Dad’s face was a picture of quiet anticipation. Tuned into those chubby cheeks and deep blue eyes, it was clear he was traveling with a dear companion. At a late hour of the day, with perhaps a tired family waiting at home for supper, these two buddies bounced along, enjoying every minute of the journey.

These are the moments, countless in a day, when we create memories and feelings to last a lifetime.

My oldest daughter has been talking about how much she wants to leave home since she was in the third grade.  She is both blessed and cursed with her mother’s sense of independence and stubbornness, so it has never been shocking to hear her say how she can’t wait to live on her own terms. 

Years fly by and now I have only 8 more days to teach my daughter everything I want her to know (despite her resistance) before I leave her in a dorm room 250 miles away from home.

I have been so excited about her leaving because I know she is SO ready and eager.  I know some of the best years of her life (to date) are waiting just a week away for her.  I’m thrilled for her to start this next exciting and challenging chapter in her life.  Only today did I give any pause to how it feels to ME about her leaving. 

It is hard to reconcile the feelings of having been responsible for her every moment for the last 18 years and then, BOOM, all in one day she’s completely out of my sight. That finely honed sonar that we mothers have faithfully kept alert every single day of her life must somehow, quickly, carefully be turned down to a allow her to grow into an independent adult.  I’m new at this and not sure how it works.  But, I am sure that it is better for all if I don’t roll around in thoughts about her leaving home too much for the next 8 days.  If the Mother-Antelope appears weak, the Daughter-Tiger may attack it!

Looking ahead I know I’m entering the ranks of mothers who wish their child will call them.  Silently worrying, hoping for the best, and secretly delighted to learn that she misses me – this is my future.  Eighteen years ago I brought a tiny baby home from the hospital and now a beautiful woman is eager to leave in 8 more days.

– Renee Bauer Soffer

FEAR

Always feels bad
Motivates grasping
Seizes control
Insists on certainty
Needs everything

LOVE

Always feels good
Motivates liberation
Relaxes control
Accepts uncertainty
Needs nothing

They called it “secondary infertility,” but it was really a lesson in faith.

A few years after our sweet Abby was born, Steve and I decided to have another child.  The timing seemed right:  Abby was in preschool; we both were content in our jobs; we lived in a happy neighborhood with good schools; we were part of a strong faith community and circle of friends and our marriage was healthy.  What better situation for a new person to come and live?

We “practiced” often and prayed for a baby.  While our first had come within a few months, this time was very different.  After a year or so, I consulted my surprised doctor, who explained this as a case of secondary infertility, and suggested daily temperature charting, etc.  Friends and family offered home remedies.  The most popular advice was: “Just relax and it will happen.”  Offered this advice one too many times, I refrained from snapping back, “Why don’t you relax?!”

For months on end we repeated the same cycle of anticipation and hope that always ended in disappointment.  (Even the extra practice my husband encouraged didn’t help!)  I stopped buying home pregnancy tests because: one, they were expensive, and; two, they gave bad news.    My doctor referred us to a fertility specialist. 

As we entered this uncharted territory, the future we’d imagined seemed to be slipping away.  One night, Abby sat crying in bed, listing all the friends who’d “beat her”—not physically, but by having a younger sibling!  My heart ached to give her an answer, but we were confused, too.  When hearing news reports of mothers who neglected their children, we wondered why such poor parents were entrusted with a new life while we were denied.  I dried her tears and insisted that Daddy and I were doing all we could to bring her little brother or sister into the world.  The rest was up to God.  

We endured months of hormone therapy and diagnostic tests. The turning point came as I was driving home from what would be my last procedure—an ovulation-enhancing round of drugs followed by artificial insemination.  The hormone-induced feelings of despair were so profound I spent the day before in bed.  As I drove along, the image of Aladdin, the animated character in one of Abby’s favorite movies came to mind.  He held his hand out to me, the same way he invited princess Jasmine onto his magic carpet.  Knowing my love of movies, God spoke through Aladdin’s voice and asked:  “Do you trust me?”  My heart opened in response—“Yes, I trust you.  I can let this go.”  In my personal Gethsemane moment, I said, “I’ll never stop hoping for this child, but I release the outcome to you.” 

The procedure failed.  I decided to stop all assisted reproductive therapies.  Steve agreed, saying “Is it really worth it to put ourselves through this?” With my head clear and my strength back, we started to function as a family again.  One day at the park, with Abby perched on her dad’s shoulders as we strolled along, I thought:  “I can be happy with this.  I can relax now.” 

Early the next year, I co-presented a women’s retreat.  Speaking on “Trust in the Lord,” I spoke of our inability to conceive—from our sad monthly cycle to Aladdin’s words.  Nearly all of the 60 women on the retreat promised to pray for me, and I was profoundly blessed by a coincidence that only the Holy Spirit could have arranged.

During the weekend, I was reunited with the mother of Laurie, a girl I knew in high school. Sadly, she had died during our freshman year. Hearing my story, her mom assured me that Laurie would intercede for me, saying, “Laurie often told me she’d love to run a nursery in heaven when she got there!”

Just three months later, our second daughter was conceived after over four years of secondary infertility.  “Way to go!” my doctor proclaimed.  Excited and hopeful, we emerged from that painful, confusing time of our lives madly in love with the baby in my womb.  Oh, the joy of bringing her home to live with us!  This tiny infant’s deep blue eyes gazed at me and seemed to say, “Everything will be okay, Mom.” 

Despite the anxiety and pain of that time, my husband and I now believe all parents should experience some of what we went through.  The waiting, the disappointments, the hormonal ups and downs and medical procedures all forced us to reassess the control we have over our lives.  When we started our family, we thought it was ours to plan and execute.  But, while the time seemed right for a second child, God had another path in mind.  Through the waiting, we got our priorities in line:  God is the source of all life, and we are co-creators of that life.  Ultimately, it is God’s to give, and in his perfect timing.  Whether or not a second child had come along, our infertility brought us to a holy surrender with God, and this was an abundant blessing. 

What I most disliked about the garage sale experience, though, is the person I became during the experience.  Mired in the clutter, dust and sweat, my thoughts were often ones of resentment for how hard I was working, or of exhaustion at the weight of the accumulated stuff.  This mindset and fatigue translated into one mean and crabby mom.  Both my daughters experienced it.  If they asked me for anything during those days, my response was a heavy sigh, and anger when the request took me away from my project.  Many times I was so preoccupied my youngest gave up talking to me.  At the end of each day, both my body and my heart ached.  I not only separated myself from things that I was emotionally attached to, but more importantly I’d alienated myself from the ones I love who also share this space with me.

My teenage daughter called me on it this week, saying that if I really didn’t want to do something for her, I should just not do it, rather than doing it in anger and being mean while doing it.  She’s right.  I was angry and mean.  I apologized, and asked her to stop me if I ever even thing about another garage sale.  We laughed.  For all the growing up I witness in her, she gets to see her mom do some, too.

How She Really Does It: Secrets of Success from Stay-at-Work Moms
Julie Hood is a working mom who runs an internet marketing business at InfoMarketingOnline.com…. and juggles the activities of an 11-year old and 7-year old. You can read about her challenges at http://www.OrganizedMommy.com.

We made it. During the days and hours that lead up to the meet she had the occasional admission of anxiety or fear, pleading for a reprieve from the looming unknowns of the event. My strength to help her face these fears came in part from the wisdom of a friend, given to me after the death of my mother-in-law. My daughters saw her dead body, attended the prayer service, wake, funeral and burial. My husband and I wanted it this way; still there was a part of me that longed to shield them from this sorrow. I shared this with my friend, who said, “It is important that our children learn they can handle such things.” Amen. So, facing a much less fearsome adversary, we jumped in (pun intended). I saw my girl grow right before my eyes, learning a life lesson that would have been lost by mom’s letting her off the hook or holding her hand.

Last night as I tucked her in, I reminded my daughter that “courage is not about not being afraid; it’s about being afraid and doing it anyway.” She was courageous, she knows she can handle it, and she inspired her mom to be brave when life presents her own “first swim meets,” too.