MollyMadonna.com

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joy of joys.

Dearest Little Button,

Ten weeks ago I stood amazed at the sight of two faint pink lines…ones I’ve seen before, and ones that–this time around, held so much more than excitement and gratitude within them. I crawled back into bed to share the confirmation with your dad. I cried. I laughed with relief. And then I cried some more.

Someday when you’re older I’ll explain all of this, and why the weight of those two lines felt far more significant than I could have even imagined a year ago. This time, as a new life–your life, formed in my belly, everything seemed to hang in the balance. We were thrilled, of course, but afraid, in a way, to surrender ourselves simply to hope and joy. We had been praying for you for a long time. Was God really blessing us again with life? Would everything be ok? Would I find myself, somewhere in this process, at a place where I felt like I could breathe?

The answer, sweet child–to all of my questions above, has been a resounding yes. And while I do not take a moment of your precious life for granted, I want you to know that as sure as I am writing this, I believe God has ordained you for our family. For such a time as this. To be another blessing…Henry’s sibling…sheer and utter joy for all of our hearts!

Today I am fourteen weeks pregnant with you, welcoming the second trimester and the chance to share our delight in you with the world. Two weeks ago we watched you flip and flop and dance all over my belly, and again I laughed and cried with relief and absolute joy at the sight. You, at twelve weeks, were already perfectly formed as God intended you. Just shy of two inches long and yet, with fingers and toes, arms, legs, a sweet little nose–all intact and visible to our little family on that beautiful screen. You are a miracle to me. To us.

Your brother is, although so young, enamored with the idea of you. He talks about the “little tiny baby!” in mommy’s tummy with the sweetest joy. He measures his tiny fingers to the size of you, and I tell him every week how much you’ve grown. At night, he says goodnight to you, kisses my belly, leans his head on me in such a gentle way. He prays for you daily, as we all do in the little blue house.

I have been feeling little (and reassuring) twitches of you here and there all week…you’re so small, but your presence is already quite abundant in the day to day. We talk of baby prep and nursery #2 and mostly just how grateful we feel to watch my belly grow–you developing in a beautiful way and filling me up more perfectly than anyone but God could accomplish. You are fearfully and wonderfully made, little one!

I want you to know, forever and ever, that you are right where you should be…in our family, coming into the world, in this timing. It is clear to me already that God has big plans for your footprint here, and we are so taken by the chance to wait and see what He will do with your life. Keep on growing as you are, sweet one, and we’ll be here, prepping to meet you with all the love we can possibly fathom when the day arrives!

honored to be your mama. humbled by the privilege,

mm

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not for my own sake.

If gratitude is an art form, I am a complete novice. I was thinking this over today as I sat down on the couch for a few minutes of quiet once the little one was down for his nap. We’ve had a cold (and now croup, in H’s case) around here for a few days, and while I’m not dealing with anything even remotely awful in the grand scheme, I’ve caught myself grumbling a little bit in my own head. Being sick means staying home. Missing out. Not passing around germs. The third part I’m great with–the first and second parts, not as much.

Today was the first meeting of the semester for our mom’s group at church, and I’ve really been looking forward to the weekly opportunity to see some of the loveliest moms in my life. Enter croup, and instead of dropping H off to play with his friends and joining a room full of beautiful women for a few hours of mom time, we’re at home on the couch this morning, handing off germ-free (I promise!) brownies to a gracious friend who picked them up for me on her way to church. I was bummed. Really bummed. Especially because this morning was my chance to send off a friend who is moving in a mere two days, and I missed the boat. I know I’ll likely see her when she visits sometime, but today, my head and heart were more full of complaints than gratitude as I stacked up all of the things I was “missing” to stay at home and be mom to a sick little kiddo.

Do you know what I would have given three years ago to be confined to home on a snowy day with my little one?

This was before we had Little Man, before I was ever even pregnant, when I could only dream about the BEST possible scenario in my mind. At home. Nowhere I had to be. A mom. All the time in the day just to look after my sweet boy. It’s true. That’s all I ever wanted. And when I’m really honest with myself, it’s still almost all I ever really want. If you’ve been with me long enough, you know that I adore being H’s mom. So why is it that I let myself get to this grumbly place in a matter of days just because I couldn’t keep my plans?

I can say this. Entertaining a toddler who is not feeling well, has less energy, whines through much of the day, and desperately needs you to “Pick. Him. Up!!!!” at every moment is not easy. But it isn’t terrible, either. It is such a beautiful thing to be wanted. And I typically hold my breath for the times when H asks to “snuggle,” so snuggling for an entire day (or two or three) shouldn’t really seem so bad, should it? No. It shouldn’t. But holding and coddling a wee one for the entirety of the day (minus one, not-so-long-when-he’s-sick nap time) also means letting life pile up…dishes, laundry, todo’s, rescheduled plans, MY life. Oh, how much I hate it when my thoughts on how the day should go are so far flung from reality.

And yet, this is largely what parenting is about. A shifting of priorities and self in order to make room for and care for something (someone) far more important than any (ok, almost any) of our own day to day needs or desires. Yep. We still have to eat and sleep and get cleaned up and feel human and nurture a few essential relationships, but most all else can fall to the wayside when the care of our little ones is at stake, and we are called to figure that out. It’s fair to say that I feel called, not just to figure it out, but to figure it out well. When I start to experience that creeping, ugly side of my selfish nature that leaks into my communication or translates into a lack of patience or grace for our boy, I pray for the strength to cut it off quickly. This kind of behavior seeps (un-rightly) sometimes into our adult relationships, but as adults, we can sort out the emotion or drain behind the communication and come to terms. Does my almost two year old translate my ugly side so graciously or perceptively just yet? No. And he should not. He can see the tired or sad or frustrated or run down side of me without being exposed to the baggage that comes with those moments…after all, I’m his mama. And I want to be the safest place for him to turn to, next to Christ.

So what am I trying to say, exactly, at the end of this long day when I was needed so greatly and all I really wanted was a whiny, self-imposed break? I’m trying to say that I do need a break, yes. But more than that, I needed a little time this afternoon and tonight just to ponder how gloriously blessed and grateful I am, and to recognize that the thing that had me in such a funk for a few hours this morning was the very same things I so prayed for and desired only a few years ago. The grass is always greener, or something like that.

The grass is always greener isn’t my conclusion. My takeaway is that I’m being called to the hardest, most rewarding job I’ve ever had to manage, and that today was one of those, “in the trenches” days that reminds me how fortunate I am to be doing the thing that I love. Sometimes I look at our bug and I still can’t believe we have him–healthy, whole, exuberant, growing strong. I consider the circumstances of the day for so many others who would give anything to walk in someone else’s shoes, and I am once again humbled. Today I curled up on the couch with a recovering kiddo who just needed his mama, and I was able to be here–fully present, amidst the snow and the dishes and the canceled plans that could all wait. Not that many years ago this was all just a distant possibility for “someday.” A hope I clung to for the future and prayed about with my whole heart. God was actually answering this prayer of mine today–and again, if I really think about it. How many other answered prayers and God-ordained moments might I miss, if I’m busy grumbling about what I think I need, instead of serving the need that He has provided for me to fill, right here under my own roof? With my own sweet little boy? With my own two hands?

tomorrow, my eyes will be wide open. you can count on that. and i pray that H will feel perfectly back to normal in the morning, but not for my own sake. so thankful for that,

mm

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this i know.

21 months today. Time doesn’t appear to be going any more slowly, Hank, you know that? I keep blinking, and you keep creeping closer to two. Three more months, and we’ll be celebrating another landmark birthday…all this time we’ve had to love you and watch you grow. 

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almost exactly one year ago, at nine months.

I know as you get older these entries will likely start to embarrass you a little, but I’m not shy. I want your someday-wife and kiddos to be able to read about your humble beginnings if God permits. I want you to know that almost-two is normal and healthy, and that all of the wrestling you’ll do with your children someday is par for the course. I don’t know where they’ll get it from, but I have a sneaking hunch there might be a firecracker or two in the mix if, years from now, you grow up to be a dad. I pray you will if it’s in your heart. And I pray that your babies stretch you in the beautiful ways you’re stretching me. Stretching all of us. 

For a while, I think you called me to a higher standard of life and accountability on the sheer fact that I was suddenly your mom. Little people will do that to a new parent. It’s just a right of passage. But nowadays, and more readily, you call me to a higher standard of everything because you see and hear and notice everything. You remember it. You repeat it back. You tell me how it makes you feel. You reflect the light of whatever is around you, and if I’m dim, you’re dimmer, too. (I mean, you’re always bright to me, but I can tell–when my disposition isn’t rosy, it hurts your heart.) I’m imperfect and you’re discovering that more and more, but of far greater importance than that, I’m discovering you in a whole new light.

You observe from the moment you wake up until the moment you rest. I thought I talked a lot, but you’re giving your mama a run for her money. It’s hilarious. And glorious. And sometimes altogether exhausting, because I just can’t seem to find enough energy to match your speed. Still, it’s a marvelous thing. 

Sometimes, we stand in the mirror and look at our faces together. You make your funny face, then your sad face, then your happy! face, and you wait for me to do the same. We talk about how our hair is a different color, how our eyes are almost hard to tell apart. You recite fill-in-the-blanks of the verse taped to the mirror frame to my heart’s delight: “If any one is in…’Christ’…he is a new…’ation’ [creation]. The old has…’pass away!’ [passed away]. ‘Behold!’ the new…’has come!'” 2 Cor 5.17. Your voice sweetens every word. 

You are still chasing the dog everywhere possible. You hide under the dining room table when I ask you to stop, and then your little voice announces from underneath, “hiding.” Thank you, wee one. I didn’t know. You still can’t chase the dog 😉 We play, “Where’s Henry?” even if you are standing right in front of me, and somehow, you believe I can’t see you until I say I can. If I take too long, “Right here. Henry’s here,” you remind me. You want to read The Little Engine That Could six times a day. You always ask to read your Bible at bedtime. You recite, Night, Night Little Pookie with a comic flair that makes me bubble up with happiness. You still snuggle with the best of them, and I am soaking it in like crazy all I can. 

You love your LEGOS and anything that starts with the word, “Surprise!” A sticker. A matchbox car. A bill in the mail that I let you open. Your morning yogurt. If I’m not careful, a “surprise” will not mean much for long, but you get so “cited!” I can’t help but point out delights in the little things you’re not expecting in the moment. You look after your zoo animals, sea creatures, bedtime buddies and car collection with care. You make me a salad and cookies everyday in your kitchen. I love to see you begin to diversify your interests at this stage: coloring, painting, play doh, building, reading, magnets, anything with water. Your firsts swimming lessons have been (mostly) a hit.

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resting up for more playtime with all of the usual suspects. love. you.

 

Right now, one of my very favorite Henry-isms is the fact that you want to “snuggle in the rocker” after every bath time. You cozy up in a bundle on my lap and help me to sing, “Jesus Loves Me,” currently number one on HD’s Top 40 hits. You shout the words, “I know!” and “so!” and “belong!” but you whisper the word, “strong,” and it gets me every time. I imagine you being in awe of God’s strength, so much so that you have to whisper as you marvel at it. I marvel at it, too. “Yes, Jesus ‘Loves Meeeeeeee!'” you sing over and over. I pray that this truth is implanted ever so deeply in your heart.

We are rounding the corner on all kinds of exciting things, not the least of which include more playtime in the snow, your very first auto show(!), Valentine’s Day and card-making, a trip to Colorado to see your favorite cousin (and her mom and dad:), Easter, and then before you know it, the big numero dos. Are you ready for it? Throw in a few molars, probably a few more days relegated to the indoors, plenty of trips to Target and the grocery store, bagels at JP’s, a few more swim lessons, and a surprise adventure or two in the making, and we’re in for a full Winter/early Spring. I hope you’ll be happy as we make our way through these next days and weeks and months of discovering. If you’re having half as good a time learning as we have watching you do it, you must be faring decently well. Keep growing at your pace, on your time. We’ll be along for the ride!

love you to pieces, sweet munchkin boy. still couldn’t be more thrilled to be your mom!

mm

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perfectly imperfect.

The past few snow-filled, white-everywhere-I-look days have gotten me thinking (or more accurately, stewing). I’m not a big fan of stewing, I’ll admit. I’ll also concede that for someone who doesn’t enjoy the exercise very much, I am, somewhat unfortunately, quite good at it. This does not bode well when I’m cooped up indoors with our toddler and staring down walls (read cupboards, closets, corners, dust bunnies, piles, and to dos) I would otherwise breeze by on our way to something more adventurous and fun.

The task of being in my (our) own space lately has started to feel like exactly that–a task. And it’s not because anyone else would drop by and be aghast at our style of living or the daily condition of our home (Well, maybe you would, I don’t know. But I’m not going to start losing sleep over that at this very moment). It’s just that I see 101 things in any given day that I’d love the time/energy/willpower/organizational prowess/Pinterest motivation to change around here, and it’s beginning to chip away at my self esteem and personal progress. Am I sounding at all rational/relatable/normal? Do you have any idea what I mean?

I’m sure you do. I’m practically counting on it. I know I’m not the lone mama here who wishes she could get more done in a day. But the thing of it is, when H’s nap time rolls around after lunch, and I’ve spent all morning in my best attempt to be loving and patient and engaged and consistent (and fun!), I am ready for a break. I am not (most days) ready to tackle that linen closet, the basement, the file cabinet that needs thinning out, or the guest room that’s become a catch all since the last guest went home. I’m just not. And for this reason, I wander around in the afternoon quiet of our completely livable and mostly kept up house, and I allow myself to feel inadequate instead of at home. There is something wrong with this, I’m sure. And there’s probably a reason I’m putting it here. The art of contentment is an art for sure.

Please hear me when I say that I’m really just fine, and that this isn’t some sort of confessional plea to beg for infinite wisdom or help. (Although regular wisdom I’ll happily consider, if you have some to offer;) I’m nearly certain that there are those of you reading who have given this train of thought an “Amen!” once or twice, and probably others who are thinking, “Just wait until you have more than one kid to juggle someday!” I don’t begrudge you either angle. I have nothing to complain about and I know it fully. But I do have my snowed in days like everyone else 🙂

When I look around at life in our little world, in this house, in my mostly simple and fretless days, I do feel the good. And I am blessed beyond blessed by what we have here–our space, our memories, our trio, lined up like soldiers on the floor each night for story time. There is an abundance of life here, and much gratitude that comes with it. Still, I can’t help (in moments), feeling like I owe it all more…I owe us more, and God more, than I accomplish in 24 hours time. I am living in the perfectly imperfect and hanging balance of young motherhood, just wanting to serve well and do well and be good in every sense. And even still, wanting a nap more than I want my floors sparkling clean; praying for the stamina and discipline and wherewithal to lead an honorable life in every day.

This dance we do with ourselves, with our parenting, with our expectations and aspirations and hearts–it is clear evidence of our humanity and of our (my) great need for something bigger than myself and these worldly things to hang my hat on. Thank goodness my self worth is not found in the state of my bathroom countertop or the order of every keepsake and photo tucked away within these walls. Now if only I could remember this exact truth on days like today, when every task calls after me from it’s position, stealing away the joy that’s to be found in the still of winter, tucked away at home with my boy….I have much to learn!

so grateful for God’s patience with me as i toddle along. it doesn’t look like the snow will be letting up soon, so i may as well embrace the grace that falls with it, no?

mm

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here’s to you, fancy new year.

Well hello there, 2013. I expected your arrival and yet, here we are, eleven days into the new year and I’m only just now offering a proper greeting. If time’s passing over these past few weeks is any indication, you’ll be over just as quickly as you came. I’m not one for wishing days away though…perhaps we can settle on some sort of agreement–January speeds by, February passes through on its heels, and when March arrives, you slow things down just a bit. Sound ok?

A lot has already filled the contents of this first glimpse at 2013, and I’m just trying to keep up. Travels home to see family, an exciting new writing project, being on call for doula work, Henry’s first swimming lesson, a work trip for JMK, Christmas teardown, and the rearranging of our living room. Add in the daily routine and a very busy and energetic almost-two year old, and things around here are bustling. January always seems like a quiet month to me, but not so thus far. I know I’ll blink and it will be gone. Maybe this is what people have always meant when they advise that time goes faster as we age. I’m 30. Should I understand this concept yet?

At any rate, I’ve been remiss in paying tribute to 2012 in the shuffle–a year with as many ups and downs as I personally feel able to handle. There were high points, certainly, and some of the lowest points to date as well. I almost always feel a little twinkle of sadness as the New Year’s Eve countdown begins, but as we looked toward a fresh start (over games and popcorn and camaraderie with my sister, brother-in-law, and two sleeping(ish) kiddos in Chicago) this year, I wasn’t terribly sad to close the door. We’ve grown, changed, adjusted, loved, ached, taken pause, celebrated, hoped, ached a little more, tried to pick up our boot straps and move along…all in a year’s time. And a new year means even more fresh hope, a resetting of our systems, a new lease on what life might offer our little family. I can certainly toast to that!

So, here’s to you, fancy new year, with all of your bells and whistles (at least, I imagine you must have them. I’m a glass half full kind of girl, you know.) Here’s to turning new pages and finding great new reasons to celebrate. Here’s to anniversaries and memories and birthdays and (hopefully) little getaways that allow us to refresh with one another. And here’s to 2012 and the ways it stretched us and challenged and pushed back and bristled, even in and amongst some of the most beautiful moments we’ve shared as a family (1st birthdays, gatherings to honor Gramma, my niece’s sweet arrival this Summer). Eleven days in, I’m embracing the chance to wipe the slate clean and to move on in great anticipation for what God will do throughout 2013. It is always a marvelous wonder to be along for the ride!

cheers!

mm