The Happiest Day of My Life



My "Holiday Party" look (never mind the hair and lack of makeup).
January 23, 2014.
I can tell you the Happiest Day of My Life so far. I could mark it on a calendar for you if you'd like. Show you in black and white, circle it in red with a bold stroke.
I recognized it as a superbly happy day then, felt like I was close to the summit of a mountain I had failed to claim before, failed more than once, making this time "The One".

I could taste the cold, thin air of that night, stinging but refreshing as I pulled the shopping bag out of the back of my car. I was a flutter with excitement and couldn't wait to share. At more than 37weeks pregnant with Griffin, I was on top of the world. I had taken my daughters shopping the day before for a dress, succeeding in finding the perfect little black number for a date I had never hoped to make. Aksel's holiday work party is an event we look forward to every year, a time when we don't mind finding a sitter for the girls and we can take a guilt-free night to be a couple.
This year was no exception but we hadn't really dreamed of being able to go. We assumed that baby #4 would come long before his due date of February 8th and that party, with its adult food and cocktails and its big brass band and inviting dance floor, would be a regrets only affair as we spent the night at home caring for baby and company.
       As the date of the party crept closer and baby had not made the grand entrance, Aksel RSVP'd for 2 and we lined up sitters for the girls. The only thing left was for me to find something to wear...Now I have an amazing wardrobe, amassed over more than six years and a multitude of size changes between kids, so naturally I searched in my own closet for the right fit for the occasion. But nothing fit! I had never made it this far, to full term, and though I was disappointed that I would need to buy a dress last minute, especially knowing I would only wear it the one time, I was so proud to have proven that my body could carry a baby to a healthy gestation. So on Wednesday, before the Saturday fete, girls in tow to help judge the catwalk, off I went to find an amazing dress for a steal of a deal. Fifty-four outfit changes later (no I am not joking, I was determined!), I came back to the first dress I had tried. Slinky, sexy, clinging and slit to there, it was provocative and fully pregnant, and I loved it.
       I brought in the dress to show Aksel on Thursday, slipping into its cool draping fabric, letting it float over my body and relishing the chill it sent up my spine. I paraded down the stairs in the most amazing heels I own and twirled in my living room. He smiled and thought I was silly for trying it on two days early but I made him take a quick snapshot so I could see the shoes in the right perspective, darn belly in my way and all.
       My face in the photo does not do justice to the exhilaration that was starting to build. I sent a message to my doula and birth photographer, telling her to pencil us in for a baby birth Sunday morning, at 38weeks. I wanted to rejoice on Saturday night, to eat a meal I did not have to cook, knowing that my house was clean and my children were in great hands with dear friends. I was going to laugh and thank everyone for the well wishes and compliments on how great I looked- yes, I am that vain and boastful but I know I looked dam good! I planned to have a toast with my husband and a romantic tango (well, more likely a ridiculously amusing attempt at any dance with that big belly in our way) and to drive home to start a birth.
     
       My life was perfect for that moment, a few steps away from reaching the summit of that mountain, so close to placing my victory flag and putting all those arduous, torturous, failed climbs behind me. I kicked off the peep toe black-crystal and rhinestoned mules, carefully unwound the dress from my curvaceous frame and set them together next to my mirror. I could not have known then, when the world was so brilliant and bright in the crispness of the thin air so high, that I would lose just before getting my win and having it all.
I could not have known that night, as I kissed my husband goodnight and snuggled with our son so alive between us, that the earth would break open beneath our feet and I would lose my Griffin in that hole, that rupture.
        I fell into the crevasse that has been my hell not more than a day later than the Happiest Day of My Life. So far. So far I fell and so far it is to reach up, finding hand holds and kicking space to push my way out. I don't know how long it might take to attempt a run at the summit again. I don't know how long it may be before I find my nerve or definition of success, but I will I'm sure, even if it takes all life long to do it.

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