I'm Going to Miss This

The long and short of it is, I already miss what I'm about to write about.  Each time I look at my boys, I want to make a concrete memory of that particular moment--the smells, sounds, how it feels and looks, all the sensations--because I don't want to miss out on, or forget a thing.  I think it's one of the reasons I blog, and one of the reasons I take so many pictures--I know my memory is a joke, and I want to be able to look back on these days and remember them.

Years ago, when Noah was screaming his way through infancy, I glared holes through older, well meaning women who told me I would miss it, and to enjoy every moment.  I would thank them half heartedly (if that), wanting to give some snarky comment instead.  "Just so you know, I'M NOT GOING TO MISS THIS! AND I'M NOT ENJOYING THIS, EITHER!"  These days, I find myself wanting to give that same advice to young moms: "You WILL miss this--I know it's hard, and I know the days are long, but it's so worth it.  Please cherish these moments because they don't last forever.  They go way too fast, even though I know it doesn't seem that way right now."  When I'm given this advice nowadays, I whisper, "I know.  I already do, and I'm grateful for this chance," as I pull my kids closer.  Sometimes, if the person wants to talk, I share our story; other times I just promise the kind old lady I will take good care of my kids, and love every moment.

Now, as I rock Ezra to sleep and wear him in his kangaroo pouch around the house, as I watch my high schooler grow into a young man, needing me less and less, as I watch my six year old want to be as independent as his older brother--I'm going to miss every single last bit of this.  Even after a day of struggling with Avery to the point of exhaustion, as I watch him sleep at night--I'm going to miss this.

Part of me wants to say "Time to try for the fourth!"  I really want to do that, but I know we've rolled our dice, said our prayers and received the finest blessings. My arms ache for another baby to hold, there is space in my heart for the love of one more child.  I know all the reasons why we can't ask God for another child.  They don't stop the yearning when Ezra breaks into fits of giggles, or shows a streak of independence akin to Avery's (heaven help us), though. They don't stop the grief I feel when he topples another milestone, and we pass another monthly birthday.  They don't stop the tears when Noah hugs me and tells me he will always love me and need me, or when I pack away Ezra's outgrown clothes, the ones I saved from Noah and Avery in hope and faith, knowing this is the last time they'll be worn.  Those reasons don't stop the maternal desire I feel when Avery snuggles into his Mommy Cubby and offers his ear for sniffing.  

Someone once told me I would know when we are finished with babies, and this time we know we are.  This time it gets to be our decision, not the doctors' mistaken declarations. Shawn and I are at peace with this.  But, that doesn't stop the yearning I still feel for that baby, that child, that man-child, in my arms.

I'm okay, I'm at peace, but I'm going to miss this.