Today, I watched the toddler one dress up like Snow White with patent leather tap shoes and dance. I saw her give hugs and receive love tackles. I saw the light in her eyes as she bounced on her teacher's lap to Row, Row, Row your Boat. My heart bloomed for my precious girl. My heart swelled at her joy. While Sister bounced across the circle, the little bear cub (so nick-named because of her constant growling...), bounced happily on my lap... more sunshine to my heart. This week, I have also seen tears of frustration. I heard the Independent One scream "No!" one too many times for my tried patience, and I've witnessed the throwing of dirt on the helpless one. Did I mention stumbling out of bed every.two.hours every night this week?
How did I get here? I mean here - mother of two. I have birthed two babies. I have brought two babies home, nursed two babies. Two daughters. Somehow I am here. I am doing this. This thing that I grew up dreaming about.
Somehow the realization of my dreams is more real than I anticipated... as real as big girl beds, pull-ups, spit up and the like. Growing up, and as a young bride, and even while feeling my oldest, my first, kick inside me, I pictured a golden glow around motherhood... maybe some dramatic music for effect. I dreamed of the joy of nursing and soft, squishy, kissable baby skin. I idealized the holidays and memory-making of building a childhood.
I did not anticipate the every-day-ness of motherhood... the make breakfast, clean face, go to park, make lunch, nap, afternoon activity, make dinner, and nursing in between, every-day-ness of it. I did not think about, nay, know about the stumbling out of bed throughout the wee hours of the morning, night after night. You mean babies don't magically start sleeping through the night at four months and sleep blissfully every night from then on? I didn't think about potty training (and accidents) and preschool and my precious newborn telling me "No!" No, all these secrets of seasoned mothers alluded me.
And here I am in the realness of this calling. I love it. I really, truly love it. There is no other purpose I would rather live daily in. And yet, if I'm really honest, when I'm at the end of myself, when I look in the mirror at my stretched thin body, I sometimes don't. Sometimes I want my space. I want my time. I want my sleep. And quite often I want what I want now.
And then I remember with sadness that someday I will have my time, and my space, and my sleep. No one will call out for me in the darkness, or ask for me to carry them back to bed because they are afraid. I will have a whole night's sleep, night after night. And when that day comes, I will remember the love that these weary arms held. I will remember the comfort of the little rocking chair in the girls' room. I will remember rocking my dear girl to sleep every day for two years. I will remember the squeal of delight and the joyful kicking of my blue-eyed baby when she first sees me peak over the edge of the crib. I will remember and miss this... this here and now.
And then I remember that this is a season. A beautiful, difficult, sometimes painful, joy-filled season. This is my purpose. My calling. Today, I choose to open my hands and my heart to this season, to the Creator of this season, to the Giver of all good things. I am humbled. I am thankful.
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