Seeing The Light

Dear Readers,

I am often found looking with amazement at this boy of mine. It catches my attention when he shows all the little signs of growing older.

If I am honest I can think of many days when I thought whatever difficult stage would never end. Days when I wanted that part to be over.

For instance:

I don't miss diapers. Well, maybe just the part where I rubbed him down with nice smelling lotion and we played and giggled together in our bubble of sweetness.

I don't miss the toddler tantrums in the store... although the understanding looks were more common for that age than now that he is four.

I don't miss meals, but that's a different problem all-together. We'll approach that at another time.

I don't miss fighting with him to sit still through Bible study... that could be because I'm too busy wrestling with his little brother.

I don't miss showers, I'm not sure I even remember what those are... did they involve relaxation?  Being ALONE?!?

I don't miss worrying about SIDS and other serious illnesses that seem to strike only the very young but then again... now those worries are replaced by being hit by cars, falling out of trees and jumping off tall buildings without wings or parachutes in hopes of flying.

Some days I see the light at the end of the tunnel; the struggles and demands of mothering Latham as a baby/toddler/preschooler coming to an end. I breath a tiny sigh of relief. 

But then I realize what that means... the things I'll miss... the smells... the sounds... Then I spend the day crouching in this tunnel, giving thanks for the things that have happened in this place. I cringe away from the light; at his independence. I sweep him up in my lap for cuddles and his giggles swell my heart. I close my eyes. In the darkness, I impress those things I love about my little boy on to my heart. I don't want to forget them. These tiny, precious things are like shining stars in a night sky to me. I dread the morning light more for their passing than out of fear of the things the new day will present.

This is the price of motherhood.

Love,

Starstruck in Nebraska