This morning I'm taking a break from my traditional crafty updates and I'm falling back to the original forum I used to use to share updates with family and friends. It started as emails after the birth of my first son and I titled them Mommy Tales. So no pictures today. No power tools. No crafty projects. No hot glue gun (gasp). Just words about motherhood. So ... if you find that of interest, read on.
First, let's just start with the fact it's 4 am. And I'm awake. That's right, not too happy about that. I'm even less happy that I've actually been up since 2:30 am and have completely given up hope that I'll fall back to sleep. The day has begun, like it or not.
It was of course, the little guy--just 6 months old--that woke me. He needed a new diaper and a bottle and could not be persuaded to believe otherwise. But it's actually this that brings me to this post because the only thing I'm not unhappy about at present, was the time I spent feeding and putting him back to sleep.
Even I find this odd because he was, after all, the genesis to this day ... for which countless cups of coffee and sheer willpower will be needed to sustain me as a result, it's true. But then, I guess it's not so odd because I've learned a lot since baby #1, and #2.
You see, I know now what all those people (including some of you reading this now) were talking about when they said some day this will end. Just a short couple years later and I struggle to recall all the many nights and hours I spent rocking my other two children. Literally months, years of my life, spent doing it and I barely recall a single one of them.
I even tried to remember them, burn those nights into my mind. But alas, they aren't there. Instead they have been replaced by new memories of my daughter in princess dresses and the way she paints my nails with imaginary polish. The way she places imaginary crowns on my head and gives me pretend stickers to show me I've done well today. Today I've been a good mom.
Those memories have also been replaced by the image of my son walking up to bat at his very first t-ball game this summer and us yelling "run, run!" as he sat there after the swing. I remember the first book he read to me just a few weeks ago and the way he took care of me when I was sick yesterday, taking great pains to explain why he brought me two cups of water instead of the one I originally asked for. God I love them.
Of course, there are other things too, less sweet things like the way my memory needs to recall which day is gym day to ensure the appropriate attire is there, and what color the Preschool B room is supposed to be wearing today. I need to remember to pack Malachi a lunch, and sign London's field trip slip and wash Beckham's blanket and oh ... send more diapers along too.
It's all wonderful of course. Things naturally evolve whether you've given them permission or not. And so it's nights like tonight when I don't wish that 2:30 am feeding away. In fact, instead of putting him to sleep after the bottle is down, I rock him well after he's fallen asleep. I only have the "now."
I take in his sweet breaths on my neck which for today, are truly sweet. Someday they'll be stinky, less soft. I take in the way the weight of his body molds to my chest and I appreciate the heaviness of it. The way he forms perfectly to me. I also take note that his legs drape longer than they did only a month ago and I know these days are going all too fast.
I snuggle with his solidness; he's not a skinny little newborn anymore. He has big soft cheeks, and super soft skin and he still smells of heaven (and a little stale milk). He takes big breaths, and big sighs as slumber calls him in and again I pray I won't forget this night. I'm also certain that I will so I make note to write it all down. And here I am.
So I share this with you, whether you have children or not, in hopes that you too find times when you live in the now. As much as we may want our memories to keep certain things forever, many will be replaced by new and wonderful things down the road.
Until then I will remember this night the best I can. And I'll put the coffee on.
