 days old. I did the math. The news of my pregnancy with him was shocking. The journey to have our daughter lasted four aching years. During that time my body endured invasive infertility testing, multiple medications staggered throughout each cycle, blood-draws twice a month, two pregnancies, and two subsequent losses. Every month I would struggle to work up the gumption to hope, yet couldn’
“COVID Positive” were not the words I had chosen to define the new year. I sought to begin 2021 with lofty ambitions of “intentional rhythms,” “engaged presence,” and “soft responses.” But the words spoken by the nurse on the phone last Monday pushed everything else aside, rudely asserting themselves front and center. Cold fear flooded my veins as I thought about hugging my 92-year old grandma two days earlier. We waited responsibly to see her until two weeks had passed since