Journaling with a small, quiet audience is like looking at myself from afar. I think that's partly why it's so good for me. It creates a more objective stance from which to analyze myself.

But I kind of miss the subjective entries that were only for me. I use my paper-and-pen journal for those now.

Today I just wanted to say, that the news from Tuesday is still hitting me hard. Here's a (long) story.

At the library yesterday, checking in books, I realized how much my looking forward to children affected my job. I would see picture books, pregnancy books, parenting books, board books, Early Reader books, etc. and imagine reading them to my children, with my children, or because of my children. I thought about all the things parents have to deal with as they went through my hands: new baby siblings coming, potty training, manners, behavior, giving kids "The Talk," etc. I would try and imagine which types of picture books my children would most enjoy. Would I have boys that liked big trucks and cars and "Things That Go"? Would I have girls that would pretend to be ladybug superheros so that they can be brave when they're afraid? Would my children's favorite colors be pretty mainstraem (pink, blue), or would they be more off the beaten path (green, orange, yellow)? Would my kids be more interested in observing the world around them, like me, or in interacting with it, like Stephen? All these questions would go through my head as books went through my hands.

They still went through my head yesterday, but when they did, so did the urge to cry. A couple of times I had to stop checking books in and close my eyes against the pain for a moment so I could just stay with it. A workplace is the worst place to have a bad day. They aren't real friendships there. Nobody would come running to your side to comfort you if you started crying. They would just expect you to pull yourself together and be strong. How do emotional girls like me who work full-time deal with those down days? I guess that's a lesson I might not ever learn.

Anyway. Later that night, Stephen and I got into a fight, because I was staying up too late trying to respond to something my mother-in-law wrote for the magazine she writes for. It was crucially important to me, because it was something kind, thoughtful, and personal that I wanted to say, and I'm never brave enough to say those things to her in person, but I so badly want her to see my personal side. Anyway, I was wracked with guilt as Stephen kept pleading, "Honey...Bed time," as he flossed. So instead of taking all the time I really needed to polish my comment to Margie, I just wrapped it up very poorly, which made me mad. I hate not being able to perfect things I say to his mother.

Stephen always wants me to explain myself to him when I'm mad (or anything but happy, really), so I tried to explain to him why I was mad...while I was still mad. Which, as you can imagine, didn't go over too well. :P Soon we were fighting and not speaking to each other until we had calmed down enough to explain ourselves better. We ended up okay, and relatively speaking, it actually wasn't even that bad of a fight. But after it was over and I had explained everything I needed to and we'd forgiven each other, I started bawling for no immediately obvious reason.

There was a reason. "These are all the tears I couldn't cry at the library," I told him. "And half the reason we fought tonight."

*sigh* So yesterday was filled with messy emotions. I get a little better every day, but then I see a pregnant woman in the grocery store, or a book at the library and it starts all over again.

We haven't given up all hope. I do, in a way, just so I can deal. But the flame of hope never fully goes out. Last night I asked the women's Bible study group to pray for us. I didn't mention anything about babies (and I never will, until we're pregnant and ready to tell people), but I told them we had hoped to move at the end of our lease and the new taxes make that virtually impossible. I told them to pray for everybody who was hit by them.

So I know I haven't totally given up hope, or else I never would've presented that prayer request. And I know my hope rests, not in the promise of motherhood, because God hasn't promised that to me, but my hope rests in the fact that God is good, and God is God, and He always, always, always has the very best in mind for me, in any and every circumstance, and because of that I never have to fall into despair.

I guess that's all for now. Sorry this is so long and emotional. :) Thanks for reading. Back to life as usual. (Library again today...Maybe I should call off just for this week...Hmm...Or maybe I should go anyway, so that my life is used to serve others and not dwell on myself. That's what sent me there yesterday. Hmm. Questions, questions.)

-Stephanie

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