the heart of a mother: I miss you when you sleep.

April 25, 2012, Michaela Evanow, 0 Comments

It’s true, I wait for you to wake up from your nap, just so I can hold you again. When I hear you stirring, my heart jumps with anticipation, even when it’s raining and my eyes are tired. I miss you when you nap, Miss Marigold.

Never have I encountered such a beautiful thing. Motherhood. Watching you grow each day, breaks and lifts my heart. I want to keep you as a tiny bird for as long as I can, looking up at me with such hope in your eyes, sighing with pleasure when you’ve had your fill of milk, closing your heavy eyelids as I gently burp you (darling, you can’t even burp yourself and it’s precious!) I can’t believe I am missing your babyhood already. When you are still a baby, a newborn even.

Florence you are breaking my heart. You are growing. You are changing. I keep hearing you will get better with age, more fun, easier to connect with. But my love, you are the sweetest thing right now.

Every day I look forward to my mama rituals with you. First, we get up in the morning, and this never gets old, even if I’ve seen you multiple times through the night. Usually you give a little cry, which is helpful because I might just sleep through your gentle fussing. Then, after I’ve changed you and started brewing my coffee, I sit with you on the couch, you with your wide, beautiful eyes, not yet changed from their newborn blue-gray. And you nurse happily, content in my arms, with one little hand wrapped behind my waist, tickling my skin, palm opening and closing. The other hand is usually grasping the top of my shirt, holding on tightly, like you’re holding my hand as we cross the street.

After breakfast, you being to smile, not yet ready to coo, but you’re trying. You can see me now, and often you lock eyes with me. I have to stop whatever I’m doing and stare right back at you. And then smother you with kisses and hide my face in the sticky, warm folds of your neck.

I’m ready to have another baby, but at the same time, won’t be ready for years. That’s a good thing my dear. Some mothers swear it’ll be years and years before the next baby, after a long and tiresome labor. Others, like me, after a difficult pregnancy. But time and time again, I hear these mothers, and I hear myself, saying…I want another one!

Because babies are intoxicating. Giving birth is one of the greatest highs. Holding your baby, seeing your baby, nursing your baby for the first time, will break any woman into a million, little pieces of love. And that won’t change with each new child, because we are given the gift of love by our Creator King. And love never fails, even when the nights are long and sleepless. Love never fails, when there is sickness, fear and countless questions. Love is strong and unbreakable, especially when you’re up with a feverish child, holding his damp cheeks against your chest, whispering prayers into his hair. Love washes the wounds from the playground, wipes the throw up, spit up, tears from your skin and wraps you in a cradle hold until you no longer fit.

A love like this changes you. A love this grand could not come only from my wellspring. It must be nurtured and tended to over the years. It must be drawn out into the wilderness, until it relies on no one, but the King.

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