t: Hopeful, Inspiring, OMSH, photos 13 Comments
We grow them inside us, know their twists and twirls, feel their hiccups, endure their kicks and push against their deep stretches into our ribs as the womb wraps them tighter and tighter.
Then labor arrives and our body muscles them out of us, one contraction at a time, until they are placed in our arms – tiny bundles of amazement, all beautiful, goopy, and sticky with love.
We take them home and stare, smell, feed and change them for months on end. Sleep escapes us and time morphs into 2 to 3 hour stretches between feedings; somewhere along the way they move to a more regular schedule and life gets just a bit more restful.
Early independence comes in a rush. “I can do it myself!” is their mantra and we knowingly sit back for the ride and watch. When frustration overwhelms them, we try to help again…sometimes we’re graced with an easy time of it, but more often than not, they push us away with even more vehemence, determined to deliver beyond their capabilities.
Ironically, separation anxiety arrives shortly thereafter and there’s no tearing them off our bodies. We get “touched-out” and are ready to walk out the door for a 20-minute grocery store get away when the Mr. comes home.
And then, perhaps daycare, pre-kindergarten, elementary, and on…
They become a person, not a baby with predictable schedules and discernible needs, but children and pre-teens with elevated emotions, articulate questions, social pressures, and absolute brokenness when something or someone acts out in their own immaturity.
They become their own person.
With their own personality, their own mindset, their own mannerisms and modes of functioning.
It isn’t easy, but it is even more treasured – the relationship becomes rich and meaningful, difficult and frustrating, elaborate and joyful, and…ironic as it seems, flawed, but perfect.
Mine is 11 and tomorrow, she’ll be 30; it’ll go that fast.
I want to remember.