In the years between Sophia’s death and Baby Sprout’s entrance, I have steadily worked on writing Sophia’s Story. The manuscript has gone through several edits, reiterations, and rewrites. In the middle of the fourth edit, this pregnancy with Sprout sapped all the energy, courage, and time needed to continue work on my memoir. Despite the usual excuses (all these doctors’ appointments take up my free time, work is so busy I’m exhausted by evening, morning sickness has taken over my life), I cannot ignore the real reason Sophia’s Story sat on the back burner. Every day, I think about my writing. Every day, I relive the hours I have poured into it. Every day, I continue to dream that it will one day make an even bigger impact on society than it already has.
Through all my desires to see this project through, I question my actions–or lack thereof–in finishing it. Emotionally draining, working on Sophia’s Story while dealing with the constant drama of Baby Sprout has proven overwhelming. Some days, I barely function enough to make it through the hours, constantly feeling the internal struggle as the doctors take us through the ringer of disorders, problems, health concerns, and extreme anxiety.
Yet, I know I have come too far in my writing to stop. I know it has touched many people already. I know Sophia has already made the impact I had hoped for. Somehow, none of these notions qualified as motivation to work on it. Months have gone by, and not a word has been touched–until today.
In an earnest attempt at keeping hope strong for Baby Sprout, editing has commenced once again on Sophia’s Story. It deserves to be finished. Sophia deserves her story just as Baby Sprout deserves our optimism and determination to see her through this rough pregnancy.
Even editing just one more chapter, I feel at home. This story, which started over four years ago, has acquired new life. We have acquired new life. Hope is once again restored.