Missing What I Won't Have Some Day
Sunday morning, Easter, I woke up with a cold. DaycareKid shared his cold germs with Babygirl and with me, so we were both sniffling and crabby. Still, we went to church and did our duty volunteering in the nursery. The children all looked presentable and I teetered on my high heels and my short dress. Twelve children played in the nursery under my care.
And so goes another Easter Sunday. I keep telling myself that motherhood will get easier when my youngest child gets a little older. I've been telling myself this for a decade. And then when my twins were about four, I became pregnant, despite the doctor's prediction that we were "unlikely" to ever conceive. When that miracle baby boy approached three years of age, I told myself, now things will get easier. That was about the time I became pregnant again, which no longer seemed like a miraculous feat, but more along the lines of a divine practical joke.
Not that I wasn't thrilled and grateful to welcome another child into our world and family. It's just that the spacing of my children has not been what I might have ordered, had I been able to order them like a Chinese meal. ("And could I have three eggrolls to go with that?") Some mothers spend a total of four or five years going through the baby/toddler/preschooler stage because they have their children close together. Our kids are almost five years apart and so I've been living in baby-toddler-preschooler-land for eleven years.
And if I weren't breathing through my mouth because my nose is congested and if I weren't so tired from waking up at 5:30 a.m. (yes, even this morning, sick and despite the rain) to walk . . . well, I might be concentrating on the sunshine and rainbows that dot the landscape when you live with a small child. I'd regale you with tales of Babygirl's hearty laughter when my mother popped Babygirl's bubbles with a stuffed bunny. I'd smile as I'd tell you about Babygirl's tilted head and her squinted eyes when she questions me. I'd describe the joy of holding her long-legged body against mine and rocking, even though she won't let me sing to her.
But oh. I am just so tired of living with smallish people. I want to move on to the next stage, though as I move on, I'll find myself living with two teenagers and I hear that teenagers and toddlers resemble each other in many ways. Lucky me.
And then, I will close my eyes and dream of the days when I had a houseful of sweaty, noisy, giggling little children. And I'll miss this, just a little.
Or a lot.
And so goes another Easter Sunday. I keep telling myself that motherhood will get easier when my youngest child gets a little older. I've been telling myself this for a decade. And then when my twins were about four, I became pregnant, despite the doctor's prediction that we were "unlikely" to ever conceive. When that miracle baby boy approached three years of age, I told myself, now things will get easier. That was about the time I became pregnant again, which no longer seemed like a miraculous feat, but more along the lines of a divine practical joke.
Not that I wasn't thrilled and grateful to welcome another child into our world and family. It's just that the spacing of my children has not been what I might have ordered, had I been able to order them like a Chinese meal. ("And could I have three eggrolls to go with that?") Some mothers spend a total of four or five years going through the baby/toddler/preschooler stage because they have their children close together. Our kids are almost five years apart and so I've been living in baby-toddler-preschooler-land for eleven years.
And if I weren't breathing through my mouth because my nose is congested and if I weren't so tired from waking up at 5:30 a.m. (yes, even this morning, sick and despite the rain) to walk . . . well, I might be concentrating on the sunshine and rainbows that dot the landscape when you live with a small child. I'd regale you with tales of Babygirl's hearty laughter when my mother popped Babygirl's bubbles with a stuffed bunny. I'd smile as I'd tell you about Babygirl's tilted head and her squinted eyes when she questions me. I'd describe the joy of holding her long-legged body against mine and rocking, even though she won't let me sing to her.
But oh. I am just so tired of living with smallish people. I want to move on to the next stage, though as I move on, I'll find myself living with two teenagers and I hear that teenagers and toddlers resemble each other in many ways. Lucky me.
And then, I will close my eyes and dream of the days when I had a houseful of sweaty, noisy, giggling little children. And I'll miss this, just a little.
Or a lot.
posted by Melodee at Tuesday, March 29, 2005
7 Comments:
Oh yes, you will miss it. But probably not in the ways you think you will. And, it's not like the kids are gone, they're still around, just in larger bodies and with rational thought.
And, I have a pretty good idea what you will be doing. You will be writing about those days, through rose colored glasses, and without interruption. Oh wait...that's ME.
Mel,
I've just spent the last hour reading your blog. We're on spring break this week and we're supposed to be taking the kids on a field trip today... my husband keeps peering at me from the couch like he suspects me of some nefarious activity. I'm pretty sure he's thinking "are we going to feed these kids any time soon and actually get out of here today?"
I keep reading excerpts of your entries to him, and he laughs.
You've been a huge blessing to me today. I hope you dont mind if I add you on my blogroll (why does that sound like a dock worker slang term for someone they dont like? This disturbs me), and give you a mention at my blog. I have 5 faithful readers, it'll be great for them too.
You made me laugh, you made me think, and you made me laugh again. This is good, this laughing and thinking thing. I'll be back, I need more.
Have a wonderful day... we're off to the butterfly conservatory - and yes, there will be pictures.
A lot.
I don't miss the sleepless nights when a child would cry for hours every single night for a year.. .
But i do miss her soft, warm breath on my neck when after finally settling into a deep sleep, she nuzzled into me.
That is what parenthood is to me.. It's lived in moments, not years.
Every time I kiss my kids goodnight I wonder if 8 or ten years from now they will still be in those beds, safely tucked away from all the teenage garbage and dangers that lie ahead. I will never forget the morning I went into my 17 year old daughters room in the wee hours of the morning and her bed was empty. She hadn't came home the night before like she said she would. That was one of the last nights she slept in this house for the next 6 years. She's now married and never did come back to live. Kiss those kids and hug em tight!
We are currently trying to figure out how far apart we want ours to be, and if it reaches a certain point, to possibly not have another one.
I think if I do not have another child, my memory of the "bad" times will be greatly fuzzy and forgiving.
They are all such blessings.
Sorry this was a rather rambling comment!
Yes you will miss these moments a lot, but life will fill the moments to come with other joys and challenges. You will have all the vivid memories of these days to add texture and meaning to each new day.
To everything there is a season.
I remember complaining to a friend about losing sleep when daughter #1 was teething. I said to her
"I can't wait until she is older and she doesn't keep me up all night."
My friend turned to me and said. "These are the good days. She will still keep you up at night when she is older, but she won't be safely tucked in her bed. You will be up worrying why she isn't home yet. Where is she? Why didn't she call?"
Oh dear. The problems don't go away as they get older, they just get more complex. (On the other hand, so do the joys.) So, don't peer into the future wishing for it or fearing it. Just take today and enjoy it "mole whacking or drowning" and all. You will grow into and enjoy each season as it comes.
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