Photo Credit: Darren Johnson / iDJ Photography via Compfight cc
First it’s the baby, with all his 6-10 lb glory (the exact mass of your bundle of joy may vary). Then it’s him and all his stuff, oh the stuff. The baby stuff that fills, my house, my mind, my heart. The grocery bags in one hand, baby and diaper bag on the other arm, fumbling with the keys and scrambling to get the door open. The lowering a sleeping body into the crib or hauling to bed of the much larger toddler or preschooler who has fallen asleep on the couch, insisting they don’t need naps anymore. It’s the baskets of laundry, washed and dried but hardly ever put away.
Yet it’s more than that. It’s the way my spirits rise when they do something unusually kind or loving. Watching a new skill or ability bloom before my eyes. My almost (dear Lord when did he get so big) 11 month old smiles and claps when he sees me coming. My four year old requests a “big squeeze”, a hug so hard it pushes to the air out of his lungs but he still laughs and asks for more. My seven year old who still wants to cuddle and begs me to read for hours when I’ve captured her imagination with a book.
Sometimes I let the negativity drag me down. But if I latch onto those beautiful moments and let myself live there for a while, I am changed for the better.
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Beautifully said, all those small daily grind things a mother does is ultimate the acting of lifting up her children. They’re hugs, and spoken need for physical closeness and time is their beautiful way of lifting up the mother. The daily grind of life, easily forgotten that it is an act of lifting. Thank tou for the reminder.
(I came over from the five minute Friday link-up)