the magic of new beginnings

Image found at blog.freepeople.com here

As we drove home from the hospital with our brand new baby Christian, I remember looking out at the blossoms just opening up and the green spreading across the grass and thinking

just how awesome this summer was going to be.

I was done being pregnant,

we had our dear boy here,

I could move and be myself again and we could just play and rest and enjoy the summer.

About a week later, Kent confided that he'd been feeling like we needed to think about moving.

I was not anywhere near ready to hear that.

But he kept hinting at it, because he kept feeling the impression that it was time for us to start thinking about moving our family forward to something new.

picture found here

And then Christian got sad. Really really sad.

But I started to feel like maybe Kent was right. Maybe moving was the right choice for our family.

I just couldn't do it with a sad baby like that, though.

Having a child who cries and cries inconsolably for 8-10 hours a day is a kind of hard I'd never known, and if you've lived it, you know--there's no "living," just "surviving."

So one Sunday, while Kent and the kids were at Church, and I sat in the living room bouncing my sad crying baby on the exercise ball (the only way he'd sort of calm down) 

I found myself praying, and telling Heavenly Father that if we were supposed to decide to move,

I couldn't do it with my brains fuzzy and my life messy from a crying baby.

The next morning, we woke up,

and Christian was happy.

Just like that. We went to the park and walked around the pond that evening, during the hours he'd usually just scream, and we marveled at how enjoyable life was with a quiet, happy baby.

He's been happy ever since.

So I thought, okay, maybe we're supposed to move.

But Christian would only sleep if he was in my arms. And I wasn't able to do anything productive with a darling happy baby constantly in my hands. It was fun to snuggle all day, but the dishes piled up and we ate cereal for dinner nearly every night, and the laundry and the bathrooms and the kids' rooms and my room (especially)....well, you can imagine how they looked.

And I found myself praying again.

Saying, if we're supposed to move,

I just can't do it unless I can lay this sweet baby boy down for sleep and work while he naps.

The next morning, we woke up,

and that day Christian took a 3 hour nap. Unassisted. In his cradle. In his room.

And he's been a stellar napper ever since.

At this point, I really couldn't deny that we were being guided towards selling this beautiful home of ours, and moving on to whatever comes next.

We're looking forward to--

a bigger yard!

with a fence!

wide(r) open spaces!

a new place to live and love in!

meeting new friends!

room for a garden (without nightly winds to destroy it)!

downsizing a bit, "sacrificing" for a while, to meet future financial goals!

But I can't deny that my heart breaks a little (or a lot) each time I look out my windows, especially in the mornings when the light breaks over the mountain and floods the house with perfect, crisp shadows, and in the evenings when it's shady and glorious in our little backyard.

I just have to trust that there's something better ahead,

whatever that may be.