What's in a year?

I stare at this blog occasionally, wondering what happened to my brain.  I second-guess grammatical moments that used to take no thought, I've even started spelling things incorrectly.  I feel like I have nothing to say except trifling news about the day.  And yet, what a year it has been.

This time last year, I was impatiently awaiting the arrival of our son.  This year, I'm planning his first birthday party (which will be sunshine themed).  This year, I'm impatiently awaiting the birth of my best friend's baby because they didn't find out the gender ahead of time and it's driving me completely bonkers.  Also because I can't wait for her to be a mommy and to snuggle her little newborn.  Last year, I had babies on the brain because I was about to have one.  This year, I have babies on the brain because we won't have any more.

Last year, I was mourning what felt like the loss of a very dear friendship.  This year, I am celebrating the birth of that friend's second baby and rekindling something that means more to me than I ever knew.  It has been beyond joyous to bring her meals in the hospital, shower her baby with presents, and let her know how much I love her and her family.

Last year, I would look in the mirror with a mixture of pride and disgust; pride that the giant belly I wore was doing what God made it to do, and disgust that the rest of me had to inflate simultaneously.  This year, I look in the mirror with a mixture of gratitude and trepidation; gratitude for the amazing eater that my son has been to take all the weight off me without my having to work for it at all, and trepidation about how I will look when he stops nursing.  I'll have to discover will power, something that has eluded me thus far in 31 years of life.

Last year, I was filled with fears I refused to give to God.  Fears for the birth and health of our baby, fears for our future, for our family.  This year, I feel a peace and general contentment…but almost to the point of numbness, or muffled sensation.  Like I'm squinting at the world and listening through earplugs.  Cocooned, almost.  Wrapped up in the everyday battles of mothering.  They're small battles, but I don't seem to often win, which makes them loom much larger than they are.  I lack creativity, or at least energy and time for creativity, and that makes everything seem a little duller than it ought.  The only thing that makes this okay, that keeps me from panicking, is the knowledge that this is, in fact, only a season.  I can trust in the God who made me this way that He will fulfill the gifts and desires he's given me, in his time and to his glory.  Now I just have to repeat that until it really sinks in.