You will have to excuse me, dear readers, as I lapse into what I'm sure will be a brief - but powerful - moment of sadness.
It may not seem like it most times, but this blog made its debut as a baby blog. I created it with the intention of documenting my journey through the TTC process, pregnancy and, God willing, motherhood.
Here I sit, thirteen months later, with a blog that contains more humor and cupcakes than updates on doctor visits and basal body temps.
It is no longer just a baby blog, and that is fine with me. I love to make people laugh. Making others laugh in the face of sadness is in my blood, and hunting down even the most miniscule smile or chuckle in a flood of tears is something that I hope I have a gift for.
The fact is, I have remained very strong and very positive throughout this entire process. I have barely allowed myself to feel pity these last 13 months, mostly because I cling to hope. I am always hoping. Hope is something, like humor, that has been passed down generation to generation in my family and it is so very important to me.
But... for the first time - maybe the second - I allowed myself to break down, and I chose to do it (of all places) in a Starbucks.
My husband, mother, step father, nephew and I were at Starbucks grabbing our coffees and teas before going back to my mom's for some birthday cake. My nephew is brilliant. He's 8 years old and one of the smartest kids I know. He's extremely intuitive and very sensitive. He's also very kind, which is rare in an 8 year old boy.
I was standing in line, silently lamenting my body for giving me the period I definitely didn't want to see that morning. As I mindlessly fidgeted with my belly button ring over my shirt the way I always do, my nephew came up to me and touched my belly and said "You're going to have a baby," and then he hugged me. My mom told him to rub my belly for good luck and he did.
That simple gesture unleashed thirteen months of pent up feelings and I had to excuse myself. I ran to the bathroom and bawled my eyes out for a good two minutes before washing my face and going back out to join our party.
If I were to be completely honest, I would say that it felt really good - in a very bad way - to cry like that. It's not something I've allowed myself to do.
I don't enjoy bringing religion into my blog, especially because I am a part of two different religions and I don't like to feel as though I'm negating either one of them. But, more often than not, one religion overpowers the other and I am compelled to say something. Every once in a while, I feel as though it's necessary to get my point across. This is one of those times. I'm sure that I'll return to my usual ways, finding humor in dark times is part of being Jewish. We all do it. Whether we are religious or not, whether we're converted or not, whether we are Orthodox Jews or Reformed Jews, whether we believe in God or we don't. We all find humor in the dark times. It's one of the things that ties us together as a people.
It's one of the most famous Jewish Proverbs of the last 2,000 years:
"If we did not laugh, we would cry."
Yesterday, I finally allowed myself to cry.
Tomorrow, I think I'll go back to laughing.