Waking up
The women in my family are notorious for experiencing others' emotions as poignantly as our own. Just about anything can make us misty, some of us more than others. And we get teased and tease each other about it all the time.
I used to think excessive emotion was a sign of weakness. But lately, I seem to have countless reasons to go misty-eyed, and often the moment is upon me before I realize why or how. It could be a bad case of new mommy hormones rising and falling with my body's post-pregnancy adjustments. But I'm more inclined to think that it comes with a new awareness of the gift life is. Simple moments I might have overlooked pre-Kaleb hang heavy with sweetness. I know I'll forget the details of them as time passes, but I think what will remain is that classic older mom feeling of, "If I could, I'd do it all over again." (Shoot me if I ever say that to a mom struggling through aisle 7 with three clinging, crying children all begging for fruit snacks.) But seriously, I get how precious these years are. And I'm grateful I don't have to wait until I'm gray-haired to realize it.
Friday morning I woke up to the sounds of my oldest and youngest laughing together. One had crawled in sometime around 3 a.m.. "How did she get in here?" exclaimed Mark when he woke up. Goodness if I know, I only vaguely remember the scene that involved wailing and gnashing of teeth at my bedside. The other fussed his way in for an early morning feed at 6.
I will confess I was a little grouchy about sharing my bed with two sweaty, squirmy creatures. But to wake again to the sounds of laughter, to open my eyes to see my boy reach for his sister, touch her face, and to see her throw her arms around him...it was worth spending half the night with my arms above my head, squished at the end of the mattress.
Thursday night, we sat on the front steps and ate the first strawberry shortcake of the season. It was cool and fresh and we ate until we couldn't stuff another bite in. K sat on our laps and cooed; now interested in food, he likes to be eye level while we eat. (And we revisited the deliciousness the next morning by eating more for breakfast!)
Thursday afternoon, I opened what I thought might be junk mail to discover Kaleb's Masshealth card, confirmation that we will no longer have to pay medical expenses for him. I surprised myself with tears then, too. I hadn't realized the burden of worry I had been carrying about his health care. When I held that blue piece of plastic--no bigger than a credit card--in my hand, I felt that burden lift. I felt physically lighter. Relief.
On Wednesday we went to a local farm to pick the strawberries we've been turning into dessert for breakfast, lunch and dinner. The sky was clear blue, the fields stretched as far as the eye could see and in between rows of strawberries grew new peach tress, held sturdy by bamboo frames. Our girls ran up and down the rows, discovering "perfect" berries. "Look at this one, Daddy! It's the biggest one ever!" Within minutes their clothes and faces were stained red. It was a fine day, made finer by the knowledge that with school closed, a whole summer now stretches before us and with it, a lot more Daddy-time.
I'm realizing that summer has a lot to do with my high on life, misty-eyed moments becoming so regular. The sight of flowers blooming is enough to make me smile. Never mind spending more time as a family, watching K grow and develop into a healthy baby boy, or listening to the girls talk about how the strawberries in their bowl of shortcake are definitely the ones they picked, or realizing that in a few months, E will start preschool, or that A is already talking in clear, full sentences. The realization that time moves so quickly prompts me to nostalgic tears. But I'm okay with owning that. Maybe tears aren't a sign of weakness, maybe they're a sign that we get it. We get how precious and brief it all is.
Instead of looking for a cure for tears, I'll just buy more Kleenex.
I used to think excessive emotion was a sign of weakness. But lately, I seem to have countless reasons to go misty-eyed, and often the moment is upon me before I realize why or how. It could be a bad case of new mommy hormones rising and falling with my body's post-pregnancy adjustments. But I'm more inclined to think that it comes with a new awareness of the gift life is. Simple moments I might have overlooked pre-Kaleb hang heavy with sweetness. I know I'll forget the details of them as time passes, but I think what will remain is that classic older mom feeling of, "If I could, I'd do it all over again." (Shoot me if I ever say that to a mom struggling through aisle 7 with three clinging, crying children all begging for fruit snacks.) But seriously, I get how precious these years are. And I'm grateful I don't have to wait until I'm gray-haired to realize it.
Friday morning I woke up to the sounds of my oldest and youngest laughing together. One had crawled in sometime around 3 a.m.. "How did she get in here?" exclaimed Mark when he woke up. Goodness if I know, I only vaguely remember the scene that involved wailing and gnashing of teeth at my bedside. The other fussed his way in for an early morning feed at 6.
I will confess I was a little grouchy about sharing my bed with two sweaty, squirmy creatures. But to wake again to the sounds of laughter, to open my eyes to see my boy reach for his sister, touch her face, and to see her throw her arms around him...it was worth spending half the night with my arms above my head, squished at the end of the mattress.
Thursday night, we sat on the front steps and ate the first strawberry shortcake of the season. It was cool and fresh and we ate until we couldn't stuff another bite in. K sat on our laps and cooed; now interested in food, he likes to be eye level while we eat. (And we revisited the deliciousness the next morning by eating more for breakfast!)Thursday afternoon, I opened what I thought might be junk mail to discover Kaleb's Masshealth card, confirmation that we will no longer have to pay medical expenses for him. I surprised myself with tears then, too. I hadn't realized the burden of worry I had been carrying about his health care. When I held that blue piece of plastic--no bigger than a credit card--in my hand, I felt that burden lift. I felt physically lighter. Relief.
I'm realizing that summer has a lot to do with my high on life, misty-eyed moments becoming so regular. The sight of flowers blooming is enough to make me smile. Never mind spending more time as a family, watching K grow and develop into a healthy baby boy, or listening to the girls talk about how the strawberries in their bowl of shortcake are definitely the ones they picked, or realizing that in a few months, E will start preschool, or that A is already talking in clear, full sentences. The realization that time moves so quickly prompts me to nostalgic tears. But I'm okay with owning that. Maybe tears aren't a sign of weakness, maybe they're a sign that we get it. We get how precious and brief it all is.Instead of looking for a cure for tears, I'll just buy more Kleenex.
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