I can hear the birds outside my window.
It is still dark.
As I dig deeper into my covers, I feel a small hand on my back. Soft, slow tickles up and down my shoulder blades.
I love being a mom.
He must have snuck into my bed sometime in the night. How can I resist waking up to tickles from a four year old.
I roll over.
He kisses my nose and the day starts...
This is one of my favorite memories.
My husband travels a lot. More lately than I am comfortable with. This has been one of my trials...to stay positive and pleasant when I am doing it on my own. What a hard lot in life it would be to be a single mother.
I have four kids. My oldest is six, the youngest is one. As weeks pass without relief or help, I can feel the burden growing.
Motherhood seems hard, daunting, heavy.
Recently, this is how I felt . I ached to feel the joy and the passion of being a mom again. My thoughts were filled with guilt. Once the night came, and my four little ones were tucked soundly in bed, I would miss them.
Why had I wished the day away.
They were growing so fast.
My prized possessions.
So sweet while they were sleeping.
I would vow to be better the next day.
Again the sun would come up.
As the tasks of the day began, and brought with them fighting and other trials, I would remember those peaceful moments at night. I could close my eyes and see them sleeping again.
My tired heart would then be renewed with love and patience for them, just from one little memory...
A small hand tucked inside mine.
The way their faces look with watermelon juice dripping from their chins.
The first laugh...a sound remembered from heaven.
Her breath against my cheek.
Three hands clinging onto my skirt as we cross the street.
A small chest rising and falling against mine.
How he looks at me.
Finding my bed made by little hands.
Feeling tickles on my arm, and realizing she is doing it to calm me in a troubled moment.
I have been practicing this over and over again. Pulling from my reserve of favorite memories. It is working.
I love being a mom.
1 hour ago