Here I Am

Here’s what they don’t tell you about having young children. You know those moments you’ve slept late into the morning with the person you love, and you find yourself waking up slowly, gently? The moments pass as your love sleeps, turned away from you, and the sun paints a triangle of gold on their bare shoulder. And you are able to lay there uninterrupted and watch that golden triangle lazily slide across their shoulder and down their back, and you are allowed to think of nothing but their salient worth and goodness.

Well, you don’t get those anymore.

But.

You do get different moments. Moments when a voice calls your name in love and need the way that no one- no one- has ever loved or needed you before. Moments when you are the world and you give the world and you stop the world for one small beating heart. Moments when you, larger than life and smarter than smart, can make the monsters go away.

And when you feel the sweet weight of that small voice on your heart, and sticky, damp hands encircle your neck, you sigh and remember that the quiet mornings full of light will come again and when they do, you’ll then long for the way your name was called in the dark of night, like God calling to Samuel, and you’ll realize that you’ll never be happy, not really, for always wanting whatever gift has gone missing.

Comments

[kristen c]

My mom likened letting go of her kids (especially me, her daughter) to cutting off one of her arms. It doesn't kill you, but it feels like part of you is missing and it hurrrrts.

[cheekfam]

The amazing thing is that one such lilttle takes all of the time and love that you have and then the one after that takes the rest, and the one after that etc. And after you have five and they are are all the most wonderful baby that could ever be, you get to start over again with grandchildren and god children, and grand god children. And then from out of nowhere you have another one who takes all of the time and love that you have. And yet somehow there is always enough.