Candy Apple Eggs

There seems to be a big hole on the blog lately. Namely, that I blogged all the way AROUND Easter but haven't addressed it directly. And, yes, there's absolutely a reason behind it.

I simply didn't want to.

Incredibly mature. I know.

It's not that we didn't celebrate Easter. Because we did. In fact, the bluebonnet shots were taken after we'd had a wonderful service at church where we were surrounded by all of our ag farm friends. Yes, they're all going with us now and that's truly a blessing. Love. Them.

But the truth of the matter is that Easter hasn't been quite the same the past two years. Nor am I convinced it ever will be again, to be quite frank. Though that's not necessarily a bad thing.

What most (ok, all except two) people don't know is that on Easter 2011, I woke in a cold sweat. From a dream I was absolutely convinced was real for a solid 15 minutes. It took me that long to realize that the reason Dave wasn't next to me was because he was at work. And that Taylor was right down the hall.

And that it was just a bad dream. Because I was, in fact, still carrying our baby. We'd seen it alive and well only a few days before. But the fact remained that even though I knew that in my head, I couldn't shake the feeling. All. Day. Long.

And the next morning, I knew. Don't ask me how I knew. I just did.

The hours leading up to our (regularly scheduled) doctor's appointment were like the final countdown of dread for me. And Dave really thought I was crazy. That's my perception anyway. The truth is he really had no idea what to do with me.

Joke was on him because I had absolutely no idea what to do with myself either.

And, in all unfairness, I never actually told him what was on my mind. I was just irritable. Incredibly so.

And when I found out Dr. K was running late because of a delivery, I literally wanted to sit in the (very busy) waiting room and cry. And when I saw a co-worker's expectant wife sitting across the room, I wanted to become instantly invisible.

We all know how that appointment turned out at this point. And, while the Easter's date changes (somewhat wildly) each year, my association of this event with the holiday will probably not. Ever.

And that's ok. Truly. 

Because what I realized this year - as I was dying candy apple eggs with my girl - is that a lot of things changed that day. But the most important ones did not.

Though there is obviously no healing power in Easter eggs, there is in laughter. And in seeing yourself in your child. And watching her somehow be all of the things you always wanted to be but couldn't perfect. 

And, for this Easter, that was enough. More than enough.

For that I am eternally grateful.