Whew, nap time. I set a steaming cup of tea on the side table and sank into our comfy maroon glider. Propped my feet up on the ottoman. I opened up the little black book I use to record all of Baby Girl's accomplishments, quirks and funny stories. Today was her first birthday, so I wanted to make a special entry. I wrote about how much I loved being her mother, about all of the bike rides and walks we'd taken, Bible stories we'd read together, songs we'd sang and played on the piano together. I wrote a little more and then paused. What were some other things we'd done together? I read back over my list. Then all of a sudden I felt my throat get tight. Tears started welling up in my eyes and the back of my neck tingled.
I wasn't just writing down a few fun things we did. I was writing down my hopes and dreams of the last fifteen years. Slowly opening the door to the bedroom after nap time, saying, "Do I hear a baby girl?", then seeing her little head pop up in the crib, her little cloth diaper butt bouncing up and down in excitement. Sitting at the breakfast table, scraping some eggs off of my plate and onto hers, talking about what a fun day we're going to have. Buckling her little bike helmet under her chin as she swings her fat little legs against her seat. Passing her pieces of celery to chew on as I chop some up for lunch. Feeling the weight of her body on my back as we walk out to the mailbox, then handing back a piece of junk mail so she can share in the fun. Hearing her shrieks of laughter as Hubs and I tickle and play with her at the end of a long day, even though we're both so tired.
All at once the past and present got tangled up. For years these had been my dreams, and now they were memories. Already done.
Do you ever feel like your life is full of waiting? I do. Waiting to graduate high school and "be an adult". Waiting for the right man to marry. Waiting for a baby to come. Waiting, waiting, waiting. There are still big life events that I'm waiting for. The Bible says that hope deferred makes your heart sick, BUT when desire comes, it is a tree of life.
The little black book became a blur in front of my face. I couldn't hold back tears, sobbing uncontrollably. No human being deserves the kind of happiness, the tree of life I've experienced in the last year. There are no words to express the extreme joy and constant satisfaction that comes from spending every day with a tiny companion; watching her grow and learn new things, sharing in her excitement and she sharing in mine. Watching her grimace as she sucks a bit of my smoothie up the straw. Wiping bubbles off my face because she's splashing in the dish water. Popping her in the front of the grocery cart, letting her hold the grocery list so we can go grocery shopping together. Her cute little fake laugh that tells me she's only laughing because I am, not because she thinks something is funny. The way she bobs up and down when she hears music somewhere, or starts clapping when I sing "Do Lord... oh do Lord... oh do remember me!" Helping her drop pennies in the big glass water jug that we call her "wedding fund", watching the intense concentration on her face melt away when her hot, sticky penny joins its fellows at the bottom of the jar. Watching her fall asleep at my breast.
I write about saving money. Saving money is not my passion. I write about saving money in hopes that some unhappy wife or mother can quit bagging groceries, waiting tables or cleaning offices and come home to create sweet memories and a little piece of heaven with her family. No regrets.
Love,
Bethany
I wasn't just writing down a few fun things we did. I was writing down my hopes and dreams of the last fifteen years. Slowly opening the door to the bedroom after nap time, saying, "Do I hear a baby girl?", then seeing her little head pop up in the crib, her little cloth diaper butt bouncing up and down in excitement. Sitting at the breakfast table, scraping some eggs off of my plate and onto hers, talking about what a fun day we're going to have. Buckling her little bike helmet under her chin as she swings her fat little legs against her seat. Passing her pieces of celery to chew on as I chop some up for lunch. Feeling the weight of her body on my back as we walk out to the mailbox, then handing back a piece of junk mail so she can share in the fun. Hearing her shrieks of laughter as Hubs and I tickle and play with her at the end of a long day, even though we're both so tired.
All at once the past and present got tangled up. For years these had been my dreams, and now they were memories. Already done.
Do you ever feel like your life is full of waiting? I do. Waiting to graduate high school and "be an adult". Waiting for the right man to marry. Waiting for a baby to come. Waiting, waiting, waiting. There are still big life events that I'm waiting for. The Bible says that hope deferred makes your heart sick, BUT when desire comes, it is a tree of life.
The little black book became a blur in front of my face. I couldn't hold back tears, sobbing uncontrollably. No human being deserves the kind of happiness, the tree of life I've experienced in the last year. There are no words to express the extreme joy and constant satisfaction that comes from spending every day with a tiny companion; watching her grow and learn new things, sharing in her excitement and she sharing in mine. Watching her grimace as she sucks a bit of my smoothie up the straw. Wiping bubbles off my face because she's splashing in the dish water. Popping her in the front of the grocery cart, letting her hold the grocery list so we can go grocery shopping together. Her cute little fake laugh that tells me she's only laughing because I am, not because she thinks something is funny. The way she bobs up and down when she hears music somewhere, or starts clapping when I sing "Do Lord... oh do Lord... oh do remember me!" Helping her drop pennies in the big glass water jug that we call her "wedding fund", watching the intense concentration on her face melt away when her hot, sticky penny joins its fellows at the bottom of the jar. Watching her fall asleep at my breast.
I write about saving money. Saving money is not my passion. I write about saving money in hopes that some unhappy wife or mother can quit bagging groceries, waiting tables or cleaning offices and come home to create sweet memories and a little piece of heaven with her family. No regrets.
Love,
Bethany
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