Six months of trying and still no baby. It was all I could think about. Conceiving our first child had been an 18-months-long project, and I wasn’t getting any younger. I didn’t think I could stand the agony of another long wait. The suspense is too much!
“Let’s just enjoy life in the meantime,” my husband said after I broke the news to him over breakfast that, yet again, we’d had no luck.
In the meantime? I thought. And what if this never happens?
Just then I heard a whistling outside. From my bedroom window, I saw three little birds perched on a tree branch. They were chirping their hearts out. For what? I wondered. It was just an ordinary day, and yet the trio could not contain their joyous song.
Kind of like my son’s giggling when his dad plays tickle monster, I thought.
I was so blessed to have those two in my life. We were a happy trio. If that was as big as our family ever got, I would still have a lot to sing about.
Eventually I found out another little bird was about to join our nest. But I’d made the most of the “meantime,” celebrating the blessings I had rather than agonizing over the ones I didn’t. Today our quartet sings a joyous song.
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