The journey of motherhood is continually changing for me

This Sunday will be my fifth Mother's Day. How can that be? I remember the first one vividly. It was rich with joy, satisfaction, and a blessed fullness. For so many years, I could barely get through a Mother's Day without feeling a sense of desperation, longing... and despair. And then suddenly, miraculously, I was a mother. On that first Mother's Day celebration, BOY was six months old. And, I was five months pregnant with GIRL. It was Mother's Day alright. More like ...Holy Mother of GOD, JCK! Yes, our bounty overfloweth...

Yesterday we had a special Mother's Day tea at church. While the children were happily engaged upstairs, the moms and little babies were downstairs. It is always lovely to sit with other women, sharing stories, with a plate full of goodies perched on your lap and sipping tea in a real china cup. Somehow everything slows down for a bit. Much of my life with two young children feels as if I am on the run. So, to sit, to experience the food, to savor my tea ... feels quite extraordinary. And decadent...really. These moments of living life at a leisurely pace are essential for my being.

After the tea, the kids came down from childcare to have a treat or two, and then they wanted to run around outside with their friends in the courtyard. So, there they were, seven children racing across the grass, scattering apart, and then gathering under the great oak tree that dominates the courtyard. Pausing to swing their legs through the thickness of fallen leaves, irresistable to small feet. And then they were off! I watched my BOY & GIRL, admiring the strength of their fast moving legs, so full of life, their hair shining in the sun. Hooting and shrieking with pleasure in the moment. And I felt content...

The journey of motherhood is continually changing for me. I no longer have a baby snuggling into my neck who smells of yeasty milk, or a toddler reaching up to a table loaded with possible dangers. My daughter no longer cries when I leave her with her peers. She wants to be a participant without me. I am not needed there. My son checks in with me more often, asking if he can have another cookie, or if he can run off to join friends. We have conversations. They share what they've done at preschool. They've memorized our phone numbers. They sing songs. They have full little lives. Sometimes with me and sometimes not... It is only when I step into their room at night, enveloped in darkness, that it feels the same as when they were babies. I stand and listen to their soft breaths in the dark, kiss their velvety cheeks, and weep...



Happy Mother's Day!

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