Spring.

The dusk outside is quickly becoming night. As it is at this moment, it is dark enough to see the crisp outline of the moon nearly full, and light enough to see that the soil covering the seeds we planted this afternoon is still moist. At once I am flooded with nostalgia, reflection, and anticipation.

Since she has been a part of our family, the cycle of the seasons as seemed so much more significant to me.

Last spring I stood looking out the same window at our newly planted, first-time vegetable garden and wondered if anything would grow from the tiny vulnerable seeds we placed in the ordinary dirt. Kyle and I were so excited to be creating a home and a family.

Last summer I stood looking out the same window at the bright moon becoming full and wondered if that night would be the one in which the tiny vulnerable life inside of me would begin to make it's way out. I trusted everything was growing as it should.

Tonight I look out the window at the newly planted garden with familiar anticipation and excitement for the seeds to grow and push through that ordinary soil. I look at the moon and reminisce about carrying that tiny life inside of me. Now that dear, sweet life fills ours right up. It isn't so tiny, rather it is prodigious - overflowing - crammed to the hilt inside the little body sleeping peacefully in the next room.

I smile through my tears. The year ahead is going to be a challenging one, but I remind myself that Spring always comes again.