The joy of now

I've spent a great deal of my life waiting. Longing.
Waiting to grow up and go to college and move out and be an adult.
Waiting to get married.
Waiting, oh the agonizing waiting, to be a mother.
Waiting to be a mother again.
The years I've spent waiting.

I'm learning something at thirty.
Life doesn't just have to be about waiting for the next grand adventure.
Sometimes the best moments are now.

I spent the three years we tried for another baby so sad. My heart longed to give my boy a sibling.
When I look back on it now, yes, it was sad, but there was also a lot of joy. A lot of fun and laughter and life being lived. I wish I could go back and tell myself that it would all turn out okay. That I didn't have to fear the future, that I could just LIVE and it would be enough.

It's not quite time for baby number three. I know it in my heart.
I'm determined to do things differently.
I can enjoy the now.
The now with my beautiful boys, growing so fast.
The now of being thirty, as I start to notice a few gray hairs and realize that I won't have this metabolism forever, so I may as well enjoy a little ice cream. The now of being old enough to know how life works, yet young enough to change things.

I don't want to spend the rest of my days waiting.
Now is so good.
Plans are great, plans are exciting, but now is real.

And then you were five

My sweet boy, how are you five? The fact that I have been taking care of you for this long boggles my mind. And yet, at the same time, I don't really remember life before you. I don't really want to.

 We had a simple celebration this year. Small. Close knit. Just some of Daddy's family, and your two little buddies from church, Kingston and Ella. Your parties used to be grandiose. Chaotic. Loud. And you cried each time. This year we did things differently, and you didn't cry. Perhaps, like your mom, you just don't do crowds very well.

You are many things, sweet Logan. You are wise beyond your years, yet sensitive and so innocent still. You love your brother and you love your family. You always smell a little bit like sweat. You like science, and super heroes, and chocolate milk. You like Katy Perry and dancing like crazy and you crave routine.

You've been sick this week. The horrible stomach virus has visited us again. It's been awful. But you've let me hold you, for the first time in maybe a year. You're a big kid now, and I cherish the gift of getting to hold you one more time.

I experienced so much anxiety when you were born. For the first time in my life I experienced the kind of love that made me fearful of loss. I prayed for you for years and years before you came into existence. And then you were here and I became terrified of messing this up somehow.

You've taught me so much about life and love and what it means to be a mom. The way you love your brother is a gift to me and to your dad. You bring us laughter, and chaos, and so many smiles.

Five is going to be a big year for you, kid.
I love you.
Mom.