Thankful — by Susan R. Hughes

In Canada we celebrate Thanksgiving on the second Monday in October. I was woken that morning by three little girls crawling into bed with me, and for a warm and fuzzy moment I thought: This is what I’m truly thankful for. Then they started shoving, fighting and demanding breakfast.

I’ve almost forgotten what life was like for me and my husband before our girls came along. But I will never forget the crushing disappointment of learning that conceiving a child was going to be a struggle for us. We went through four long years of yearning and wondering if we’d ever have a family. Babies seemed to be popping up all around us, and my heart ached whenever I held someone else’s newborn. As each holiday passed, I imagined how much more meaningful (and fun) the day would be with little ones bringing their innocent sense of wonder and exuberance to the occasion.

Thanks to the miracle of fertility technology, our home is now overrun with children (an 8-year-old and 3-year-old twins), and I’ve discovered that no matter how long you waited and how desperately you wanted kids, raising them is hard work, fraught with stress and self-doubt. With young ones the rewards are the little things: giggly wet kisses waking you up in the morning, and warm little bodies wrapped against you with absolute trust and love. Even if it lasts for only a moment.

You try your best, knowing you will make mistakes but hoping none of them are major—and having faith that someday your kids will look back on their childhoods and feel thankful for the parents that raised them.