Sometimes, while doing the laundry, I could just cry at how perfectly small Henry’s clothes are. Folding onesies and baby socks and tiny little pants and shirts, I’m genuinely overwhelmed by what a great blessing it is to have the responsibility. Tonight, as I took H’s sweet little swim shirt out of the washer, I thought about mommies at heart who have never had the privilege of putting away clothes for a baby of their own. And I said a little prayer of thanksgiving for the honor of being a mom–for the joy of doing laundry late on a Saturday night and for all of the reasons our washer and dryer get so much use these days. I’m not sure I would have been so taken by plain old laundry at any other point in my life until now, but somehow I’m soaking up the chance to wash items that have become favorites…drying things gingerly in hopes that Henry might wear them “just one more time” before I have to put them away for (hopefully!) future babes.

I love the smallness of Henry’s clothes. I’m taken by the perfection of the arms and legs and hands and feet that fit inside them. As our bug grows, I’ll miss this sweet time of tiny little everything–will likely trade my joy over Hank’s baby items for new delights found in grass-stained knees, ground in dirt and the wonder that is a growing, curious, adventurous little boy.

Coming from a girl who thought she could never really get into baby boy clothes, I’m amazed at how much they mean to me now. Turns out, I just needed the right little man to wear them 😉

in the midst of trying to serve, i marvel at the way God is serving my heart!

mm