I wish you could see life like I see it.
If you took a picture of me in my living room right now, it would fit quite nicely in some home magazine. The couches are properly fluffed and on the coffee table sits a warm flickering candle, a classy brown magazine tray and a wine glass (which is actually filled with sweet tea--we have somehow lost all of our glasses and needed to resort to the wine variety for tonight's dinner). I'm curled up on one couch, wrapped in an oversize sweater, listening to Sara Barielles, computer on one side of me, knitting on the other. It's almost ten now, and I can do whatever I'd like to fill the next few hours before I decide to sleep. No paper to write or reading to complete.
I look around myself and something about the lighting and the food settling in my stomach endorse a long, full sigh. My breathing becomes smoother, deeper, and my eyes glaze over in that sultry way they do sometimes with the pleasure of a good drink or after a nice nap. Something about this moment lets me know that everything is going to be alright. God is good. Even in the bumps and struggles, I wouldn't do it any other way.
I got a call this morning from my brother, who just started the baby steps toward parenthood with a positive EPT. In nine months, if it's a boy, he'll be Bradley Oliver Cooper. "Aren't you totally freaked out?" I asked him. Each of his words comes out with purpose and purity: "No. I'm so excited...I'm gonna be a dad.." Something inside me gets just a little softer.
Epic adventures. Pain and heartache. But always a happy ending.
This is the best of fairy tales.
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