My children are growing up so fast.
Last night T got to stay up again, his new adjusted bedtime, 45 minutes after his brother. He cleaned up the yard for me in exchange for 25 cents. We played a board game and ate popcorn together.
This morning his brother climbed into my bed, and when we went to go downstairs I carried him, long legs hanging down, swinging side by side against my hips.
The baby was already with her daddy, rolling all over the floor. And after nursing she sat on the carpet surrounded by me, holding herself up, chatting away and playing with her toys.
I relish every one of these moments. From when they were babies in my arms, to eating popcorn and talking about girls – heaven help me he’s only 6. I can still feel every moment I have ever held them like muscle memory. I can still feel the warmth of their skin and the tap, tap, tap of their hands against my body as they clamor for my attention.
I always say that I understand our heavenly father because of how wonderful my earthly father is. Talk about a good model. But my children have taught me what it is to be a mother. My love for them, my desires for them, the way I feel the weight of their little bodies even in their absence, this is but a shadow of God. And rather than feel overwhelmed by how much he loves, I feel so blessed, that he chose us mothers to feel what he feels, to experience what he experiences, and to love as he loves.
God chose a small insignificant girl to bear, birth and bring up our savior, and he chooses us anew each day to a real, earthy, tangible knowledge of that experience.
Linked with Kate Motaung’s Five Minute Friday, a time to write without editing. This week’s prompt is Grow.