Mother's Day 2013

Tonight, I had the privilege of rocking Hunk to sleep. This very sweet boy was completely exhausted since he didn't get much of a nap for two days. We've been on the go all weekend long, and his naps have consisted of 20 minute snoozes in the car seat or the carrier walking around with daddy. Anyway, as the day's activities were winding down and his sisters were off to bathe and get ready for bed, I could tell my little guy needed to hit the hay soon.

When he is tired, he starts to move around. He jerks his body back and forth, chews on toys, and and starts to get kind of silly. Then he'll progress to just being really silly by making faces, laughing uncontrollably, and sometimes he rocks back and forth. It's actually really adorable and he pulls me in with his little show, but then I remember this is "tired Keian" and we should get upstairs for the night.

So this little show of his happened tonight. We had a family picnic for dinner. Matt and I were on the couch and Hunk was between us doing Phase 1 of his show--chewing on toys and jerking his body. Then he and I moved to the floor and he entered the silly phase (2) while sitting next to Grammy. After a few minutes of just enjoying his awesome energy, it dawned on me that he was tired. It was kind of late after all.

So we said our goodbyes to Grammy, and we went upstairs where I got my boy ready for bed. Then Phase 3 began to set it. He was incredibly fidgety-- fighting me with his powerful kicks as I was trying to snap up his stripped pjs.  I talked to him softly and caressed his head a few times in between dressing him and kissing his forehead. That didn't really help any; he just wasn't having any of it and began to cry.

Soon I was finished dressing him, and I scooped him up and cradled him in the bend of my arm. He looked at me--desperate for sleep. As we made our way into the comfy rocking chair in his room, I grabbed his bottle and we settled in just like any other night when I get the opportunity to rock him--it happens often enough that you could say this is routine.

I stick the bottle in his mouth, and his tired eyes open wide. The room is only lit by the glow of the dusk coming in through the curtains, and this makes his eyes appear even more in focus. They're all I can see. So we stare at each other for quite some time. It's quiet--very much unlike the other 99% of my day that is filled with little voices, machines running, thoughts about meals and lists running through my head. I am peaceful despite the noise that comes with a houseful of kids ending their night.It's not like most other nights when I worry about the distractions that await outside of his nursery. For some reason, be it divine intervention or just a coincidence, all I can think about is what's right in front of me--a sleepy boy drinking his bottle.

My son's body has calmed down. His jerky movements have stopped, and for the most part his body feels relaxed. I notice how content he seems, and it's then that I start to turn to my own thoughts. Thoughts about the day--Mother's Day--and how truly blessed I am to be a mother. I feel overwhelmed with joy when I think of my children, and holding a sleepy baby only intensifies that joy. The stresses along with the excitement of the day are fading into my now tranquil mind. I'm at ease. He's at ease.

Five minutes of me staring at his big, wide open eyes have passed, and now his eyes are closing. His sucking ceases and he spits the bottle out of his mouth. I set it down on the adjacent table and spend the next several minutes just watching his face.

His eyes are gently closed, his muscles are relaxed, and his sweet lips are the slightest hint of pouty. Yes, that's perfection in my book--nothing beats a baby resting so contently in your arms. I can't help but keep my eyes glued to him, and as I do I just keep smiling and crying. I cry the kind of tears that I've only ever cried as a mom. They're tears that come from a wellspring of overwhelming love that consumes me entirely. They are certainly tears of joy, and sorrow, and frustration, and excitement, and fear, and complete love that streak down my cheeks and fall from my chin. And I just let them run.

It's in this moment of cleansing that I'm able to think again--in this quiet setting. The noises outside the nursery have quieted, and dusk is turning into night outside the house. I start telling myself to savor this moment in time and to take mental pictures. I even frame his face by making an"L" shape with my pointer finger and thumb. His chin fits perfectly in the groove between my finger and thumb, and I hold my hand against his face like this for several seconds--just staring at his beauty. I can't stop looking.

Most nights, I will rock him a few minutes after he falls asleep just so I can soak up some extra love before I make my rounds with my other babies. But tonight, I just couldn't leave him. The thought entered my head several times, but my body just never got up out of that chair. I thought about my other children missing me at tuck in time, and for that reason I should lay him down, but I still didn't. And then I realized something. I realized something that made me sad when I thought about it. I realized that this is the last Mother's Day that I will rock my baby to sleep.

This time next year, I will be rocking a sweet toddler boy (if I'm lucky enough to still get to rock him). His legs will hang off mine as he's stretched out across my body in that chair. He won't be the same little baby who just needs a snuggle and a bottle before he simply closes his eyes for the night. For all I know, he will be too antsy to rock. Or maybe he'll be fighting me at bed time because he doesn't want to go to sleep. Or even if he does want me to rock him, he'll probably be too uncomfortable in that tiny chair to let his body relax enough for sleep. Yes, this is the end of an era.

This makes me sad.

With the first five children I had, I can honestly say I was never sure we were 100% done. So the thought of going through something for the last time never really came to me. And even though Keian has been here almost 8 months, I still haven't really let it sink in that we are going through "last times" all the time. We will never again have a newborn baby to bring home from the hospital. We will never again watch our new baby learn to smile and interact, roll over, or say his first word. Those moments in time are now part of our family history--we have watched all of those events for the last time. And now I can add one more bittersweet moment to that list of last times--rocking a baby on Mother's Day. And even though I don't feel ready grow beyond rocking babies, I have to remember that life constantly changes, and part of life is learning to accept changes and move forward by making the best of your time here on earth.

If you would've asked me eight years ago if I was ready to be a mom, I promise you my answer would've been no. No. NO! It seemed like a monumental responsibility, and rightly so, but time continued and I did in fact become a mother. Back then, I thought I wasn't prepared well enough to start the journey of mothering. Looking back, I can see that all I really needed to be prepared to start that new chapter was love. It was as simple an answer as that--if I loved her, I could take care of her in every way she needed.

And now as I begin to close chapters in my mothering journey, I'm going to have to remember that no matter how unprepared I feel to say goodbye to the days of mothering babies, I have to do it. I have to close this chapter as time marches on. And I'll have to remember that, again, all I need is love. If I have love, that makes accepting the necessary (though sometimes unwanted) changes just a little bit easier.

For me, to be a mom is to know true, unadulterated, unconditional, sacrificial, undying love. I can say with complete honesty that I feel my true calling in life is to be a mother. I know I've said it a million times and therefore it can lose its effect, but I feel so blessed to be not only a mother, but my children's mother. Each and every one of them is my fragile and vulnerable heart. Each one of them is my reason for giving my all when I want to quit. And I hope and pray that someday, each one of them gets to experience this unique love. That is the best gift anyone could ever hope for.

~~Happy Mother's Day~~
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