Thursday, September 9, 2010

The Parts of Our Story That Change Us


My mom just left a comment on one of my birth stories posts.  I'm not sure what made her decide to re-read that post, but I'm glad she did.  I went back and read about the arrival of my fourth child, my sweet almost five-year-old.  Since school started last week, the only things I have said to her were, "Just a minute," and "Yes, I will get to you," but I never did.  Yesterday, I skipped some laundry and some dishes and I spent time with just her.  We didn't do anything special, but I made sure to listen to her, to read to her and to cuddle with her.  I love that beautiful child.  

Today, by the way, was a much, much better school day.  I am starting to get the hang of things.  Give me one more week and I'll be an old pro (until the next week when someone throws me a curve ball).

After I read her birth story, I decided to read the rest.  I wrote them all on their birthdays (my mom also contributed mine on my birthday) during my first year of blogging.  It has been a while since I read them.  What is it about that story that is so captivating?  It is a coming-of-age of sorts for a woman and every delivery is different.  I had something in me that I didn't even know was there.  I am stronger than I thought I could be.  It is also an amazingly intimate moment with my husband.  I am grateful that husbands are allowed into the delivery room now.  It is exactly where they should be.  The two of us are the constants; the medical staff changes, the new baby even changes, but it is still and always Justin and I.  Then, of course, is the spiritual connection one feels with Heaven.  Here we are, participating in Creation, in the giving of life.  He is handing over a gift so laden with trust to a couple of young, inexperienced incredibly imperfect parents.  We must do this right.  We must do it with Him.  One can only imagine how Joseph and Mary--but especially Mary--must have felt.

For every moment that you want to pull out your hair because there is a whole family sized tub of hot cocoa mix dumped on the kitchen floor, or the two year old decides that in the corner, behind a large chair is the best place to do her business, or the older children believe they have as much parenting authority as you, the actual parents, there is this one big moment that makes it all okay.  There is the time of their coming.  The time before you were their mother and then the next moment when you couldn't imagine life without them.  

Tantrums and all.

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