Motherhood

In honor of Mother’s Day, I feel like it’s as good of time as any to write down some thoughts that have been stirring in my mind lately.

I was meant to be a mom.  I’ve felt that way for long time.  Really, since I was 5 years old and had to start kindergarten just two months after Russell was born and I cried and cried because how on earth was my mom going to take care of him without my help?  I mean, I was in charge of keeping socks on his feet AND brushing is hair.

I have to say, motherhood is everything I imagined it would be.  Far more, in fact.  And it suits me well.

I had the unexpected opportunity to wait quite a while before getting to be a mom.  It gave me a lot of extra time to think about what kind of mom I wanted to be.  And it gave me a chance to hear from other moms.  Hands down I’d say the most common thing I heard was how moms were able to enjoy their second, third, and so-on babies more than their first, because with the first baby you are stressed and anxious and insecure and have to learn a lot of lessons about what really matters. 

I made it a point to really take these lessons to heart.  I’m not promised a second, third, or so-on baby.  So I will for sure be enjoying my first to the fullest.  That was my commitment and goal.  And I have had the.best.time.in.the.world fulfilling it.

Beckett is growing up too fast.  At the end of the day when I’m rocking him to sleep I can’t help but think ahead to when he’s grown and what I’ll think of when I look back.  I want to be a good steward of this time with him and do my darnedest to not to have the regret, “I wish I had cherished it more.”

I know I won’t look back and wonder whether his bed time was too late.  Whether I ever let more than three hours pass without feeding him.  Whether he sat in a poopy diaper for more than ten minutes.  Whether I totally dropped the ball by not sleep training him at four months old.  Whether I did enough tummy time with him.  Whether he could fall asleep without being held and rocked.  Whether he could roll over by his five month birthday.

So I don’t care about those things.  He is clearly thriving.  That’s all I need to know.

But I know I’ll wonder whether I kissed his fuzzy head enough.  Whether I gave him my full attention.  Whether I held him enough.  Whether I spoke sweetly to him.  Whether I squeezed him hard enough.  Whether I smooched his sweet lips despite the constant drool and risk of him spitting up straight into my mouth.  Whether I told him from an early age that he’s my boy, that I wanted him so badly.

So I do all those things, all day long.

This time is so sweet, I can barely stand it.

And this boy:

He’s so much more than I could have ever imagined in my wildest dreams.

Thanks you, Jesus.