Sunday, January 29, 2012

No Use Cryin' Over Spilled Milk

Who knew you could actually take for granted that your car smells normal?

I discovered this truth this past week. Mister Cooper drinks his "chachi mih" (translated: chocolate milk) and eats his "panies" (pancakes) on the way to Ms. Staci's house every morning. Yea, it's a terrible shame. We don't get to sit down together around the breakfast table four days a week. Instead we fly around the kitchen warming up microwavable pancakes, sloshing chocolate milk about. It's glorious in it's own on-the-go kinda way.
So. Coop drank his chachi mih on Monday. Monday turned to Tuesday. Tuesday turned to Wednesday. And before you know it it was Friday morning and I was driving to work (sans Coopie 'cause he was having him a daddy day), and out of nowhere a dead animal nestled itself somewhere in my car. Mysteries of mysteries. I dry heaved (hove? jk.) all the way to work. I rolled down the windows and contemplated opening the trunk. I applied peach scented hand sanitizer fifteen times and batted my hands around to mask the smell.

I screeched in the parking lot of work with my head clear out the winda and threw it in park. I spent all of 3 minutes scouring the car for the dead squirrel or spider monkey. There it was.

In the floorboard of the backseat.

Mister Cooper's chachi mih cup. FROM MONDAY. Slammed up against the door. Lid popped off. Milk ehhverywhere.

Oh my gracious. It's been three days. We have scrubbed and foamed and vinegared and baking soda-ed. We have googled horror stories of people trading their cars in after such nonsense. Heavens to Betsy. It. Is. Foul.

Wanna carpool with me this week? ;)

Out of the clear blue sky we got hit with an "unresolved matter" back from the days of kudzu this week. I have tried to resolve it three times now but for some insano reason, every single time I try to make a phone all about it, I end up a blubbering mess. It's not just the ridiculous left over financial reminder, it's really not. It's just that dealing with it brings up all that hubs fought through last year. It brings ugly tears just thinking about it, but within seconds, my tears turn to absolute JOY for what God has seen us through. I know the doctor's office thinks I am mentally unstable. I finally called Friday and spoke in a British accent and reported that I was calling on behalf of the Davis family. They couldn't take my payment info quick enough. Giggles.

Speaking of giggles, I am in full party planning mode for Coop's second birthday party. SECOND. Seeeeeeeehcond. Gesh. I'm having ridiculous amounts of fun thinking of ways to shower our little man with lots of love.
Think mustaches and bow ties and photo-opt props and little manwhiches and pretzel rod cigars. Ridiculous, and so much fun, no?
It's a good distraction these days from the oober hard time we are having on the baby front. We are so incredibly enamoured with Coop. We love him upside down and inside out. We would go to the ends of the earth for him. He has given us the best gift in all the world. He has allowed us to become parents. And we LOVE it. We LOVE him. And the ache in our hearts for another little Davis baby is just indescribable.

God's sovereignty in it all is so abundantly clear to us. Doesn't change the fact that I cry and cry and cry and we pray and pray and pray every single month. God has answered so many ginormous prayers for us over the past year. He gave Chris life. A second chance. He brought us insurmountable joy through the birth of Cooper. He has graced us with His strength and comfort and amazing peace. He is teaching us something these days. And we sure don't want to miss it.
I fell asleep last night praying my heart out about it. I prayed for God to teach me how to pray about it. You see, this fertility business has me stumped. That's how I know it's exactly where we're meant to be. It is one of the absolute most difficult things to "give up". You take this med on this day and this med on that day. You chart. You pee on sticks. You go for tests. It makes it super duper hard to a) "forget" about it and b) pretend that you have absolutely no role in it. We know that God will provide. That's not the question. We know that we get to have fun in the process. That's not the problem. It's just this bizarre journey that is teaching us SO much about our faith and about how big our God is and how small we are.

My friend Natalie blogged a few months ago about how thankful she is for her experience with infertility. I'm gonna have to second her. Without it, we wouldn't be drawn to Him. We wouldn't realize the amazing grace that comes through His blessings, no matter how big or small. We wouldn't be on our knees. Our little miracle to-be wouldn't be half as prayed for or half as waited on. In a way, I almost feel honored. I feel humbled. God's not through showing us His power, and that is a mighty beautiful place to be.

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