I watched a sad Instagram reel today. I saw a mom go through ups and downs, smiles and tears with her babies. It must have been a minute long video to sum it up. I saw the countless pregnancy tests and ultrasounds, but I also saw the miscarriage and the infant loss.

I shed some tears for her, for her babies. I shed tears for all babies and mothers, for the joy and the grief.

I had some thoughts today as Aspen was playing with my hands, her small ones turning mine over as she studied them. It came as a shock to me that I was her mother, that I was anyone’s mother. I have been given a great privilege. Someday she might be holding the hands of her own baby, noting how they’ll grow.

Every day is a blessing with her and the joy I feel in the mundane makes life worth living. I have a newfound appreciation for the meaning in things. She makes it that way. I thank the Lord I get to be her mother.

So I cry for the lost babies and the grieving mothers. I cry for the mothers watching their babies leave the house, for the babies all grown up. I shed several tears in their memory.

I feel the ache deep in my own soul of my own loss, a feeling so many women know in our viscera. 

So I pull Aspen closer to me. I listen to her slow, even breathing as she sleeps. I cherish the soft bubbling of emotion in my chest that climbs into my throat. This is a love like no other.