Joshua is a very easy kid to parent. He's a sweet boy with a big heart. Although he doesn't always wear his emotions on his sleeve, he is quick to be a peacemaker, quick to give me hugs, he thinks very intuitively and likes to ponder about how things work.
I was going through my phone and found a paragraph he had written. It was his theory about G force and how objects dropped in a car don't fly into the back window. Here is what he wrote:
"Did you know that the reason we don't fly off the earth is because of g force. The earth's gravity is stronger than the g force. If I throw a crayon in the air, it would not hit the back of the car, is because it has the same momentum as the car, and that is also why we don't land in Europe when we jump (because the earth is spinning at jet speed, and we are traveling the same course at the same speed)."
The other day, Hannah lost her first tooth. It was bleeding a lot, and I don't like blood. Joshua acted very grown up and went and got me a wet paper towel and helped stop the bleeding.
Sometimes I marvel at how grown up my kids have become and just how fast time has gone by. To think that this young man in front of me was the same little boy who used to ask me if he was being a useful engine, because he loved watching Thomas the Train so much, just makes my heart hurt and rejoice at the same time. He is my oldest, with that comes a lot of firsts. The first child to ride a bike, the first child to lose a tooth, the first child to get the Lord's holy priesthood, etc. With my middle children, I have the opportunity to kind of live in those moments better, with my younger children, those same moments carry a twinge of sadness that lurks secretly below the surface because those moments--although firsts for them--are last moments for me. They are the last first steps, the last nursing session at 3 am, the last time a baby of mine chewed through the words "mama" and "dada" for the first time, and the last time one of my own cried for me as I snuck out of the nursery room at church when I left them for the first time. So while sometimes I get caught up in the first first times with my oldest and there is a lot of excitement with those moments, time still sneaks up on me and punches me in the stomach. I suddenly become very aware that this young man in front of me is not that same terrified little kindergartner who squeezed a death grip on the playground bars and pressed his wet cheeks against those same bars and cried out for me to not leave him. He's taken chances and hurdled over childhood mountains to become confident and capable, and surprises me at times with a mature sense of being.
Sometimes I still think of myself as that young, inexperienced mother. That mother who's nights were full of nursing and changing, and bad dreams, and army crawling out of bedrooms. That mother who had nights that spilled over into days full of prayers and tears and worry and joy, sticky kisses, and fists full of dandelions. There were park dates and play dates, fights over holding my hand and sitting by me at the table... those moments... those moments that seem to pass so slowly that sometimes I had to get really creative with how I spent my time so that I didn't go insane. Those days were so full of diapers and babies that needed me so much, finding any moment alone was heavenly. My body was needed by others so constantly. Those days made me realize just how much I was capable of giving of myself and loving so completely and yet always feeling like I was falling short. How many nights had sat outside a bedroom door and listened to the cries of my baby who was learning how to sleep through the night and felt the way their tears hurt me and called to me? How many nights did I pat the back of a child and listened for slower breathing, deeper breathing, breathing that meant that they had finally fallen asleep and if I ever so gently lifted my hand, maybe I'd be able to sneak out of there and go back to my husband. Too many times I second guessed myself and yet tried to rely on my intuition anyway. How often had I juggled a nursing baby, a toddler on my leg, and a whisk in my hand? Slowly those moments passed, until they faded and changed into something different.
That young mother, who's body gave so much, learned something along the way. I've learned something about knowing when to let go and when holding on meant being strong. And, when time sneaks up and punches me in the stomach, it's ok to watch my children sleep and breath in that moment of both joy and mourning. To let myself really feel it, feel the loss. The loss of something beautiful and the growth of something divine. Sometimes I kiss them and tell them that I love them before I make my way back to my own bedroom, to sleep without interruption.
Someday I'll write another post about all of the happiness and love that I feel in this chapter of motherhood, for there is much. But, today is a day of reflection. Today is a day to rejoice in what I had, live for what I have, and look forward to whatever lies ahead. With my husband at my side, this journey is glorious!
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