Here’s a snapshot of our spring!
“We had friends over the other night that had placed bets as to whether we’d unrolled our rug yet. It’s been sitting like this since we moved in the beginning of January. I know we should unroll it. Or lug it into another room. But it makes such a good log for swamp games, a perfect balance beam for toddlers, a convenient seat for adults, and comfortable pillow for sleepy dogs. It might just be a permanent fixture here.”
“Every night before bed you insist that your stuffed animals are lined up beside your pillow. “So Peanut can’t sustract me,” you say. It doesn’t always work. Sometimes he rolls around making noises, which sends you into a tizzy. Other times you are up out of bed hanging over his crib and making him laugh. Oh, the trials and tribulations of sharing a room. I hope there are many more in the years to come.”
“You work so hard for our family, but when you’re home you’re fully present. I sometimes tease you about your overactive sense of obligation, but you just look at me and say “family first.” Your dedication is one of the things I love most about you. Last night when Robo threw up at bedtime and again 30 minutes later, even though you’d worked a full day, without batting an eye you said to him, “I’ll just bring in my sleeping bag so I can be by your side all night.” We are lucky you’re in our lives.”
“These days have been some of the longest of my life. I know am blessed to be your mama. To have had two years of post nap wake ups. But some days are prettier than others. There are often lots of tears. And little hands grabbing at my pants or a toddler on my hip as I try to pull dinner together. I hold on for dear life until I feel hollow from giving or guilty for giving into the laundry and choosing to fold instead of play. More days than I care to admit I blow up Papa’s phone, shooting text after text until he finally walks in the door.
“But. The smell of your hair, still damp from sleep. The weight of your body as you snuggle into me while the sleep drifts from your eyes. The smoothness of your skin as I tickle your back to soothe your emotional, over-tired nerves. When I stop, everything falls back into balance.
“And here I am on the brink of heading back to work. And I’m scared. Not of the work. I’m scared that I missed it, that I didn’t soak it in, that I wished these days away.
“Tell me it isn’t so. Put your little fingers in my hands, snuggle your downy head into my chest, tell me it will be all right. And let me tickle your back for a few more minutes.”
“Today you invited him to play. You helped him put on his boots and held his chubby hand so he wouldn’t fall as he stepped down onto the porch to search for insects and play cheetah with you. I know it’s not always easy for you, but I count today as a win.”
“When rest time meets your love of climbing.”
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