I have no idea what to write. Not a single clue.
Yet, my mind is filled with rambling thoughts, words willing themselves from keyboard strokes to the virtual page.
I hate when that happens.
I had a goal. I wanted to write a little every day. I thought my blog would hold me accountable to that promise.
It didn't. I got caught up.
Baby A is growing so fast. She used to fit between hip and knee, propped up with her head tilted as if listening to secrets instead of my sing song whispers in her ear.
JR is speaking to me. He was silent for so long and now he is all, "Mama, mama, mama." I cover myself with the warm cloak of motherhood with each mumbled syllable.
I find myself feeling heavy with frustration. I want so desperately to soak in my baby girl, to observe each twitch of bowed lips and shift of her slate blue eyes. I want to translate her melodic coos and chirps. Sometimes, I just want to hold her, to feel her heft against my chest or her soft frame curled within mine.
But he calls me. He needs me. I want to sit with him, watch him trace his fingers over the page, willing the words to come and bring the story to life. I want to guide him as he creates masterpieces of crayon, chalk and paint. I want to take his hands in mine and twirl him until we fall into a dizzy pile, legs entwined, locked in a loose embrace.
And then there is me. Mama.
I used to know exactly who I was, what I wanted. I was passionate about so many things. I was fueled by an internal drive to succeed--to do something big, to be someone important.
I feel myself fading into motherhood and it is right where I want to be. I am big to them, I am important to them. I am enough as I am. There are things I want, but for now they can wait.
But so much will not.
She will grow out of the gentle curve of my body and leap out of my arms, never to return again.
When will the last day be? When will I last feel your squishy little body resting in my arms? I know there will be a last day . . .
I know his calls will one day be for someone else. The woman he needs will no longer be me. I get it. I do . . .
Do you need me? If you do, I'm here.
No, mama. I'm can do it.
That day will come.
It's OK. I want those days to come, to see my babies grow. To see them become independent, strong people of purpose.
But for now, I just want to hold them in my arms, feel their sweet breaths against my ear as we talk about how I love them "through and through." I want to stay caught up for as long as I possibly can . . . for as long as they'll let me.
Thursday, November 19, 2009