Can I just share a piece of my heart with you today?
I see you walk by, baby in stroller, walking as fast as you can. I know you’re trying to get back your pre-baby body. I know you desperately want to hold on to the identity you had before this wiggling, crying, bundle of energy became your identity. I know the hours of mundane existence of being a new mom. It’s taxing. It’s exhausting. It’s nothing that a sane person would willingly sign up for.
You don’t know me. You walk by my house and you don’t know me. Inside is this momma. With three babies, one almost ready to leave the safety of her home. And she looks at you and your baby. And she weeps. She weeps because she spent too many hours praying for those days to end. The endless hours of changing diapers, consoling tears, leaking breasts and sleepless nights.
The days of learning to guide and not mold a toddler awakening to his own existence. The days of NO. MINE. NO. NO. NO. Until she wanted to hide under her own bed and scream NO!
The days of making play dates, teaching to share and reading Dr Seuss. Over and Over and Over. Until she wanted to spork her eyes out if she says, “Sam I am.” ONE. MORE. Time.
The days of answering WHY for the hundredth time. Of explaining why you can’t put your finger in the mouth of the dog and why you need to hold my hand crossing the street.
The days of making lunches, kissing foreheads and waving goodbye as the yellow bus rolled away. The days of parent conferences, last-minute projects and endless hours in the car.
Those days rolled by and she’d pray. Pray that it would be easier. That she’d have a moment of rest. That she’d be able to do something just for HER, for once.
And then her baby became a teenager. And the hugs stopped. The need for her was less. The battle now was to savor every last second of her teenager’s life. Because reality was that her time was almost over.
And she wept. Because she’d focused on what she didn’t have, instead of what she had. She’d thought about what she had given up and not what she was given. She was too busy being tired to savor the moments.
And I look at your baby. And I look at you. And my heart just cries. STOP! I want to scream. I want to run outside my door and stop you. Look you in the eye. And say, SLOW DOWN. These days go so fast…and you don’t get them back. No matter how hard you pray and beg and plead with YHWH…they are gone.
So, I savor the last moments of my children. These days of planning, running, giving. Because the time for me is going to be soon.
And that makes me weep.