Monday, November 17, 2008

Thoughts on Motherhood Part Three

And then there is my sweet Boy. When I look at this angel on earth I am remind of the some of the lyrics to one of my favourite songs. "There's something in your eyes; make me want to lose myself, makes me want to lose myself in your arms. There's something in your voice; makes my heart beat fast." later it says,"if you knew how happy you are making me, I never thought that I'd love anyone so much...it feels like home to me. It feels like I'm all the way back where I belong."


It seems almost strange that with my third child this would be the case, but in my Boy, I have this ability to just look into his eyes and know that were I am right now, at this very moment in my life, is right. In so many ways, already in his short life, he has been my child who is teaching me to over come the challenges in my life. From his premature arrival to his inability to nurse, to his recently budding skill of sitting up, I am learning from him that it's okay to let go of things. I have always said that having my kids be 'on track' and hitting their milestones with other kids their ages wasn't important, and when your kids are as advanced as Frog Prince and Sheepie, I guess that'd be easy to say. Want to know a secret-- I think I lied. But guess what... last night, after months and weeks and days of me worrying and fretting, and his struggling and fighting, at 8 months old Boy sat up for 15 mins. And you know what... it's okay-- in fact, it's better than that, because it taught me to let go.


I do not need to spend my time worrying over why he isn't doing something the 'other kids' are doing, because it only take away from my noticing what he is doing. And now that I know that piece of my journey in motherhood ... it's a whole new ball game.


Boy, thank you for putting up with a mother who worries too much. From now on, I will no longer make excuses for you, 'because you were premature'; I will try not to expect too much, and I will learn to find the joy in the journey.

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