Here you are, now twelve weeks old, and all this time I’m racking up mommy guilt like a pro because I’ve hardly written since you were born. It’s an amazing phenomenon, this mommy guilt thing, and I’m convinced it’s evil’s way of getting under my skin in this beautifully raw season. It’s true I’ve not written you much–and I regret not keeping up the way I did for your brother. But then…well, let’s just say there’s no benefit in keeping score.
Life with you is full to the full, Miss E. You, Henry and I keep ourselves busy every single day if nothing else. And when the day is done and H has long gone to bed, we keep on going, you and I–into the wee hours with our marathon snuggles and feeding sessions and cooing and tears. I didn’t imagine it this way, and yet, I can’t say how I did see us moving through these hours. Maybe with a little more sleep or a little more freedom to accomplish tasks and stay on top of things, I guess. I want you to know I’ve never been mad about this. Frustrated with circumstances in moments, sure. Worn down, yes. But never mad, and certainly not with you.
I want to be meeting all of your needs and imprinting a level of security for you that you’ll carry with you through childhood and into adulthood. If you need mama all but for the blessed and restorative hours you sleep each night, I’m yours. I hope you sense this in the care I’m giving as we learn each other more. You are always safe with me, no matter the day or hour. I pray this notion is woven into your heart.
As I type this evening, you are where you can be found nightly–asleep in my lap on the couch just waiting out the hours together. I’ve tried to tuck you in sooner, but it’s not your cup of tea. You want to be close, close, close, and I can’t deny you this at such a young age. It may be tiring, but it’s also lovely. And the things piled up around me are ones you’ll never remember…tasks I once saved for H’s bedtime that get little to no attention now. By this time, I thought we’d acclimate; we’d find a rhythm and be moving toward a schedule. I thought you’d be drinking bottles and I’d be back to work part time in a more substantial capacity than I am to date. I thought a lot of things and planned to be more present doing so much else, when really all I should have planned on for sure was you. I’m getting there.
Now, that’s what I do. I simply plan on you and your sweet brother who loves you, and together we move in and out of days like buoys, bobbing in a bouncy sea. Sometimes we’re admiring the horizon, sometimes just staying afloat, rarely longing for shore or something different than this. The thing is, you two are a high calling (and arguably the highest, while you’re growing), and the rest of what I feel called to or pulled toward will either wait for me or it won’t. I’m not neglecting anything on purpose. Just parenting you two with a purpose and working to shake off the mommy guilt for the rest. I’m almost over that, too, in a way. Because I’m not sure God could make it much clearer that you are the thing. That this is the thing. Your freedom to be who you are at this early stage and my freedom to love you to the utmost degree. And these are the things–the hours we keep all tucked in close, your deep dependency for now, this little family we have become, and all of the safety I can offer you. When the piles reach the ceiling in my mind and the world is pulling as it is wont to do, I pray that I will have been unwaveringly faithful to this.
you are loved, little one. so very, unbelievably loved.