I lift the gray onesie to my nose and inhale deeply—it still smells like Dreft and hope. Holding this outfit brings those familiar feelings of unfulfilled longing rushing back to hit me square in the face. It also reminds me that the process of building a family doesn’t happen on a 10-minute timer but instead takes years, the flavors and nuances growing in depth and complexity.
Both my sons have worn the onesie I bought at Target when I was in the depths of longing and uncertainty. I always loved seeing them in those gray stripes, their chubby legs kicking, a visible reminder of an invisible hope I held for so long. My faith in one day having children to wear that onesie felt so tenuous and fragile for so many years. Now, the outfit was a symbol that even the most delicate seeds of hope could bloom into something tangible and true.
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To read my full essay on Her View From Home, click here.
A Continual Feast 