I went shopping for jeans today. I have been losing a bit of weight and now that the Indiana weather has decided to become winter overnight, I’m finding many of my jeans from last winter a bit baggy. I’m not one that is up to speed on the latest fashions and I prefer comfy and reasonably priced. To Old Navy we go!

Not having a clue what size, cut, length, color, or fit I would prefer, I walked around the store gathering a range of sizes from various shelves, tables, and their weird display hooks. Rockstar, Sky-Hi, Skinny, Slouchy Straight, Cropped, The O.G., and the Boyfriend. I grabbed them all because “trying on doesn’t cost anything.” 

I soon was pleased that I fit into and thought I looked pretty good in the smallest size I had brought into the fitting room. I dove into the stack to find all the pairs in that smaller-than-anticipated size. The first thing I noticed about the next pair I tried on was that they were button-fly flare jeans. I laughed as I did a little dance in the fitting room because I had a pair of jeans very similar to a pair I wore in high school. What is old is new again, but that does not make me old! After a trip down memory lane, it was time to see what the next pair had in store and off came the button-fly flares.

 In front of the large unflattering fitting room mirror, I see my not-in-high-school-any-more self. My abdomen crossed with scars. The scars are daily reminders of my surgeries and the children that will never grow in my abdomen. Scars that are reminders of how much life I have lived and experienced since I last wore a pair of button-fly flare jeans. Scars that make me me and that person is someone that Josh loves and I have learned to love. It was quite an about-face from dancing in the dressing room but a change that hits often and without warning. That is something that the scarred belly me knows. 

Mourning. You never are “over it”. Loss is something that you can be reminded of frequently. Mourning the children that I will never have. Memories of children that are really just daydreams while I watch my niece and nephew play on a playground. Memories of watching a movie with my brother, but remember he passed away before the movie was even filmed. Mourning. It never goes away, it just is with you changing you forever, just like the scars on my stomach. 

One reason we shared for our move back to Indiana was for our family. Yes we both desire to be closer to our siblings, parents, grandparents, nieces and nephews. But we also desire to grow our own family and Sugarfield home is an integral part of that plan. We don’t know exactly how our family will grow, foster care, adoption, foster to adopt but planning for the unknown has been a massive part of planning Sugarfield.  

It is hard to plan for the unknown. High school Liz had no idea of all the unknown events that would shape the path of my life. We have done the best we could with the knowledge we have to plan for the unknown. This house includes bedrooms for children, a wide stairway for paper airplanes, a spigot near the back door for hosing each other off after a hard day of playing outside, a flex room for however we need to flex, and a living room with several locations for a Christmas tree. But more on that later. 

Josh shared a bit about our move and why we moved. But here is the deep down and dirty part of why we moved. We moved because we are mourning and learning to grow in that. We moved because it is hard to steer a docked boat. 

I didn’t buy the button-fly flare jeans. The past is in the past and I have had that look before.