Remember when I wrote that post about emerging from a dark Cave and discussed the process of cradling my newborn son while I groped my way back to the outside world?
That little son is almost one year old now.
And he’s teaching me all sorts of stuff. I’m learning how to be more patient, tender, and detailed in caring for him than I have ever had to be for another person.
As his first birthday approaches, I realize it’s not just George who’s grown. His mama has, too.
I’ll be icing the cupcakes with little bumblebees with sliced almond wings and thinking over all the ways George has changed to become a self-moving, solid-food chewing, word-babbling, kiss-giving, hand-clapping, heart-melting little guy…
While at the same time I’ve become a woman who’s surrendered her hold on perfection in her home and physical appearance (this is a very good thing!). I feel my compassion growing larger, too, I’m a woman who sees other mothers with their littles and celebrates the miracle of just getting out the door. My heart aches for little babies and sleep-deprived parents. I know the mercy of someone bringing you a meal when you can hardly find time enough to sleep. I know it because I’ve experienced it firsthand.
George turns 1 on August 1st (his first birthday will be his Golden!) and as he puts this milestone under his belt, I finally feel ready to accept the mantle of motherhood. I’m embracing the forgetfulness that has never quite left me since pregnancy. I’m at peace with the thirty minutes I need to leave the house. I’m relaxing as I sit with George at the splash pool in the sunshine, listening to him giggle and clap his hands because I’m learning to slow down.
This is my story. It’s simple, and sometimes that’s just how the real ones turn out to be.