In case you missed it, cjane was ah.mazing today. And because I only wish I could write half as well, and because I’ve been searching with little success for just how to say what she said, I’ll just write a post equivalent to raising my hand from the corner, waving frantically, calling out “Me too, Me too…”
It’s been too long since Levi first started parroting his own little mealtime blessings, each followed by an “aaaa-men.” But alas, he’s older and wiser now… the space of a mere months bids me bade goodbye to my jubilant little pentacostal, and hello to a boy who can make it almost all the way through sacrament meeting (our church service).
Sam now gets herself ready for the day, and for bed with almost no assistance. I breathe in my freedom, and curse my dismissal in one breath.
And maybe before when I said we were “encouraging” Eliza to walk, I meant to say “secretly hoping she’ll stay nine months size forever and never, never, ever turn off the tv, climb on the table, or throw a tantrum.” My hopes were dashed. She walks. She climbs. And I suspect her little “tan-too” yesterday meant, “thank you.”
Now- if the aging of your tiny ones doesn’t make you ache for more, maybe you know you’re done.
But oh, how I ache for more!
There is a beautiful teaching in our religion that maybe you’ll appreciate. It’s this: that raising children helps us become more selfless. Becoming mothers and fathers is to better comprehend the love our God and Savior feel for us. As we parent, we learn priceless lessons: unconditional love, disappointment, limitations. I believe that as parents, we discover our spiritual identities, and the keys to the purest joy our world can hold.
We’re taught to decide family size as individual families, not to overly concern ourselves with “readiness” to the point we postpone that joy needlessly. When deciding the timing and size of our families, we’re taught to consult one another as husband and wife, consider all our resources: emotional and spiritual among the financial, then make the best choices for our families.
There are days I feel I’m at my limit- when I’m certain our meager living can’t stretch farther, that my mind and soul aren’t far behind.
Then I see my little Eliza upright- and I’m overcome. Can I help but want to applaud, to announce, to sweep her up in celebration, and tell her how perfect she is? Is this the joy our Heavenly guardians feel when we accomplish good here?
I don’t know what size our family will be, or when we’ll be ready for more, but I can say this: amen, cjane.