The Things We Miss

Life has a funny way of reminding us what really matters.

Last week, my family and I jumped on a plane to San Diego because it looked like our son was about to arrive. Our incredible surrogate was showing signs that things were moving quickly, so we packed our bags, kissed our routines goodbye, and headed west.

A week later... We're still waiting.

We've spent three nights in a hotel, followed by several days in an Airbnb that could have benefited greatly from a deep clean, and now we're about to move into another Airbnb as we continue waiting for our little boy to make his entrance.

Today, my four-year-old daughter quietly said, "I miss home."

It was as though she'd reached into my own head and spoken my thoughts out loud.

So we started making a list.

"I miss my playroom," she said.

"I miss our shower," I replied.

"My toys."

"Our coffee maker."

"My bedroom."

"Our bed."

"The green car and my car seat."

"Our backyard."

The list kept growing.

None of these things are extraordinary. In fact, they're wonderfully ordinary. They're the kinds of things we rarely give a second thought to because they're simply... there.

Until they're not.

It's funny how quickly you realize that your own shower isn't just a shower. Your own bed isn't just somewhere to sleep. Even your favorite coffee mug, your spot on the couch, or the familiar drive home become little anchors that quietly make life feel comfortable and safe.

It made me wonder how much of life we move through on autopilot.

Not just our homes, but our health. Friendships. Our ability to walk, laugh, hug someone we love, or pick up the phone and call our parents. The routines that sometimes feel repetitive are often the very things that create the stability we crave when they're taken away.

Don't get me wrong - we're making wonderful memories here. San Diego is beautiful. We've explored beaches, parks, restaurants, and watched our daughter experience new adventures. There is so much to be grateful for - even the stinky seals in La Jolla cove. 

But gratitude isn't reserved for the extraordinary moments.

Sometimes it's found in the anticipation of returning to your own front door.

I have a feeling that when we finally arrive home - with a newborn in our arms and an exhausted family in tow - I won't complain about unloading the dishwasher quite so quickly. I'll appreciate the familiar creak of the stairs, the smell of our home, making coffee in our own kitchen, and climbing into our own bed.

It's easy to believe that gratitude comes from getting something new.

Sometimes it comes from rediscovering what you've had all along.

Keep up the great work 

Mark :)