Tune into my monthly Relevant Radio interview tomorrow (4/20/15) at 8:30 am EST. (You can listen online.) I’ll be talking about decluttering and mentioning the book that everyone seems to be reading these days. Now it’s time to talk about this girl of mine:
Time to dust off this old blog of mine. Can you believe I started Momopoly in 2005? I’ve been at this blogging gig for a decade. Once I wrote my book I was advised to turn my rambling headquarters into something a little more professional – hence, the boring KateWicker.com URL. I am honestly getting a little tired of all the brown and looking at my picture in the left-hand corner and want to give it a facelift without spending too much moula so if anyone wants to talk about a possible design project, shoot me an email.
This week I have plans to post some belated birthday letters. I have had a child enter the double digits (um, almost six months ago. Just call me Slacker Mom) and one of my littles also celebrated another birthday. On one hand, it’s been such a delight to watch my firstborn grow into such a fun young lady. But there will always be that part of me that wants to make these walking timepieces slow their constant ticking down. Don’t grow up so quickly, kiddos. Life’s short, so why don’t you stay short? That’s not happening with my Madeline. She gets her height from her daddy. She can wear some of my tops now, and her feet are bigger than mine. She’s 10, and she’s inching very close to being as tall as I am.
Thankfully, she still looks like my baby girl when she sleeps.
Madeline makes me laugh all the time, and she is an eternal optimist who is such a good reminder for me to not turn into a frazzled stress ball or to not beat myself up for failures. She’s fun and sweet and 10 going on 30. A friend of mine has said she’s an old soul trapped in little body. She makes me proud every single day.
Of course, like most children – at least children who are not boring (I always tell myself that my kids are feisty because of their big personalities) she can also drive me to the brink of having a nervous breakdown (what we refer to as tsumommy instead of tsunami). Her chosen weapon of mass mommy destruction is leaving a trail of kid detritus all over the house. Her room’s a mess; dresser drawers are always open, shreds of paper are ubiquitous, and there are piles of books everywhere. Beyond her bedroom door, soccer cleats and athletic socks frequently litter our floors. I have to remind her 17 times – give or take – to put her dirty clothes in the laundry basket (and there’s a laundry basket in three out of four bedrooms in our house and one in the basement laundry room, so NO EXCUSE!).
But then I get to school, and her teachers talk about her work ethic, her positivity, her leadership, her organization skills (I admit that one confounds me a bit), and how she’s nice to all of the kids, and I remind myself to choose my battles. This is a lovely, fun kid. So I’ve told her she can have a little more leeway with the state of her room, but she needs to respect the rest of us and not not leave dirty socks or anything of hers in our rooms or the kitchen, living room, basement, bathroom, etc. Sure, it’s my job to help mold her into a responsible person and to cultivate good habits, but I also have to learn to accept her for who she is. She is fond of sentimental clutter. She has taped up myriad pictures her sisters have gifted her with upon her walls. She doesn’t mind dresser drawers yawning wide at all hours of the day. Sometimes all I see are the messes instead of the young woman behind them. She is happy and kind and doesn’t take herself – or obviously her bedroom – too seriously. She’s so accepting of me and all of my flaws; I need to reciprocate this compassionate acceptance.
Recently, my mom and dad had her over to spend the night, and my mom texted me, “Madeline adores you. It’s very sweet. You were the center of conversation after Mass last night.” This made my day. And my month. And quite possibly my year.
There have been occasional eye-rolls since she turned 10 (she comes by most of these less than desirable traits honestly; I was an eye-roller and apparently, her daddy’s room looked like a war zone when he was her age), but she still looks up to me. She adores me. I adore her. I can’t wait to see what the next decade holds for my sweet girl and me.
Now presenting her very, very belated birthday letter (for those of you new-ish to my blog I write a birthday letter for each of my kids every year. I plan on printing them all out and binding them and giving a “birthday letter book” to them before they leave the nest. Sniff, sniff.):
I am way overdue in writing your birthday letter celebrating your first decade of life. I won’t tell you just how late but knowing you, if I did, you’d smile and tell me not to worry. That’s how just how you are. You rarely sweat the small stuff. You give your best, but you don’t expect perfection from yourself – or from others. I have often watched the way you have navigated a certain situation – like how you were before you assisted at Mass as an altar server for the first time – and been in awe of your quiet confidence. I was no way near as self-possessed as you are at the ripe, old age of 10.
From my Instagram account. Follow along over there because that’s where I spend most of my social media hours these days.
When we arrived at church, I helped you slip into the white robe and whispered, “Are you nervous?”
“Nah,” you said. “I can always just wing it.”
Now I know this was your way of telling me not to worry. You weren’t undermining the importance of your role as an altar server, and you rarely “just wing” anything. Everyone from your teachers to your soccer or basketball coach always comment on your maturity, your unselfishness, and your leadership. God blessed you with so many talents, but He also blessed you with a heart that cares and reaches out to others. That’s what really makes me proud. Now if we could only get you to keep that room of yours clean and have you remember to not leave a trail of shoes, soccer cleats, sketches, socks, and hair ties throughout the house but as you remind me, day after day, no one is perfect. You’re willing to try new things and to have fun without caving under pressure. You’re already wise enough to know that setting “perfect” as your bar only sets you up for failure.
You’re still a sports fanatic. When I volunteer for recess duty, you’re out there with all the boys playing football. Once I saw them picking teams, and two boys were arguing over having you on your team because apparently you have one of the best arms. You could play sports all day. I’m not sure I could have handled the kind of practice schedule you do, but you thrive on the activity and always keep smiling – win or lose.
You love being around people almost as much as you love playing sports. You only wish you could play every sport every season. Oh, and you’d like to audition for plays and write a book on the side. Keeping busy keeps you happy.
There’s so much I could write about because at the age of 10 you are such an interesting person. I’m not suggesting you weren’t interesting when you were younger, but it’s such a joy to see you grow up and bake banana bread for the family, enjoy sushi, and have great and sometimes even intellectual conversations. I’ve decided to do a top 10 sort of list of ten highlights I remember from the past year. Consider this an inadequate recap because there’s just no way I can recapture all the wonderful moments and gifts you have blessed me with in the past 365 days and in the time I’ve had you in my life! Oh, my first baby girl! I’ll never ever forget the day I first held you in my arms or all those nights we both spent wakeful with you wiggling around. You still wiggle a lot just before you succumb to sleep!
Without further ado, Madeline Top 10 List (listed in no particular order):
10. I love what a great big sister you are. Sure, you fight with your siblings some and there are times when you are trying so hard to lead and organize that your sheep lash out at you and go a little bezerk, but you have such a nurturing soul. You like to sleep with Thomas when you can and on nights when Daddy is working, you’re always such a big help with Mary Elizabeth at bedtime. You can’t wait to be able to babysit, and you’re amazing with your two baby cousins. You truly love little ones and will make a great mother someday!
9. Your dry sense of humor is priceless. The things you come up with never fail to make me laugh like how you provide memorable commentary such as, “Fang [our cat] is a geek cat for a geek family.” Or, “I wish there were more people my age on our street. It would be dream to have kids knocking at my door all the time to play. Instead, I’ve got old ladies. But nothing against old people.”
One of my favorite funny moments is when you became interested in breaking a world record. You decided you could wear the most underwear at once, but unfortunately you ran into some logistical challenges because you told me, “I think I could put on more than 36 pairs of underwear [the current world record apparently]. I got to 26, but then I ran out of underwear.”
Keep laughing and not taking yourself too seriously. Oh, that reminds me of something else. At a soccer game recently, you kicked the ball with the wrong part of your foot so that it spun but didn’t really go anywhere. You immediately chuckled at yourself and then went after the ball again with more tenacity. You can laugh at yourself, but you also give your best.
8. You really do seem comfortable in your own skin. Not too long ago, I discovered you examining yourself in the mirror and I panicked as the relics of my eating disorder came crashing down in an avalanche of regretful remembrances. I thought, “Oh no! It’s starting already. She’s looking in the mirror and picking apart her body and failing to see just how strong and beautiful she is.”
Well, I could not have been more wrong.
I gently asked, “What are you thinking, Madeline?”
You grinned broadly at me and said, “I was looking at how strong my butt is. Feel it. It’s so hard, but unfortunately a strong butt won’t get you all that far in life.”
Not surprisingly, I had to gulp down my giggles, but I was also so grateful that you see yourself as being strong and that you already seem to know that you have a lot to offer the world (aside from a strong bum!). Always believe that, my love. You are beautiful just the way you are. Don’t let anyone or any disappointment or heartbreak convince you differently.
7. Watching you play sports has become one of my favorite pastimes. I admit that all the schlepping to games and practices is sometimes tough on me and the littles, but when I see you come alive on the field, head a soccer ball into the goal (but be careful with that brilliant mind of yours!), rebound a basketball, make a smart pass to a teammate, smile after a game whether you’ve won or loss, I know that all the sweat and miles covered in the car is so worth it. You are quite the athlete, and I love watching you play. The school’s athletic director had to twist my arm to allow you to play your inaugural season of basketball. I literally said no to her three times, but I finally relented. I am so glad I did. It was so thrilling to watch you play basketball, and you were a natural. Your team made it to the championship and nearly beat a team that hadn’t lost in years. At the end of the game, the coach presented the big trophy to you to take to the school because he was so proud of your leadership and positive attitude despite the disappointing loss.
You also ran your first 5K this year and came in second place just a few seconds behind first place for your age group! (Little Rachel came in third, and Mommy came in first in her age group, so now we’re all excited about racing together.) As I tell you before almost every game, “Play hard and have fun!” in all the games you find yourself in during this active life of yours!
6. You’re still quite the artist. This year you drew a picture for the yearbook cover contest and won! You’re so excited to see your artwork featured on the cover. You have a creative spirit and enjoy drawing, painting, making bracelets, learning how to knit with your Nana, baking, writing stories or plays, etc. Keep on creating!
5. You’re getting a little more in touch with your feminine side. This isn’t to say you used to be all boy, but you never were much of a girly-girl. When you were young, we had pirate and dinosaur parties. Later you fell in love with Star Wars. And, of course, we all know that first of only a handful of ballet classes is what clued me in to your propensity for sports. I’ll never forget watching you pick wedgies out of your pink leotard in between sprints across the dance floor as the other little girls gracefully twirled about! After a few classes, you started crying telling me you didn’t want to go, so we signed you up for soccer. And, well, you know the story #15 soccer knocker! Ironically, you recently had a performance at school and busted a move, and several people commented on your great dancing. You were quite the ham up there! But what I mean by this girl stuff, is that you like to wear cute clothes and dress up for church. You spend more time brushing that thick, beautiful hair of yours. Thank goodness! I hated dealing with those huge nests that would form in your hair. But you’ll still wear mismatched shoes and prefer to be in athletic shorts and a t-shirt. You’re such a good combination between having a dash of sugar spice but not being afraid to pick up a football or play in the dirt.
4. You possess a quiet faith. You’re not overly flashy about it, but you’ve told on more than one occasion that you pray every night (even when I don’t happen to pray with you because I’ve fallen asleep with one of the littles after a long, tiring day). Just today I joked with you because I saw some writing on your wrist, “Where’d you get the tat?”
“It’s highlighter,” you told me, and there on your wrist in neon pink you’d written, “WWJD?”
You’re also the one who asked me if you could train to be an altar server. It was all you taking the initiative. This faith of yours will be your greatest gift. Keep the faith. It won’t always be easy. Trust me. I’ve got a lot of Doubting Thomas in me, but I am also stubborn and so are you, so I hope we’ll both keep showing up at Mass.
3. You are an extreme extrovert. You get so much joy out of activity and being around other people. While some of us in the family need to rest our minds and be still and alone to refuel, you are energized by doing things with other people.
2. While you love to be active, you also remain a bibliophile and an artist. You enjoy doodling, painting, and just creating. You’re not as into the Rainbow Loom these days, but you have started weaving words together to create stories, and you use some great adjectives. And you love to read. Some of your favorite books recently include The Penderwicks: A Summer Tale of Four Sisters, Two Rabbits, and a Very Interesting Boy, The Penderwicks on Gardam Street, Hatchet, The White Giraffe, Wonder (me, too! I loved this one.), and 13 Gifts.
1. When you were in utero, I used to joke that you must be a Tae Bo enthusiast because it felt like you were constantly jabbing me and doing what felt like somersaults. You were born very alert. Everyone – from your proud grandparents to the nurses – commented on your attentive eyes and how you seemed to be taking everything in around you. You were baptized when you were just two months old, but people thought you were at least four months old because you were awake for the entire ceremony and looking around curiously. You didn’t sleep much. I was exhausted, but you were thankfully a happy insomniac. You just didn’t need a lot of sleep, and you didn’t want to miss anything. You’re the same way now. You saw a shirt that said, “I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” and you told me that’s how you feel, although you do need more sleep these days and like to sleep in on a rare morning when we don’t have to rush out the door. You’re a night owl though, and you love life so much you don’t want to waste anytime being horizontal. I love your fervor, your tenacious optimism, your sweetness… Right now my primary job is to be your parent. I’ve told you I’m not here for you to be your friendly pal. I’ll enforce rules you don’t like, and you probably won’t even always like me. But I know we will always love each other very much, and I can see that one day when you’re a grown woman and I don’t have to raise you any longer we are going to be great friends, and you’ll still be making me laugh and reminding me that the glass is always half-full and life is even fuller. When you’re all grown up, I envision us laughing together, going on long walks (or maybe runs?), and soaking up this beautiful life together.
I’ve listed my top 10, but there’s so much more I could write about you. One thought just popped into my head and can’t possibly pass unspoken. When I’m having a rough day and getting all weepy, you’re the first one to pat me on the back and to encourage me. “You’re the best mom in the world,” you’ll tell me with your signature assertiveness. Thank you for your compassion. Thank you for your love. Thank you for being amazing YOU. This last decade has blessed me beyond measure. I know I’m sounding like a Hallmark card, but I can’t imagine my life without you and all of your energy and effervescence. Keep being lovely you. I love you just the way you are.
Happy 10th birthday, my sweet, sweet girl!
I don’t have much of a potty mouth, and I never have. Well, I suppose that statement might not be entirely true if you define “potty mouth” as having the maturity of an 8-year-old and finding words like “poot” and “beanie” funny. Guilty as charged. But I rarely swear. I don’t even like to say the word “sucks.” I’d much rather say, “Oh, fiddlesticks!” and endure the eye-roll of my oldest. She insists a lot of kids use the word “sucks.” I told her she will be around people her entire life who make the wrong choice and that in our family “sucks” is blacklisted and if she says it, she owes me a dollar. End of discussion.
But lately a big thought bubble full of all sorts of naughty expletives has been ballooning up above my head, and the reason for this is simple: I have a 3-year-old boy. I am potty training that 3-year-old boy. Actually, that’s all wrong. The only one getting trained is moi – in the art of self-restraint in keeping those lovely expletives that make “sucks” look like part of the vernacular of Downton Abbey floating silently off in the horizon.
This is no easy task, especially when #@!* keeps happening – not in the potty but in the pants. And gone are the days of cute, breastfeeding, mustardy baby poop. People think my 3-year-old is closer to five. He’s a big boy with a big appetite. He eats a cornucopia of deliciousness. Everybody poops but generally the bigger the pooper, the bigger the poop. I’m dealing with some serious excrements and after all that green St. Patrick’s Day food, I’ve been faced with green poop. My 5-year-old eyed Thomas’s most recent gift. “It looks like the panda’s poop!” A recent visit to the zoo left the kids in awe of the gloriously green poop a panda squeezed out in front of us. Do you know how much bamboo a panda bear eats each day? Forty to 50 pounds of the green stalks. Give Thomas a little green smoothie, green bread, and green eggs, and he starts pooping like a panda.
Whereas my girls found the idea of pooping in their pants gross, Thomas doesn’t really see the problem with it. This is the same child who was nicknamed Poopcasso as a baby after I found him finger-painting with his doo-doo during quiet time. Poop in the pants ain’t no big thing, but don’t you dare say something like, “This is gross,” while cleaning him up because that’s when Mr. Sensitive comes out. Tears form in those big, brown eyes. “Don’t say it’s gross, Mommy,” he says.
Oh, but it is.
What’s been odd to me about potty training this boy is the very first time he used the big boy potty, he, in fact, pooped in it. Everyone had told me how hard boys were to potty train, and I was feeling all high and mighty. MY boy isn’t going to be hard at all. Look at him pooping like a big boy without me even putting him on the potty! When will I learn to never, ever self-congratulate myself in the parenting trenches? It always, always backfires and leaves me eating a hefty slice of humble pie or in this case, cleaning what looks like chocolate silk pie but smells like toxic waste from a bare bottom.
Yet, for several days he did his business on the potty, and my mommy hubris swelled. I never had to bribe the girls, but I was popping jelly beans into his mouth let and right. Lots of positive reinforcement going on. Then one day when the rain finally stopped and the sun was dancing in the sky, warm and bright, Thomas headed outside to play – and to poop. Ever since then he’s wanted to take care of nature’s duty in, well, nature.
Now to be fair, he does pee on the potty quite a bit, but he also frequently relieves himself on the floor and sometimes on big sister’s dolls. He doesn’t like the way diapers feel on his bigger-than-a-toddler-body and routinely complains of wedgies, but he also isn’t too fond of underwear. Or clothes. Going naked and commando is how he likes it and also how he seems to have the least amount of accidents. But I can’t bring him to the soccer fields, grocery store, and playground naked. Can I?
Oh, I know this too shall pass. (This too shall pass…the mantra I fervently chant during any difficult parenting period.) He won’t always be dropping huge loads in his pants or walking around commando. (Will he?) And it’s so easy to sugarcoat the potty training phases of my daughters when, in reality, we had our own challenges. My second, Rachel was a breeze, but Madeline, my firstborn, had some major poop issues. No, she never pooped her in pants. She just didn’t poop. The little control freak was master of her bowels and while my husband and the pediatrician told me I had to make sure she tried to poop every day, I learned quickly that you can’t make a feisty child sleep, eat, or go potty. Not that I didn’t try. I would sit in the bathroom for hours with the child, holding her hand, playing all sorts of games. “Ariel is in the cave and wants to go out swimming with her fishy friends! Can you help her get out?” In case you’re really confused here and gave birth to reasonable children who just felt the urge and went to the bathroom, Ariel was her poop and the cave was her bum. I’d read Everybody Poops aloud to her in the bathroom. And Great Expectations. And All’s Well that Ends Well. But it rarely ended well. Usually, Mom and Anti-Pooper both ended up in tears. And still, she held it in. She. Would. Not. Poop. I plied her with smoothies and dried fruit and lots of food that’s good for your inner plumbing. I’d light candles in the bathroom to calm her. I would gently coax her like the most patient poop doula, but she wasn’t ready to bring her baby into the world. On an adult dosage of Miralax she managed to hold her poop in for 15 days. That’s more than two weeks, people. Hello, enema. That finally did the trick.
Then there was my third child. Oh, she potty trained easily enough and thankfully, pooped on the potty without trouble, but when she got angry at me, what did she do? She pulled a Regan a la The Exorcist on me and stubbornly glared in my direction while she relieved herself on the only rug in our hardwood floor home. I can’t count the times I would tell her no to something and find her peeing on the floor and then feigning it was an “accident.”
Believe you me, there were some big curse word thought bubbles floating above my head back then, too.
But these days none of my girls have accidents or even pretend to have accidents when they’re upset with Mommy. I still have to remind the oldest to listen to her body sometimes because she is such an active, happy kid, she doesn’t like to take time out to do anything as boring as sitting on a potty.
I know Thomas will get there eventually. I recently tried to bribe him with fancy superhero light-up shoes since his friend across the street got a pair when he potty trained. Thomas thought the shoes were pretty cool until duty (or should I say dooty?) called. “I don’t want those shoes,” he told me firmly, and he opened the back door and headed outside like the free-spirited animal he is.
And I sighed and thought, “This suck… errr…this stinks.” Unfortunately, both figuratively and literally.
It has now been over a year since I last nursed a child. I know a few mothers who didn’t enjoy breastfeeding all that much and were glad to be through with it, but I didn’t belong to that camp. I don’t love everything about babies or motherhood – trust me – but I did love nursing. And the specter of a nursing child curled into me visits me from time to time and reminds me of all that I miss.
I not only yearn the feel of a sweet baby in my arms, nestled close to me, or the hundreds of calories my milk-making body burned while I just sat on my bum. And, yes, filling more than an A cup was nice, too.
There was the awareness of my strength, my purpose as a woman and a mother that breastfeeding brought to the surface. Each time I nursed a newborn for the first time – usually immediately after birth and a few times with the umbilical cord still attached – I discovered a new brand of bliss. My baby’s instant acceptance of me, my body’s ability to bring forth new life and then to nurture it – how could I ever doubt my strength again?
Oh, but I have and I do pretty much on a daily basis.
I wish I could bottle up that fleeting sense of my power and worth, but there are many days when I question my mothering, my ability to be enough. Love offered through nursing was more than just sustenance. It was protection. I could keep my baby safe. Love was protection, but now that my children are growing older, it’s just love. And sometimes it seems there’s not enough of it to go around.
Nursing also gifted me with the perfect excuse to be still, to be quiet, and to do nothing while actually doing something very important – nourishing my child.
My Bible study group was talking about the challenges of finding quiet time to pray and to work on our relationship with God. All relationships take work; our union with our Heavenly Father is no different. We can’t expect to strengthen our faith if we fail to ever flex our spiritual muscles or think that just showing up at church on Sunday is all it takes to become a woman of God.
I’ve been struggling with finding time for God. My relationship with Him is in need of some work.
As I watched my friend and wise Bible Study leader nurse her baby, I remembered how nursing became a perfect time for me to pray. Breastfeeding gave me a frequent excuse to withdraw into a cloistered calm with my baby or toddler. (I breastfed all of my children for longer than what is considered “average” or sadly, “normal.”). Sure, sometimes I nursed while reading a book to an older sibling or even while grocery shopping. By the time Baby #3 came around, I became quite adept at feeding my little one in Ergo as I tackled my grocery list. Once an older woman saw a chubby little foot sticking out and asked to see the baby’s face. I had to turn her down because what she would have seen more of was a huge, milk-inflated balloon of a breast.
I nursed on demand and so frequently that I had to learn to multi-task, but there were many times – especially those early morning and late night feedings – when my child’s noshing session became a mini retreat for me. During these hushed pockets of time in an otherwise noisy day that was usually filled with sibling squabbles, little girls singing, a big-mouth dog barking, and the constant cacophony of a full house, I had time to just think, ponder, pray, and be.
The world around me blurred into a calm palette of simple beauty. I forgot about the drifts of canary yellow post-it notes reminding me of this and that. My to-do list didn’t seem essential when I was feeding a baby. Nursing made me feel accomplished and calm all at the same time. It was as if my baby wasn’t only sucking milk from me, but she was also taking the stress and my OCD tendencies away.
I would find myself watching my baby’s eyelids grow heavy with each suck while long eyelashes fluttered until finally the sleepy eyes vanished behind delicate eyelids. My baby’s breathing slowed, and I would feel her tummy rise and fall against my own. So often my child’s breathing and my own would become synchronized as if we were one lovely unit.
I’m not sure why, but I vividly remember marveling at my children’s ears while they nursed. When do you stop to consider the miracle of an ear – those tiny, perfect forms that wiggle as a baby sucks?
I’d hear my baby’s small gulps, which would start out almost frantic and then slow with my little nursling’s breathing, as my body nourished her. Sometimes even after my baby pulled off, her lips would continue to suck satisfied with just the memory of my breast. A tiny starburst hand would often hold onto the fabric of my shirt or little fingers would tightly grasp my own finger, and my baby’s strength would surprise me. I loved those baby hands, their softness, the tiny dimples where knuckles would one day emerge.
I have lots of knuckles around here these days; my growing kids are going on all Cubist on me and are all angles now. Only my youngest still has that dimply softness to remind me of his baby days, and I know in a year or so he will lose it and become lean and grow up as his sisters have.
I am guilty of painting the past as perfect. When people die, we rightly memorialize them and even glorify them. We mothers are sometimes guilty of this when we enter a new season of motherhood. It’s easy to forget the constant and sometimes crazy-inducing sleep deprivation, the inability to crack the cipher of a baby’s endless crying, the loneliness of mother-infant seclusion.
And while I truly did love the nursing experience, I do remember times when I was exasperated that my baby wanted to feed again.
Everything wasn’t always all sepia-toned, but there was something beautiful about those quiet nursing sessions when I was forced to slow down, when I had the ability to discern the smallest of details like my baby’s ear or the fringe of lashes on her eyelids, when there were very little distractions aside from my ticker tape of a mind and even that seemed to slow down when I fed my babies, when it was just my child and me set apart from everything around us, discovering our own world where we existed only for each other.
I long for more of those kind of moments. My babies all grew up so quickly. I have a 10-year-old who sometimes reads the same books as I do (Wonder, Grayson) and goes on runs with me and makes me laugh. I have a 7-year-old who loves animals and is kind and sensitive and writes me the most beautiful “just because” notes and birthday poetry. I have a soon-to-be 6-year-old who has started to read, loves to draw, and has a pitch-perfect singing voice. I have a little Todzilla who leaves messes in his wake, but also gives me more spontaneous hugs, kisses, and compliments (“Mommy, you look beautiful,” he tells me at least once a day) than I probably deserve. When I ask him to please clean his room, he says, “No ‘sank’ you.” He’s even old enough to exhibit polite defiance.
Several years ago a friend of mine told me she could see me having at least eight kids. Honestly, I could see it then, too. But now as my days of fertility are waning, and life is moving so quickly, I am accepting my family size as it is and I am also realizing I need to carve out quiet time whether I have a nursing baby in my midst or not.
I had someone ask me today if I wanted more children. I paused. I used to emphatically say, “Yes!” anytime someone asked me this, and a part of me will always – no matter how exhausted or overwhelmed I may feel – long for a baby, a new beginning, a new narrative of hope that begins with conception. But I also know that I am blessed to have the four lively children I have and that this new season is pretty, darn fun and that I can’t wallow in wistfulness for the past or long for a future that may or may not include another nursing baby. I don’t want to miss out in the life that’s right in front of me.
I love watching my oldest play basketball and be a team leader. I love having my 7-year-old bibliophile tell me all about her latest book. I love how my girly-girl 5-year-old accessorizes her outfits every day and asks to play with my hair. I enjoy my toddler boy’s silliness and curiosity and how his hugs are big, strong, and frequent. These little people are so interesting, so full of personality. It’s wonderful.
So I told my questioner this: “I feel at peace with my family right now, but I’d never say no to another child. We’ll see what happens.”
That’s the truth. I desire to live life in the present tense rather than pining for the future or dreaming of the past.
But whether or not I have a nursing little one around to remind me, I need to be aware of the importance of withdrawing from the world and the busyness life, and this doesn’t include exercising to fast-paced music (this is what my alone time often consists of these days). I may not be able to use a baby as an “excuse” to seek solitude and prayer or to graciously turn down anything that pulls me away from my primary vocation as a wife and mother or zaps me of energy and joy. But I don’t need an excuse to quiet my mind and my heart, to be grateful for the everyday glimpses of beauty that are all around me like those long eyelashes, perfect ears, smiles, sunshine-kissed hair, bright eyes of my children. They may be bigger, but they’re no less amazing
Baby or not, I must slow down long enough to appreciate life, to be still, and to know that He is God.