from that naive and scared 22 year old’s view of
life. I think about the stretch marks that grace
my belly, and how I have a love-hate relationship
with them, and with my extra baby weight.
I think about these things - little moments I remember from my past as a new mother, snippets
of all the times I failed over and over, memories
of joys I found in each newborn babe - all of it
mingled and intertwined into one long stretch of
motherhood where giving birth and surviving the
first year were really not the horrors I thought
them to be at the time.. and I breathe deeply in,
I sigh, and I realize.... THIS is what life is about.
I am living.
I’m holding on, traveling the parenting tunnel,
taking my children along by their hands as they
take me along by my heart.
I received a text from my husband telling me he
was on his way. I geared up for the noise and
chaos that would ensue when the door opened
and they all rumbled inside with the breeze and
the spring sun still warm on their skin.
I’ve been having issues lately with noise and
my nerves and I knew it wouldn’t be pleasant
to have their noise return. But I also knew that
those hours I just had to myself were indeed a
gift - but were not THE gift. The gift was my family, coming home to me after a few hours of time
to themselves, filling my home once more with
their laughter, scent and yes, even their chaos.
It was having them rub and love up on my belly,
talking to their baby sister inside, and then just
as quickly flitting off again. It was the snuggling
my almost-5 year old is so good at, and the easy
way my older son settles in to alone mode to
play with his Angry Birds for a time. It was that
familiar and comforting atmosphere of the past
10 years of life enveloping our home, regardless
of the difficulties or the negative.
It was pure, unadulterated Love.`
The gift was
my family,
coming home
to me after a
few hours of
time to themselves, filling
my home once
more with their
laughter, scent
and yes, even
their chaos.
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