Well, at the risk of sounding ridiculously cliche - I'll say it: where has the time gone?
But of course I know where it's gone, it's been lovingly, purposefully, eagerly looked forward to, experienced, and then carefully tucked into memory. The time has been taken and spun into gold with which we line these lovely moments, big and little, and treasure them up for years to come.
Today is my Sweetheart's last day of Preschool. For her it's another day, nothing too special, except that Mommie did her hair very carefully and got her a new outfit to dress up in. School might be coming to an end, but she'll still see most of her friends on playdates and at church, and even a few will be joining her at the local Kindergarten in the fall.
But for this Mommie, who remembers touching the milestones of many first and last days, it's one of those lovely little ordinary blessings that makes our life so extraordinarily rich.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Thursday, May 3, 2012
God uses innumerable, limitless things to aid our healing, no one way or thing more important or better than the other. But in my case, Avonlea Jane has been one of the most beautiful little balms of healing that I have ever known, right next to her daddy’s immeasurable presence in my life.
From the first moments I knew she was tucked in my womb, I would whisper, in moments of solitude, “I love you. I love you.” And with all my inner strength I would will these words to somehow infuse into my blood and being and be carried down to her tiny little self, where no matter how long she stayed with me, be it only sweet, short weeks or the long, lovely months up to birth, she would feel and know the consuming depth and breadth of the love I already had for her.
Now here she is, right beside me, fighting the sleep which so loves to cocoon newborns, smiling up at me if I should happen to lean down and contemplate her little face – as I often do, working on cueing up her little voice so she can talk with us as soon as possible. Here she is, being so different from my first baby, yet still so familiar. Here she is, the tiny little creature for whom I held my breath to feel fluttering in my belly, now a snuggly, warm, smooshy little thing that loves to be held and talked to.
“I’m so glad it was you,” I tell her, leaning down and smiling into her chubby little face as she reclines in the hand-me-down bouncy chair. And I’m rewarded with the most precious, tender little smile that lights up her face. She knows.